The asylum stood like a skeleton of stone and shadow on the edge of town. Forgotten by time, its broken windows seemed to weep for the lives that once lingered within. Few dared to approach it. Fewer still returned with stories to tell.
For Nathan, a young journalist desperate for a breakthrough story, the asylum was a challenge he couldn’t ignore. The local whispers about its haunted halls, cries heard at night, and strange flickers of light were too enticing to resist. Armed with a flashlight, a camera, and a recorder, he set out to uncover the truth behind the legend of the Forgotten Asylum.
The Approach
The journey to the asylum was eerie. The path, overgrown with thorny vines, seemed to protest against his intrusion. The moon hung low, casting an eerie glow over the cracked stone walls. As Nathan stepped closer, the air grew heavier, and the chirping of crickets faded into an unnatural silence.
Standing before the iron gates, he hesitated. A rusted sign hung crookedly: “Blackthorn Asylum - Closed 1953.”
"Here goes nothing," he muttered, pushing the gate open. It groaned like a wounded animal, sending a chill down his spine.
Inside the Asylum
The main hall was a cavern of decay. The floorboards creaked under his weight, and graffiti covered the walls, mixing with the peeling paint to create grotesque patterns. Dust danced in the beam of his flashlight as he moved cautiously.
Nathan pulled out his recorder. "October 13th. Time: 11:45 PM. I’m inside the Blackthorn Asylum. The air is damp, and the smell of mildew is overwhelming. Let’s see what secrets this place holds."
As he ventured deeper, strange details emerged. Wheelchairs lay toppled in the hallways. A child’s doll, its porcelain face cracked, sat upright in a corner. Scribbled on the walls were messages like “Don’t look back” and “They never left.”
The First Encounter
Nathan entered what seemed to be the patient dormitory. Rows of rusted bed frames lined the room, their mattresses long decayed. As he scanned the area, his flashlight flickered.
"Come on, not now," he whispered, shaking it.
A faint sound echoed—a whisper? He froze, his breath caught in his throat.
"Who’s there?" he called out, his voice trembling.
The whisper grew louder, forming incomprehensible words. Nathan swung his flashlight toward the sound, but nothing was there.
He took a deep breath and pressed on, though his heart pounded like a drum.
The Records Room
He found the records room in a state of chaos. Papers were strewn everywhere, and filing cabinets lay toppled. Curious, Nathan sifted through the mess, finding patient files. One name appeared repeatedly: Margaret Holloway.
Margaret was a patient committed in 1949. Her file spoke of severe paranoia and hallucinations. The notes were chilling:
"Margaret claims to hear voices from the walls, calling her name. She speaks of a shadow figure that watches her sleep. Treatments ineffective. Patient exhibits violent tendencies."
The final entry read: “Patient disappeared on the night of May 12, 1953. Search efforts unsuccessful. Institution closed shortly after.”
The Shadow
As Nathan read, the temperature in the room dropped suddenly. His breath became visible, fogging in the frigid air.
"Is someone there?" he asked again, turning toward the door.
This time, he saw it—a shadow, darker than the surrounding gloom, standing at the far end of the hallway. It didn’t move, but Nathan felt its gaze pierce through him.
Panic surged through his veins. He stumbled backward, knocking over a cabinet. When he looked again, the shadow was gone.
He fumbled for his recorder. "There’s... there’s something here. I don’t know what, but it’s not human."
The Basement
Despite his fear, Nathan pressed on. He couldn’t leave without answers. His exploration led him to a staircase descending into darkness. The basement.
The air grew damp and oppressive as he descended. The walls were lined with strange carvings—symbols that looked ancient, almost ritualistic. At the bottom, he found a large, iron door slightly ajar.
Inside was a circular room with a single chair in the center. Shackles hung from its arms and legs, and the floor was stained dark. Surrounding the chair were candles, long extinguished but leaving melted wax trails like frozen tears.
Suddenly, the door slammed shut behind him. Nathan spun around, his flashlight shaking.
The Voices
The whispers returned, louder and more insistent. They came from everywhere, overlapping in a cacophony of sorrow and anger.
"Leave!" one voice roared, distinct from the rest.
Nathan shouted back, "What do you want? Who are you?"
A figure emerged from the shadows, its form shifting and flickering like a broken image. It was Margaret—or what was left of her. Her eyes were hollow, her face twisted in anguish.
"They did this to me," she said, her voice a haunting melody. "They locked me away, called me mad, but I was right. The shadow—they brought it here, and now it will never leave."
The Escape
Nathan’s survival instincts kicked in. He bolted for the door, but it wouldn’t budge. The room began to tremble, and the shadow Margaret spoke of appeared, its form massive and consuming.
Nathan turned to Margaret. "Help me! How do I stop it?"
She pointed to the symbols on the walls. "Destroy them. Break the cycle."
Without questioning, Nathan grabbed a piece of broken metal and began scratching out the carvings. With each symbol erased, the shadow roared in agony, shrinking and recoiling.
Finally, the last symbol was destroyed, and the shadow dissolved into nothingness. The door swung open, and Margaret’s figure faded, her expression one of peace.
The Aftermath
Nathan stumbled out of the asylum as dawn broke, his body trembling and his mind racing. He looked back at the crumbling structure, its presence no less ominous in the daylight.
Later, in the safety of his apartment, Nathan reviewed his recordings. Strangely, the whispers and the shadow’s roars were absent. All that remained was his voice, shaky and terrified, narrating the events.
He wrote his story, titled A Night in the Forgotten Asylum. It became a sensation, but Nathan knew the truth. The shadow might have been defeated, but the asylum’s darkness lingered.
And he vowed never to return.