Hansfield

         The weather seemed fitting, too fitting for what we had planned:  A light drizzle falling from an ever-darkening sky, a deep chill in the air.  The four of us had decided tonight would be perfect for finally doing it. 
         The fence in front of us presented the first obstacle.  A faded “No Trespassing Under Penalty of Law” sign hung crookedly from the chain-link.  We paused for a moment at the sign, then quickly, quietly, we climbed the vine-infested fence and dropped down on the other side.
                Almost immediately, the hairs on my arms began to stand up, a slight shiver ran down my spine.  The air on this side seem heavier, almost oppressing.  It was as if we had crossed a threshold, a separation between our world and another, much darker place.
         Hansfield State Mental Hospital loomed before us like some massive castle.  My initial thought was that its buildings looked like they should have been in Moscow, with their red brick façades and light blue roof spires.  Yet this place was much less inviting, in fact it gave off the air of a place that didn’t want to be disturbed.  Grass, weeds, and trees filled the courtyard, a testament to the years of disuse.  The windows of the buildings had long been boarded up, the black wood planks fading to grey.  It truly was a complex, with several wings, dormitories, and other structures all packed tightly onto the grounds.
         We stood looking up at the entrance to main building.  Etched deep into the white limestone around the double doors was “Hansfield State Mental Hospital est. 1874.”  The building certainly look like something from another time.  Vines had grown up the face of the building, stretching like fingers across the dark red bricks. 
                A camera clicked beside me.
         “This is going to be amazing.”  Amanda lowered her digital camera to view the image she had just taken.  “Oh, that’s gonna be the cover picture.  J what do you think?” 
         J, or Jason, had been one of my roommates for the past two years.  It had been his idea to come here.  In searching for local historical sights for a term paper, he came across the listing for Hansfield.  After a few weeks of research on the history of the facility, J had convinced us that we should drive up and check it out.  Amanda, his girlfriend, had volunteered to photograph the “adventure.” 
         “Doesn’t exactly look inviting does it?”  The question came from behind me.  Chad, our other roommate, was taking in the oppressive buildings.  When J first mentioned exploring the site, Chad had expressed his concern over the possibility of being arrested.  In fact, Chad had managed to come up with numerous reasons why he thought it a bad idea.  It took a few days of convincing but Chad eventually caved in and decided to accompany us.
         “No, it sure doesn’t,” I replied.  Even when this building was new it must have conveyed a menacing, foreboding feeling, I thought.
         “Alright, you guys ready?”  J pulled three flashlights out of his backpack and handed two to Chad and I, keeping one for himself and Amanda. 
         “Let’s do it,” Chad said with a shrug. 
                J and Amanda were already heading for the building.  I’ll admit, I was excited.  As a child I was always fascinated with abandoned houses; something about that first step that transported you instantly to another time.  And that thrill of the unexpected, the unknown, always excited me. 
         We caught up to Jason and Amanda just as he pried the final nails from one of the window boards.  He looked back at us before flipping on his flashlight.  “In we go.”  With that, Jason disappeared into the darkness.  Amanda followed quickly, then Chad.  I took a deep breath, then climbed over the windowsill and into Hansfield. 
*******************************
         It took a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the darkness.  The light from outside trickled through the open window and between some of the boards, but most of the interior was black.  I could see J’s flashlight in one of the rooms to my right, shining along paint-peeled walls.  I clicked on my flashlight and entered the room, Chad doing the same beside me. 
         Amanda was snapping pictures of a dark wooden desk in the corner.  Behind it a rigid chair lay on its side.  On the wall hung a calendar, the dates faded beyond recognition.  Those were the only objects in the room.  Somewhat disappointed, I stepped back into the hallway.  The others followed me. 
         “Let’s head farther in,” J said as he pulled out a map of the complex.  It was actually an aerial picture of Hansfield printed from the internet.  J had written in red marker what each building was.  “This entire place is connected.  Here’s the cafeteria, the theater, patient rooms, and medical building.”  He pointed to each as he said them.  “We can get to them all from right here.”
         “Hopefully there’s more to see than just empty rooms.”  Chad said exactly what I had been thinking. 
         “Well keep in mind, this place has been closed for the last twenty-some years.”  J’s research into Hansfield had been extensive, almost to the point of becoming an obsession.  “I’m sure anything important or valuable would be long gone.  But maybe the patient rooms will have something to show.”
         Flashlights in hand, we followed J to a set of wood-railing stairs leading up. 
