Sam and Colby: The Asylum

69

"Is anyone here with us right now?" Sam asked. We sat and waited, but there was no response. "Is whatever set off the EMF meter downstairs or left those handprints still with us?"

We waited again. After at least two full minutes, the planchette slowly made its way over to yes. The force of it moving felt weird. It was like someone was pulling it from underneath, not like someone was dragging it across the board.

"Are you the little boy I was talking to?" Corey asked. The planchette stayed on yes. "How old were you? When you died?"

The planchette didn't hesitate or move slowly this time. It went over to the number eight.

"Oh, god," I muttered.

"What year did you die?" Corey asked. The planchette moved to four different numbers.

"1906," Jake said.

"What's your name?" Colby asked. The planchette moved not too long after Colby asked that, but it seemed hesitant as if it wasn't sure what to say.

"H-E-N-R-Y," it spelled out.

"Henry—what was your last name? Was your last name Cotton?" I asked. That was the name of the doctor, the inventor of the Cotton Method.

"No, this Henry was only eight when he died," Sam said. But, contrary to what Sam had said, the planchette moved to yes.

"How would that make sense?" asked Jake.

"Wait, was your dad's name Henry Cotton, too?" I asked. The planchette remained on yes.

"Were you a patient here?" Colby asked. It said yes. "Did you die here?" Yes again.

"Are you a good spirit or a bad spirit?" Jake asked. It didn't answer our question. It moved to H-E-L-P.

"Okay, we're done with this," Corey said.

"Hold on. Are we safe tonight?" asked Sam. The planchette immediately moved to 'goodbye'. "Oh—goodbye," Sam said shortly before removing his fingers.

"Dude. Literally, feel my heart right now. Like, feel it," Corey said, grabbing Jake's hand and placing it on his chest.

"Damn, brother," Jake said after letting his hand find Corey's pulse.

"What does that mean? When it just moves to goodbye like that?" I asked.

"Yeah dude, that's never happened to us," said Corey.

"It just means that it's done talking to us. It doesn't want to listen or answer anymore," said Sam.

"That's really strange," said Colby.

They kept talking, but I stopped listening. Why would Cotton's son be a patient here? And why did he die when we was only eight years old? Was Cotton even a doctor yet at that time? Why did the kid need help?

"Wait," I said. I had cut Corey off, but I didn't care. "What year did he die?" I asked.

"1906," said Sam.

"Nineteen... 1907 was when Cotton was assigned medical director," I said quietly. I stood up and left the room, making my way down the hallway and then down the staircase. "If he was assigned director of the Trenton State New Jersey Hospital in 1907, then Cotton could have been working here first and left when his son died... but that wouldn't make sense, because that would mean he was promoted after being the doctor here when his own kid died... unless...," I muttered to myself. I looked down at my feet and realized I was running outside. I didn't bother slowing myself down or looking back to respond to the guys yelling and running after me.

I didn't stop running until I made it to the office building. I threw the door open and ran back to Dalton's office, not stopping to try and step around the broken glass that littered the floor from where Colby had broken the window. I put my flashlight in my mouth and ripped open the file cabinet that we'd pulled Jane Abrams' file out of. I sifted through all of the folders, looking for C.

I had to sort through the B section to get to C, and a last name caught my eye. I took the file out and set it on the desk behind me and kept sorting through the drawers until I found what I was looking for: all of the files with the last name Cotton. I walked over to the desk and opened the first one up, shining my flashlight on the old typewriter written words.

"Ness!" Colby yelled, running in behind me. "Are you okay?"

"What? Yeah, I'm fine," I said, flipping through the pages. Colby grabbed my wrist to stop me. "What?" I asked, almost yelling at him. I yanked my hand back from him and continued.

"Ness," Colby said again. "Will you at least look at me?" he asked. I sighed, annoyed, and set down the flashlight to look at him.

"What! Why?" I asked, crossing my arms.

"You can't just leave like that," Colby said sternly.

"Yes, I obviously can," I said, turning back to the files.

"Vanessa! Stop for one fucking second!" Colby yelled. Him raising his voice at me surprised me, so I stopped. I didn't turn to face him but didn't continue to flip through the papers.

"No, you can't. You can't leave like that. Not when we're doing this stuff," Colby said.

"Why?" I asked. "Just for your convenience?" I snapped.

"No! Because we're in the middle of figuring out why something made that board act the way it did. We don't know what it meant, and you just got up mumbling to yourself and ran away without saying anything! You've never done this before and we didn't know how you would react to any of this kind of thing, and you not telling me or anyone else where you're going while having a conversation with yourself and sprinting away by yourself isn't okay!" Colby exclaimed. I sighed and dropped my head down.

"I'm sorry," I muttered. I hadn't thought about that. It probably looked like I had been deeply affected or even possessed or something.

"It's okay, just please never do that again. Please," Colby said. I looked over at him. His face wasn't fully visible due to only two flashlights being on in the entire dark building, but I could see that he didn't look mad like he had sounded. He looked scared. I sighed and finally turned to him.

"I wasn't thinking about what you guys were doing. I just realized there's something that I need to either confirm or debunk," I said. I heard the other guys' footsteps echoing in behind us, lightly jogging instead of sprinting like Colby had been after me.

"Is she okay?" Sam asked, running up to the room we were in.

"Yeah, no, I'm all good," I said. I put the flashlight back into my mouth and started on the next file.

"What happened?" Corey asked, still out of breath from running. I didn't answer, just slid the files to the other side of the desk and sat down in the old, dusty office chair to continue rummaging through them.

"Dude, what is she on?" asked Jake.

"I don't know, but you don't have to be a dick about it," Colby said.

"Shut up," I said,finally finding the piece of paper I'd been looking for.