CRAG HILL

                                             

ONE

Grabbing her brief case and umbrella and looking beyond the cars window screen to the grey rolling clouds in the steely sky, Dr Maxwell sighed heavily.

Miles from her destination and with night drawing in she resigned herself to the long walk ahead. Her battered mini cooper had at last given up the ghost.

She thought it would be safe for a few miles yet, but she once again had been proved wrong!

Deep down she knew her pig headedness at never being able to admit she was wrong had led to this predicament and she now had to face the prospect of a long lonely walk to her destination.

With the sky getting rapidly darker, she buttoned up her raincoat, dragged herself from the front seat of the Mini and started her long trek.

As she walked she once again tried her cell phone but to no avail, still no signal. The first spots of rain began to fall as she opened up her umbrella the heavens opened. She was close to tears as the freezing rain now accompanied by rolling thunder, slammed her petite body.

She was having trouble seeing her surroundings as she was almost in total darkness; except for the dim ancient lighting dotting the road ahead was she able to see to manoeuvre her way along the desolate road.

Many miles on and she spotted the mock Tudor front of the Raven Hall guesthouse, which was her home during the summer months of her residency at this god forsaken hell hole.

At last! She spotted in the distance the newly painted, lighted sign of Crag Hill Sanatorium. Her pace quickened as she made her way down the dark tree lined drive and across the gravelled car park to the white pillared front entrance.

Pulling on the ancient chained pull. She heard a commotion inside as the bell tolled eerily. She heard the old locks being pulled back. Screaming with age and neglect and as the door at last creaked open a security guard in full regalia, greeted her looking at her now dripping, drenched figure in bemusement.

“ Dr Maxwell…what on earth…?”

“ Don’t ask Jim”, she replied as she flashed her identity badge and made her way across the black and white chequered floor of the vast reception and up the ornate marble staircase towards the staff locker room.                     

Half way down the dimly lit corridor a dark figure lumbered into her path, “oh my goodness Dr Maxwell, oh my dear got caught in the storm I see? Now come on lets get you into the warm and get you sorted my lovely.”

"Sister Thompson" said Dr Maxwell with a sigh, "You really don't need to fuss, I am quite capable ...".

"The day I stop fussing over my team will be the day I pop me clogs Katie Pet, now get your wet clothes off and I will meet you in the kitchen, there will be some of my nice  stew and homemade bread waitin for ya pet". replied Sister Thompson interrupting. After smoothing down her uniform and tucking her grey unruly hair beneath her crisp white nurses cap, she rushed off down the corridor humming to her-self with a backwards wave.

God Kathrine hated being called Katie, but no matter how many times she corrected Sister Thompson, it was always ignored. Kathrine smiled to herself, she was very fond of Sister Thompson she was not the only one; indeed all the staff and clients at Crag Hill felt the same.

Her friendly and caring ways were a breath of fresh air in this dark and gloomy hell hole, where the hours were long and the clients pampered. Mind you they paid through the nose for their stay, it was not your common or garden Sanatorium all of the clients here should she knew, be locked up and the key thrown away so bad were their history's.

But status and wealth and knowing the big--wigs of this world, had

seen to it that they were now receiving the best treatment from the very best psychiatric  team in the country.

Kathrine had joined the team at Crag Hill fresh from medical school; she had passed her degree with honours and had immediately been head hunted for the job here.

During the summer months Ravenscar had been buzzing with tourists, there was always some activity or other to try. Kathrine herself had taken up horse riding their guide had said she was a natural, a fact of which she was very proud.

She was accommodated at Raven Hall guest house when she had first arrived. A warm friendly atmosphere  and laid back easy going owners is she was sure, is what made the guest house such a hit with the public and how they got away with such exorbitant  prices.

During the winter months the guest house closes as the owners swan off to their condo in Miami Beach saying they hate winter in England and they make enough money by renting out their condo in summer and the takings of Raven Hall to take their yearly constitution, they work hard and they deserve their "little vacation."

Unfortunately for Katherine, this meant she had to leave the warm comfortable surroundings of Raven hall and now reside in the staff quarters known as the Crows Nest; at Crag Hill.

Her quarters were sufficient  enough although dark and gloomy, the small fire when lit, would offer some respite and cast a warming glow to the room.

Her quarters unfortunately only offered one small leaded window, so hardly any natural light entered the room. Although gloomy the decor and minimalistic style portrayed a semblance of the modern in the ancient building.

Even so Kathrine had made a promise to herself that as soon as Raven Hall opened for the summer season she would get back her old room there.

But now her car had died a death her salary although extremely good, would not stretch far enough for that and a new car.

With a heavy heart Katherine entered her room and smiled for the fire had been lit for her and a note from Sister Thompson lay propped against a  crystal vase filled with russet chrysanthemums and tiger Lillie's; welcoming her home and informing Katherine that Sister Thompson's green fingers and a fantastic green house, had produced the blooms and that she hoped that Katherine would have a very happy birthday.

Also included was a  silver shimmering bag and when Katherine opened it she found her favourite brand of Bourbon, cigarettes and a huge box of her favourite chocolates that the signed label  informed her were from all the staff and client's of Crag Hill.

Jumping in the shower and dressing in her favourite velveteen jogging suit and wrapping hair long blond hair into a towel, Katherine sighed in contentment and made her way down to the kitchen where a bowl of Sister Thompson's famous stew, she knew would be waiting for her.