*******************************
         The patient wing was, for lack of a better word, disturbing.  A long, dark hallway lined on both sides with rusty steel doors stretched out before us.  Most of the doors were swung open, our flashlights reflecting back at us in the small viewing windows cut into each door.  A number was written on the doors just above the viewing window.  The first one we came to was #372.  Amanda stopped to take a picture of the number.  Cautiously we entered the room.
         Light spilled through thick metal bars on the window.  In the corner sat a bed frame, its coil springs rusting in the heavy air.  A small broken wooden table leaned precariously against the wall.  Chad swung his flashlight around the room and let out a curse.  Painted just above the door on the inside of the room was the image of a clown.  It had a smile on its face, and might at one time have been pleasant to look at.  Now it was just horrifying.  The paint had faded, giving the face a pale dead look.  But the worst part was the eyes, or the lack of.  Either the patient or vandals had scratched out the eyes of the clown, leaving gaping black holes in the face.  We all stood staring at the image.
         “That’ll give me nightmares for a month.”  Amanda took a picture of the clown, then moved closer to Jason.  “People wonder why clowns are freaky…that’s why!”
         We all shared a slight chuckle. 
         “Come on,” J began, wrapping an arm around Amanda.  “There’s a lot more to explore.”
         The rest of the patient rooms were similar, some containing a few more objects, some being completely empty.  On the door to one room was written “Proceed with Caution.”  The bed in that room was one solid slab attached to the wall.  Cut into the slab were four inch slits.  When Amanda asked what they were for Jason informed her that they were used to tie the patient down. 
              We moved on through the hallway, eventually coming to another set of stairs.  A sign on the wall read “Basement” and had an arrow pointing down.  Beside was another sign with “Medical Wing” and an arrow pointing upward.  After Amanda captured that image we headed up.
*********************************
                The first room we came to was filled with old, rusted wheelchairs, all heaped on top of one another.  Some resembled modern chairs, while others seemed almost antique.  Chad noticed that many of the wheelchairs had restraints on the arms and legs.  There were even a couple full-body wheel chairs, the once white straps now faded a sickly yellow.
                Moving onward we came to a room simply marked “Examination.”  In the middle of the floor was a thick metal table.  A large apparatus of lights hung down from the ceiling directly above the table.  Along the wall ran a series of wires and conduit, all originating from a central electrical box.  A sink sat in the center of a countertop protruding from the far wall. 
                “Wonder what kind of examinations went on in here,” I said, looking down at a metal drain in the middle of the floor.  “Doesn’t look like any doctor’s office I’ve ever been in.”
              “Guess psychiatric hospitals are a little different,” Chad responded absently.  He was leafing through an old folder on a table.  “Guys, check this out.”
              The three of us walked over to see what Chad was looking at.
              “Amanda, you wanted nightmares…look at this.”  Chad held up a black and white Polaroid picture. 
              The photograph was of a man standing in the center of a room.  His head was shaved, his face gaunt and withered.  Heavy-lidded eyes were sunk deeply below his brow.  He wore a white gown with restraints keeping his arms at his sides.  On the white portion below the image was written:  “Patient 693:  Extremely Violent Does Not Respond To Treatment.”  At the lower corner of the Polaroid was the date, 11/02/81. 
We stood there in silence looking at the photograph.  Seeing an actual patient made our surroundings somehow more real, more alive. 
              Chad handed us another Polaroid.  Where the first one was slightly disturbing, the next was just hard to look at.  It was of a woman, one of the nurses from the white cap and gown she wore.  The whole left side of her face was battered and bruised, one eye completely swollen shut.  A large gash ran across the bridge of her nose, the blood appearing black in the photograph.  Her chin had also been split open, a crude butterfly bandage held the wound together.  In the white part of the photo was:  “Nurse Watts Assaulted By Patient 693 on 11/01/81.” 
              “Poor girl,” Amanda said solemnly.  “She looks so young.  That must have been horrible.”
              “There’s more.”  Chad tossed a handful of Polaroids onto the table.  Even in the poor light it was easy to see what was on them.  Image after image of battered nurses, doctors, and other patients covered the table.  There were also several photos of destroyed rooms and equipment, broken restraints and torn sheets.  Mixed in with these were photos of various patients, their numbers written below their images along with their treatment information.  We leafed through the Polaroids, matching up the patients with the images of their violent behavior.
              “Can you imagine working in a place like this?”  J handed me a photo of a security guard with a severely broken arm.   
              “What did they do with all these people when this place closed?” I asked. 
              Amanda was snapping pictures of the Polaroids. 
              “I read most of the patients were transferred to Anderson Behavioral Center,” J began, shaking his head.  “But that place isn’t set up for violent people like these.  I don't know.” 
