Smoke and Mirrors

This story was written for @mctiller's 24 Hour Short Story Contest based on the prompt: A man who doesn't believe in ghosts checks into a mental hospital that has been closed for twenty years. Spooooky!

Picture by Tama66 via Pixabay.

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Ralph followed the petite nurse down the corridor, shaking his head at this farce. The floor was strewn with bits of trash, dead leaves, and plaster. Inexpert graffiti tags were scrawled here and there on the walls. The whole place was a hazard and here was this woman acting like it was totally normal.

When he’d first heard that the old mental hospital had reopened it had come from Minnie Painter so he’d taken it with a grain of salt. She hadn’t been the same since her son died in that terrible accident. But then more and more people started talking and he knew it was his civic duty to investigate.

The nurse pulled up short in front of an open office and Ralph found himself contorting wildly to avoid banging into her.

“Dr. Eiger? Are you free to do intake for Mr. Kitching here?”

“Of course, April, anything for you.”

Ralph followed her into the room and frowned at the alleged doctor sitting behind a half crumpled steel desk. Dr. Eiger focused an oily smile on April as she handed over a clipboard. Where had that come from? She winked at Dr. Eiger and pivoted out of the room.

The doctor gestured to chair with a cracked vinyl seat. One corner had been chewed down by mice. Ralph stayed standing while the doctor scanned over the clipboard.

“I’m glad you came to us,” said the doctor when he’d finished “I’m going to recommend a treatment plan combining medicine and therapy at least three times a week to start with.”

He looked up into Ralph’s skeptical face.

“That’s it? You’re not even going to take a medical history?”

He didn’t know what kind of circus they were running here but it wasn’t a very convincing one. They hadn’t even mentioned his insurance or asked to see any identification. What a crock.

“I don’t need anything else to know you have a disturbed mind.”

He snorted. “Right, Doc. Very disturbed.”

“Tell me, do you still have nightmares about Skippy?”

Ralph stilled and looked at the other man incredulously. How could he know about that?

“Skippy? My dog from when that bas-”

He stopped short and crossed his arms. He’d heard about this sort of thing on Dateline, or maybe it had been 60 Minutes. This was how fake psychics and con-men scammed people. They got hold of a few little details to convince the victim that they knew something about him and then the mark unwittingly supplied the rest.

This faker must have heard something about Skippy, maybe from Minnie or, heck, just about anyone who’d gone to grade school with Ralph. And here Ralph had almost filled in the rest for him, telling him about the dreams he still had, which always ended with a preternaturally strong Ralph beating the shit of his stepfather for giving Skippy away.

“That’s cute but I’m not falling for it,” he said.

“We don’t have to talk about your stepfather. We can talk about Mrs. Mahoney or Reverend Cosgrove. Or what happened with Henry. There’s a lot you need to work through.”

Each name stung at Ralph but he resolutely shook his head. The man was just tossing out guesses.

“I understand it’s hard to open up at first. Perhaps our next talk will be more fruitful.”

“Sure, sure,” Ralph said sarcastically.

There was a tap on the open door and another nurse stood waiting, this one a tall, hulking woman. Ralph could see why they had the other girl working the front desk.

“Nurse Waghorn, would you escort Mr. Kitching, bring him his medicine, and get him fully checked in?”

More walking through hallways that were starting to feel endless. Ralph thought about bailing out but he knew if she offered him pills he’d have something real and tangible to take this whole gang down with.

He’d come today prepared to catch them out for non-permitted construction, but there was no sign anyone had done a damned thing to the long abandoned hospital. However a flash of inspiration had led him to check himself in instead and he was determined to see it through.

She brought him to a small room containing only broken plaster and a stained mattress.

“Here we are, Mr. Kitching, your room.”

“My room? You think I’m staying here overnight? Jeez Louise, you guys are outta your minds.”

“We don’t appreciate that kind of language here, Mr. Kitching,” warned Nurse Waghorn. “Why don’t you get yourself settled and I’ll be back when it’s time for your medicine.”

At the mention of medicine he calmed and put on a syrupy sweet smile.

“My medicine? Alrighty then, I’ll be here.”

She left, closing the door sharply, and Ralph sat down on the mattress to wait. It felt like ages passed and he grew bored. He couldn’t find his phone in his pocket so he didn’t even have anything to read. Eventually he got tired of waiting and went for the door, only to find it was locked tight.

He pitched a fit then, banging and hollering to bring the place down but there was no response. He tried battering down the door and even broke a pane of the window, but the glass was reinforced with chicken wire. It was useless, all of it.

Laying down on the bed felt like defeat, but it had grown dark and he’d already yelled himself hoarse.

