The Psychological Mystery of Thomas King

Chapter Thirty-Three: The Spring Garden Mental Home

Thomas

Last night I did a ton of research on the people who used to work at the Whisperwood Mental Institute. I found out that very few people did escape the asylum before it completely burned down. But all who escaped were admitted into mental homes, where they were forced to live out the rest of their years.

I found a woman named Betty Thompson, a fifty year old woman who used to work at the asylum. She's now living in the Winter Berry Mental Home. That Saturday, I drive there, ready with questions and ready to hear answers.

At around 12:30 p.m, I arrive at the mental home. I check myself in under a false name, Jeremy Thompson, the supposed "grandson" of Betty Thompson. The nurse at the receptionist's desk doesn't see through the lie, so I walk to Mrs. Thompson's room with a bouquet of purple, pink and blue flowers.

I carefully opened the door and see a woman in a wheelchair, facing the window.

"Mrs. Thompson?" I ask, setting the flowers down on the bedside table. "My name is Thomas King. I was one of the... patients at the Whisperwood Mental Institute." She says nothing, still looking out the window. "I have some questions," I continue. "Someone I know keeps warning me that this situation isn't over. Can you help me?"

She doesn't move. Doesn't make a sound. She just stares out of the window, looking at the trees. I start walking slowly towards her. I was a few inches away from the wheelchair, when she whips around in the chair and grabs me by the wrist. Half of her face is burned to the bone, one of her eyes a milky white. I gasp, trying to free myself.

"I know you." She says in a raspy low voice. "You were the one who did this to me. You were the one who killed my husband." She pulls me closer. "How dare you come in here! You shall pay for your sins, you murderer!" At that moment, a few nurses and doctors burst into the room, prying Betty's fingers off my wrist. Once my wrist is set free I rub it, my wrist throbbing. "You shall die you murderer!" She screamed. "Murderer! Murderer!"

I adjust my glasses that hang lopsided on my face and run out of the room, ignoring the doctors and nurses who yell and race after me. I run out of the doors and speed away in my car. After a few minutes, I park my car, trying to catch my breath. I rest my head against the steering wheel, distressed. I can't stop thinking about what that woman kept screaming.

Murderer.

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I take it out, squinting at the screen.

Sienna: Where r u

Thomas: Running errands

Sienna: When will u be back

Thomas: Soon

I toss my phone on the passenger seat and drive in the parking lot of a cafe. I order coffee and a bagel and use my phone to look up others who've worked at the asylum. I find someone named Persimmin Oakland, a 70 year old African American woman, who's staying at the Spring Garden Mental Home, around 30 minutes from where I am. I start driving towards the mental home at full speed, hoping that this encounter will be different from the last.

At last I come to the mental home. I give the same false name as last time but I use Oakland instead of Thompson. My story is that my parents were good friends with Persimmin and I've come to visit her. As before, the nurse buys it and leads me to Persimmin's room.

She opens the door and holds it open for me and I step through the door.

"Ms. Oakland?" She asks. A woman, whose sitting on the window sill reading, looks up. "You have a visitor."

The nurse leaves the room and closes the door. For a few minutes we just stare at each other, unsure of what to say.

"Ms. Oakland," I begin "My name is Tho-"

"I know who you are, Thomas King." She says calmly. She motions for me to sit at the edge of the bed, which is across from the window sill. I take a seat, and she closes her book, setting it on her lap. "I was one of the nurses involved with your experiment." She continues, her voice kind but serious. "After you burned down the asylum, me and a few others were caught by the police when we kept coming back to the scene and we all ended up at different mental homes." She snickers, "A fitting end for all of us."

"I thought the police doesn't know what happened at the wreck." I said, and Persimmin shakes her head.

"They probably said that because they didn't want the public to be frightened. Or, they didn't want the public to shame the government." She said. "I imagine it would've been quite the scandal if the people knew that the state government of Ohio wasn't aware of a torturous psychological experiment that was being conducted right under their noses." I ponder this. It makes sense how, after all this time, the police or the government never learned the truth of the asylum. But one thing is still bothering me.

"Are the workers actually dead?" I ask. "I thought they were. I thought it was all over until a little girl came into my office, saying that she saw my... my mother's ghost and that she can see things... the same things I saw when I was 18." She gives me a look before she starts chuckling lowly.

"Oh, Thomas." She says, in an eerie tone. "They never left."