              We finished looking through the photos and put them back in the folder.  Oddly it felt good to leave the pictures behind; it was like closing a book or turning off a movie when it gets too intense.
              Walking back into the hallway we headed towards the enclosed nurse’s station.  A metal door hung open, offering us entry.  Thick glass windows separated the station from the rest of the hallway.  A desk ran along the inner wall of the station providing a complete view of the patients’ rooms for the nurses.  There was very little else in the room aside from several empty filing cabinets and an overturned chair. 
            “What’s that?”  A piece of paper lying on the floor caught my eye.  It was roughly half the size of a piece of notebook paper, faded yellow over the years.  I could see there was something written on one side.  It was difficult at first to read the handwriting, a cursive flowing script.  But as I read, a chill ran down my spine.
            “I hate this place, especially at night.  I’m glad it’s closing.  We’ve moved them all to the basement, the door is locked.  I just want to leave.  May God have mercy.”  It was signed simply “E.M.”
            I handed the note to J, who read it aloud.  As he finished a deep silence fell over the four of us.  Chad and I exchanged looks of confusion.  Amanda reached up and held Jason’s hand. 
            Finally, J broke the silence. 
            “They locked them in the basement.”  The words seemed to hang in the air. 
            “Can you blame them?”  Chad said almost defensively.  “You all saw what they did to the staff.”
            “You can’t just lock people away to die.”  Amanda’s voice was distant, as if she was thinking out loud. 
            “We have to go down there, see if anyone’s left.”  J seemed to be pleading with us.  He dropped the note.  I watched as it floated back to the floor, forgotten.  Jason moved toward the door, then stopped and turned back to us.  “Whoever they were, whatever they did, they didn’t deserve that.  Are you guys coming?”
            Amanda moved first, following Jason.  She had always been a very independent girl, we often joked that she wore the pants in their relationship.  If she didn’t want to do something she didn’t do it.  But I could see it in her eyes then:  She was unsure. 
            Chad looked at me.  I could tell he didn’t want to go any further, but I had to.  I don’t know if it was curiosity or not, but I found myself following Amanda and J out into the hall.  Behind me I heard Chad let out a deep sigh, then hurry to catch up to us.
*********************************
            We were practically running through the dark, our flashlights casting jumping shadows down the hallway.  We reached the stairway and followed the steps down into the darkness. 
            At the bottom of the stairs we were greeted by two massive arched steel doors.  A large rusted wheel, much like those on a ship, was welded to one of the doors. 
            “Must be the lock,” Jason said.  The look he gave us seemed to say should we really open this?  After that brief hesitation, J made up his mind.  Putting the flashlight between his teeth he grabbed the wheel and began turning.  An ear-splitting screech rang out as the old steel moved.  Flecks of brown rust fell to the floor.  It took about three rotations but finally the wheel ceased to turn.  With a push, J slowly opened the door. 
            Ahead lay a corridor, blacker than any other place we had seen, the floor sloping downward.  Our flashlights barely penetrated the darkness.
            “Stay close.”  J led as the rest of us followed, shoulder to shoulder. 
*********************************
            We walked for what seemed like several minutes, the corridor twisting left and right but always with the same downward slope.  Above our heads clusters of piping and wires ran along the arched ceiling.  The floor was damp and we sloshed through occasional puddles.  The light from our flashlights reflected off the close walls but seemed to be swallowed up by the encompassing dark.  I had never been in such utter blackness.
              Suddenly J stopped. 
              “What?  Do you see something?”  Amanda asked, squinting into the light. 
Jason didn’t move.  He stood as if frozen, his eyes focused down the hall.  I followed his gaze. 
         About a hundred feet or so from us, just at the limit of J’s light, I could see something white.  It looked like a sheet or lab coat hanging from the wall, but at that distance it was hard to tell.  Chad and I shined our flashlights on the object.  Something about it seemed strange.  Before I could say anything, it turned and moved out of the light.
         All four of us jumped.  J swore as he dropped his flashlight.  I couldn’t move, couldn’t even speak. 
         “What was that!?”  Chad’s voice shook.  I could hear Amanda breathing heavily.  J looked at me, a blank expression on his face.  I didn’t know what to do.  My mind was just beginning to thaw. 
         “That was one of them,” Amanda spoke in quick gasps.  “Wasn’t it?  What do we do?”
         “We have to find him.”  Jason had recovered and now sounded adamant.  “There may be more down here.”
         “Yeah, that’s exactly why we should leave,” Chad said.  “Don’t you remember those photos?  These people were violent!  They got locked down here for a reason!”
