Catacombs

Catacombs (Preview)

There he stood alongside the others at their final destination, hundreds of feet underground, clinging to the remnants of a smashed picture frame and a torn photograph. He gripped the broken edges of the frame so tightly that his hands began to bleed. This is how it’s all going to end, he thought. Trapped.

***

The most prominent feature of Carter Heights stood at the heart of the rural town: Carter County Asylum. For years, the building had kept the citizens of Carter Heights safe from the ax murderers, kleptomaniacs, and general loonies that prowled the streets. Or, as some joked, Carter County Asylum kept its residents safe from the general public.

In addition to offering civil protection, the institution itself proved to be the true foundation of the community. When it was built in the late 1800s as a refuge for traumatized Confederate soldiers, it had been surrounded by nothing more than a dense cover of pine and oak trees. Gradually, more and more transients flocked to this home in the middle of nowhere, filling the need for third-rate doctors, nurses, hospital attendants, clergy, builders, general store clerks, diner waitresses, and used-car salesmen.

The inhabitants of the hospital rarely received visitors; in fact, the vast majority of them had been dropped off there and were practically left for dead. Most next of kin were either too preoccupied with their own lives or couldn’t stand to see their relatives suffer in such a demented environment. Campbell Jenks, however, was different. His older sister Kathy had spent the majority of her life in the institution and for almost twenty years now he had visited faithfully, week in and week out, rain or shine.

Campbell felt safe when he visited his sister, tucked away on the grounds of the building with its unchanging gray exterior and sun-washed eaves. The central dormitory sat nestled behind a daunting stone wall, connected on either side by a pair of gates that latched in the middle. Most people found the place to be intimidating, even downright frightening. While the inmates were the icing on the off-putting cake for most, Campbell pitied the wards of the asylum, although not in a condescending manner. He actually found them to be good company and, in a way, felt he could relate to the poor souls.

This Saturday afternoon began like every other. Campbell entered the Asylum’s sprawling campus through the main gates. Halfway down the long, cobblestone path that led straight down into the heart of the exclusive premises, he encountered a dapper older man, dressed immaculately in a jet black suit and matching tie. 

“Why, hello there young man!” the stranger greeted in an inviting drawl. He had a slight gap between his two front teeth, and he smelled of spearmint.

Campbell responded cordially. 

“I really hate to be a nuisance, but might I borrow a quarter for a telephone call? I’d be much obliged.”

Campbell positioned Kathy’s bouquet of daffodils under his left arm and dug into his right pocket for loose change.

“Thank you kindly! I’d better be on my way now.” The old man offered a taut smile and moved along toward the exit. Satisfied by his own good deed, Campbell continued in the opposite direction. As he walked on, he fished through his wallet for his most recent ID and an extra quarter. He expected to be stopped, as usual, by the not-so-attentive clerk who kept watch over the grounds from inside a tiny plexiglass booth.

Campbell’s satisfaction as a good Samaritan was short lived and quickly turned to panic. As he approached the security booth, he noticed an odd, pinkish tint to its usually immaculate window panels. Inside sat the body of the guard. An emptied hypodermic needle protruded from the man’s neck, causing his head to tilt back and to the side. His cheeks had been sliced just so as to create the perfect, however grotesque, grin. The windows weren’t tinted pink; they were greased with blood.