The Psychological Mystery of Thomas King

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Claustrophobia

I was furious with Thomas.

In the past two years, I've kept calling and texting him, but he's never replied. I'll admit that I wasn't my best self when we last saw each other six years ago but he was being childish.

At this rate, I didn't even know if he was alive. After high school graduation, I moved to Los Angeles, attending The University of California Irvine, as an art major, wanting to be away from the horrors of Ohio. Even going back for a brief time was too painful. I thought the pain would eventually diminish if I stayed out of Ohio, but it didn't matter where I moved.

The horrors always followed me.

It was a particularly cold night, when I went downstairs to the sketchy laundry room on the first floor. The worst part about doing laundry, was that I had to trek down to the basement, which was cold and dimly litted. I opened the wooden door, and walked down the stairs. I wanted to my laundry over with, so I didn't bother turning on the lights. The light coming from outside the basement was dim but enough for me to see. I loaded the clothes into the washing machine, put detergent and turned the machine on.

I was walking towards the door, when it suddenly closed shut, the room suddenly now pitch-black. My heart started pounding, as I heard raspy high pitched whimpering, coming from all directions. I slowly turned, feeling claustrophobic from all the darkness, to see a dozen people, wearing hospital gowns.

Their hair was matted down and their skin was an ash-gray color. Their eyes were completely milky white, and when they walked, they're bones cracked and twisted as if all their limbs were broken. I screamed and fell backwards, crawling away from the asylum patients that slowly walked towards me. I crawled backwards up the stairs, feeling for the light switch. I finally found it and flicked it on.

To my relief and surprise, nothing was there. It was as if they vanished. Legs shaking, I grabbed the stair railings and hoisted myself up. I turned on and off the light, just to make sure they were gone, but they never reappeared. Still looking down the stairs of the basement, I quickly grabbed my empty laundry basket. Still in shock, I hurried out of the room, ignoring the stares of other college students as I pushed by them. When I got into my room and slid against the door and started crying.

Where are you, Thomas? I asked myself.

I need you.