         “No.”  I couldn’t believe what I was about to say.  “They don’t deserve this.  We have to keep looking.” 
         J nodded at me.  Amanda, eyes as big as saucers in the dim light, took a steadying breath. 
         “We won’t make you stay Chad,” J began.  “You can find your way back out.”  With that, J moved on, Amanda right behind him. 
         I glanced at Chad, standing there holding his flashlight.  Then I followed the others.
*********************************
         My heart was beating so hard I thought it would rip through my shirt.  As much as I felt compelled to find that person, part of me was screaming to turn around.  Ignoring that voice, I trudged forward with my friends. 
         The hallway turned ninety degrees to the right, no doors, no stairs, just walls and piping.  J and I had our flashlights out and Amanda was using the light from her digital camera to keep the darkness at bay.  Another quick ninety degree turn, this time to the left.
         There, in the pitch black, illuminated only by our lights, stood the figure. 
         No one moved, neither us nor the man.  He was facing the wall, his arms hanging at his sides.  The once white gown he wore now was stained and faded.  His feet were bare and covered with calluses and dirt. 
         “Jason…”  Amanda held the camera halfway up, as if uncertain about taking a picture. 
         “Hey, we’re here to help you.”  Jason’s words echoed off the walls and carried down the hall.  He inched closer to the man, holding his hand out.  Slowly, J raised his flashlight towards the man’s bald head.  “We’re gonna get you out of here.”
         The light reached the man’s face.  Without warning, he began screaming.  It was a shrill, horrible sound.  It jolted my entire body.  The three of us stepped back but the man never turned from the wall.  He just stood there screaming. 
         Not sure what to do, J approached the man.  He lowered the flashlight and placed his other hand on the man’s shoulder.  Then it all happened so fast.
         The man, still screaming, turned and knocked the light from Jason’s hand.  It fell to the floor with a metallic crunch and turned off.  I had a brief look at his eyes; pale, unseeing.  Then he spun and ran off into the darkness.  I stood still, watching him disappear from the light. 
         J slowly picked up his flashlight, obviously shaken from what just happened.  Amanda asked if he was alright, receiving only a curt nod. 
         “J, what do we do now?”  I asked, no longer sure that I wanted to go any further. 
         Before he could answer, we heard a door open from somewhere in the darkness ahead.  It made a terrible creaking sound, like something from a movie.  Then another door groaned open, this one sounding larger.  A dull scraping noise drifted down the hallway towards us, followed by an odd shuffling sound.
I stood there with the one flashlight we now had remaining, trying to see something, anything, in the black before us.  The sounds were still to far away, but getting closer.  Another door opened, this time voices could be heard, very faint but unmistakable. 
                “We need to go.”  The urgency in Jason’s voice was palpable. 
                “Yeah, I think you’re right,” I said.  I wanted to be back in the light, out of this dungeon.  I could feel myself getting lightheaded.
                Flashlight in hand, I turned and started heading back the way we came.  J and Amanda were right on my heels.  The sounds behind us began to grow louder, more intense.  We started to run. 
                The hallway seemed so much darker than before, and longer.  For a split second I had a feeling of sheer terror when I thought we might be lost. 
                My fear abated when we turned a corner and saw before us a light. 
Chad stood there, flashlight in hand, a confused look on his face.
                “What’s going on down there?” he asked.  “I went back to the entrance to wait for you guys, but then I heard this screaming.  So I came back down to check it out.”
                “Tell you later,” J started.  “Just go!”  He was leading Amanda by the hand.
We reached the double doors leading out of the basement and stopped to catch our breaths. 
         “Close it.”  Amanda spoke between gasps.  “We have to close it for now.” 
         Jason agreed and together we helped shut the heavy steel door.  It slammed with a resonating boom. 
*********************************
         Three days after we visited Hansfield State Mental Hospital, authorities responded to a fire that had broken out.  Reports claimed that it had started it the basement, and placed the blame on an improperly disconnected gas valve.  The main building had sustained heavy damage and would likely have to be torn down. 
         We never told anyone of our visit, or what we found, for fear of being tied to the fire.  Jason changed the topic of his paper to a local Civil War battlefield.  The pictures that Amanda had taken were saved onto a flash drive and kept hidden.  It took several weeks but eventually I began to sleep through the night.  Chad adjusted better, maintaining that he had told us not to go in the first place.  But he hadn’t seen what we saw, hadn’t heard the sounds in the darkness.  Every now and again I find myself waking up in the middle of the night, turning on a light to ward off the dark.