Clustering shadows muttered mutinously in the unlit corners of the small room, seeming to advance a little every time the weak yellow light flickered off and back on again. A slight breeze blew through a small open window near the ceiling, making the bare light bulb swing gently. As the light swayed, it cast odd shapes onto the walls; shapes I could not be sure were still mere shadow and not something more solid.
I huddled in the centre of the room, ensuring I was always bathed in light from directly above my head and dreaded the moment it would cut out fully. The light had been wavering for two days already. I kept my eyes screwed shut now, not daring to look into the shadows, I didn't dare do much, these days, than try desperately to stay in the light. I didn't look into the shadows for fear they would look back into me.
They came gradually, of course. At first I hadn't noticed it, hadn't noticed their slow encroaching on the light. But, like creeping shrouds of impending death, they come, always moving, always whispering their dark plots. I fear it is I who feeds them. I have come to believe they thrive on my horror, on my terror that they will eventually consume me. And that makes them stronger. And so they grow.
When I first saw the shadows moving I thought I was insane. I thought I really was 'unstable' and 'paranoid' as I had been told before being locked in here. It was a while before I realised it was the shadows, whispering to the minds of those around me, of my family, my friends, the 'doctors' who condemned me. Now I know better. Now I know that it is only I who have caught on to the twisted machinations of the dark forces slowly taking over my room. And how much further have they got? Could they have spread across the building, the city, the country, all while I have been locked in here fighting my own battle of wills?
I scream it to my captors when they bring me food and the tablets I refuse to take. I warn them, I plead with them, I beg them just to listen, just to see. I am refused. Every time. They do not believe me for the shadows have got to them. The shadows have already turned their hearts and minds against me and I cannot win.
But I will not give up. There are new 'doctors' in every week and I pray that eventually I will find one who hasn't yet been infected with the dark sickness that afflicts all the others. I wish that someone will believe me, will see the hidden plots I have become privy to and will do something to stop them. It is a force that must be fought if we as a race are to preserve our own free will and I cannot fight it alone.
And yet it seems I have no choice. I must move quickly then. I must find a way, anyway, to escape from my internment and reach the outside world. For they are gaining ground every moment I waste. They are advancing, like dim soldiers of an unseen war where I am the only combatant on enemy lines.
At 12.36pm, on the 29th November, 2011, Katherine Alice May was found dead in her room. May, aged just 23, had been a permanent resident of Whitehalls Psychiatric Hospital. She was found in her room in complete darkness, hanging from the ceiling. It is believed May used strips of cloth torn from her clothes to hang herself.
Investigation is on-going.