However every time he started to drift off, Ralph heard whispering voices. Voices of the people Dr. Eiger had mentioned, all of whom, Ralph realized with a nasty shock, happened to be dead. He reminded himself there were some things he just plain didn’t believe in. Therapy for starters. And he most certainly didn’t believe in the existence of ghosts.

Still, he couldn’t help straining his ears at every rustle and creak. He didn’t get any rest until the sun broke over the horizon.

---

He woke up to the creak of old hinges. Nurse Waghorn was at the door with a tray that she set down near the mattress. As soon as he recalled where he was Ralph jumped up and started for the door.

“Outta my way!”

The nurse didn’t flinch. She raised one hand calmly. A wave of revulsion passed through Ralph at the idea of her touching him and he stopped.

“Your medicine, Mr. Kitching,” she said, pointing down to the tray.

He scowled at her. She took a step into the room.

“Hold your horses, I’ll take ‘em.” he said.

He poured the pills onto his palm and quickly tossed them into his mouth. After swallowing he made a big show of his empty mouth to Nurse Waghorn.

“Good. Why don’t we take you to the patient lounge now.”

As soon as she turned he shoved his hand into his pocket and let go of the pills that he’d palmed. One of the only good tricks he’d picked up from his step-father. If they thought one uncomfortable night was going to cow Ralph J. Kitching, Vice President of the Chesterfield County Zoning Board, into submission, they had a big surprise coming.

He followed her down two or three indistinguishable corridors. She stopped inside a large room strewn with broken furniture and even an old vending machine.

“Feel free to watch TV or play any of the games.”

If there was a TV he couldn’t locate it, but he did spot a busted ping-pong table near the windows. When he looked back at the door Nurse Waghorn was already gone, her retreating footsteps echoing through the corridor.

He gave it a few minutes and then stuck his head out into the hall. Totally deserted. He had the proof in his pocket; it was time to make his escape.

Ralph headed right, where they’d come from. He was pretty sure it would lead to the main staircase but after following it for what felt like 15 minutes he still hadn’t reached it, or any staircase for that matter.

Every window he came across was either barred or reinforced with wire. A couple of them he broke in frustration. As he wandered, increasingly hopeless, strange thoughts plagued him. Why was he always so frightened of touching the staff? Were those names really a series of lucky guesses by the doctor?

He cursed out loud when he spotted the stupid patient lounge he’d stared at and then nearly jumped out of his skin when a familiar voice called back to him, “Hello?”

He rushed inside and over to where Minnie Painter was sitting on a busted folding chair, calmly crocheting a pair of baby booties.

“Minnie! You don’t know how good it is to see a familiar face.”

“Good to see you too, Ralph. I have to say I never expected it, but I’m glad for you.”

She was still as crazy as the people running this place, but at least she wasn’t forcing pills on him or locking him in.

“Do you know how to get out of here? You gotta show me.”

“I can’t leave,” she said. “I haven’t talked to him yet. I come up every week and talk to him.”

“Your, uh, therapist?”

“Oh no, even better than that!” She reached out and clasped one of his hands, pulling herself closer so it was impossible for him to ignore her glassy, glittering eyes. “I talk to my Owen.”

Ralph’s stomach sank. She was useless.

“They’re very nice here, aren’t they?”

He turned away from her in contempt, just in time to see April enter the room.

“Mrs. Painter, he’s ready for you,” she announced. “And I don’t know where you’ve been Mr. Kitching but it’s time for your next dose.”

Minnie jumped up and hurried from the room without a backwards glance. Ralph stayed where he was and glared at the nurse as she breezed over, cool as you please, and set down a tray with the familiar paper cup of pills and water.

“I won’t take ‘em. I’ve had enough. I want out,” he said.

“Come now, be sensible.”

He still felt weirdly skittish about touching her, but Ralph had reached the end of his tether. He couldn’t let the place get to him like this. He tamped down the alarm he felt and stalked forward, shooting out a hand to grab her roughly by the wrist.

To his shock he watched his hand travel right through her, clenching down on nothing. A searing cold enveloped it and he pulled back with a loud gasp.

“You’re sick, Ralph. You need to take your medicine.”

He wanted to argue that he wasn’t crazy, but if he were stone cold sane then how could he explain what had just happened? His mouth opened and closed like a fish but he had nothing to say.

He’d seen and experienced some crazy things over the past day and this nice nurse was promising a fix. It didn’t make any sense for him to fight her. He wanted the same thing, to get rid of these visions he couldn’t explain.

With a trembling hand he brought the paper cup to his lips. He tipped the pills into his mouth and followed up with a gulp of water.

Instantly his panic subsided. His eyes teared up.

In a small voice he said, “I think I’m ready to see the doctor.”