The Skin That Crawls From You [A Jonathan Crane Fan-fiction]

October 31st | Arkham Asylum

I ride the elevator to his floor, half expecting a nurse or guard to stop me- but no one does.

Before I left my quarters, I searched for anything to bring with me- but breakfast isn't served until eight o'clock so every hope for a plastic fork died. I shake the entire elevator ride to his floor. I'm not sure what to expect; possibly him, on the other side of those doors briefcase in hand, or maybe that yellowed eyed monster he seems to yield like a weapon. Metallic scent in tow.

But when I arrive on his floor, I'm alone. I step out of the elevators and pace for a moment, watching his wooden door through the safety bars dividing us crazies and Dr. Crane's singular office.

Sleep tugs at my eyes- I tossed and turned all night- pondering his suspicious offer. Contemplating where this man would take me, contemplating if I believed in god enough to repent before my possible end at the hands of a madman. It was dramatic, but at midnight, all thoughts are valid thoughts.

When I feel like I'm about to burst from anxiety, his door finally creeks open and I hear his shoes patter on the tile. He comes into view, his dark slicked back hair, his rectangular glasses, his well fit suit, that brief case. He pops his key into the door of the safety divider and walks through.

"Goodmorning Miss Alcott,"
He says casually.

"Follow me."

Inside the elevator he asks me if I'm afraid.

"Yes,"
I tell him.

Out of my peripheral, I swear I see him smile.

He pulls out another key and inserts it into a hole within the elevator's ancient brass circuit case. The doors shut and I hear him sigh quietly.

"I'm being questioned by a certain assistant district attorney. She's nosey, and she's interfering with my work."
He begins.

"And what is your work?"
I cut him off, boldly. Despite the shake in my voice.

"Psychopharmacology."

"No, what-"

The elevator doors ding and open slowly, revealing a dimly lit basement. Concrete walls covered in mildew, small rectangular windows stand at eye level, the half dead grass even with the panes. Dr. Crane turns, walking down the sulfur reeking hallway without looking back; and I follow. He reaches two wooden dust coated doors and pushes them open with a loud creak. I continue on his heels as we walk inside a bright square room, a twisting black metal railing contains the balcony which we stand on; framing the space. I look over the ledge, and sulfur mingles with a metallic burn; the scent twisting it's way into my nostrils and burning my throat. Below us, a large herd of dingy orange-jump suit clad men work tirelessly . They stare up for a moment, at Dr. Crane, at me; and a chill runs down my spine.

A guard with a machine gun stands watch over the herd, tables of men sort through bags of pale blue powder. Another set of men operate a large industrial mixer; besides them, a broken pipe lays raw. Water rushing loudly on it's way back out to the sewers. A strong looking inmate (as i can only assume from their jumpsuits) slowly unloads a bucket of cloudy liquid into the water pipe; another gun wielding guard at his back.

"What-"
I begin.

"This is where we make the medicine."
He says. He sounds so nonchalant.

"What medicine?"
I beg. My voice audibly shaking now.

The inmates below toil on, and Dr. Crane turns to me.

"The monster you saw- my monster- is simply a product of your fear."
He hauls his brief case onto the ledge and opens it, pulling out a ragged burlap bag.

As he holds it up, I see distinct eye holes and a half sewed piece which resembles a twisted mouth. He holds it up to his face and my stomach turns sour.

"What- what is that?"

"Your fears often cling onto Jungian archetypes- like this scarecrow,"
He holds the mask beside his face and looks to it admiringly.

"So within my experiments, in which I work to not only treat fear but to cure it, I use this, and my medicine."

He folds the mask and sets it back into his briefcase- closing it with a snap.

I'm frozen within myself, staring at this man, this monster, this doctor?

"What do you need from me?"
I finally manage to say.

"Well first- I need the truth."
He says, an eyebrow raised.

"Raven Alcott, who are you?"