Morgan Travis (for now)

**Looking to publish somehow**


Morgan Travis stared fixedly ahead at the textured beige wall in her new three-story home. A small trail of clear saliva strted to course down her pink lips to her chin. Ever since she arrived, Morgan was continually patted tamely on the shoulder and told how lucky a girl she happened to be to havea room all to herself.
"Soon," the nurse explained with sick, mocked enthusiasm, "someone will move in, and you two can be best friends! Wont that be great?"
Usually, the nurses would giggle with their repulsive high pitched voices, and soon retreat to a more talkitive visitant seated among the wood corridors
-Great, yes, friends- Morgan contemplated, a small, distinctly cynical smile materializing through her drooling visage.
EVERYONE IS FRIENDS AT MAPLE HOLLOW PSYCHIATRIC CENTER

• • •

Maple Hollow Psychiatric Center, or what most called MHPC to save their breath, was located in the secluded area of Chassie, England. Built around the year 1902, the extensive three story Tudor type home rested regally atop a lofty hill. To a naturalistic eye, theTudor seemed to be like a overbearing teacher, and the surounding deciduous forest its pupils.
The hilltop was immaculate. The grass looked to be polished with emeralds, and beaded with glassy diamonds for a fresh morning dew appearance. Symmetrically placed trees gave the estate punctilious appearance to the average passer by.
The abode itself was grand looking, and not at all like any kind of institute for the mentally ill. Standing three stories tall, it looked to be painted with a cream colored stucco and outlined by cherry wood beams with a French Mannered door that sported heavy cast iron hinges. The dwellings numerous windows were all barred, but somehow that hardly took away from overall calm, idealic scenery.
However, the placid scenery just described is a dirct contrast to what lie inside those thick walls.

• • •

Morgan Leigh Travis, 24, of Kaden, England, was admitted into MHPC on July 10th of 1978. Before she came to the center, Morgan was a professional attourney for a booming law firm, ML&T, who lived on the shoreline of the North Sea in the kinetic city of Tynemouth. She owned three notably healthy houses, married four exceptionally wealthy men (not simultaneously, of course), and spent most of her existence at highly fashionable dinner parties, or lounging on her yacht.
Morgan was comely and buxom, attracting attention from the populace everywhere she traveled. She had soft, straight red hair, and two bright, sparkling green eyes above lightly freckled cheeks. She was envied by every girl, and some of those few choice males, in England.
No doubt her life was incredibly thriving, until now: 1978 on the 10th day in July.

• • •

A large white truck pulled into the gravel semi-circle driveway, carrying inside it it the young Morgan Travis. Two younger men exited the cab of the vehicle and proceeded to amble towards the rear to cautiously unlock the small confines.
"Righ' pleasan' day to travel in teh Nutter-Buster today, ay Jimbo?" William Shank quiried, looking to the unimpeded blue sky, and sheilding his eyes from the glowing sun. William Shank, nick-named "Will" by all his mates, was a tall, lanky man with golden tinted hair and large aqua eyes. However, having the notorious blonde hair and blue eyes doesn't make you attractive allt he time. Will's peachy face was splotched in red pimples, which made him look more like eighteen than the twenty-five he actually was. His nose jutted out like a jagged iceberg, and his eyes were set deep into his skull so that he looked more like a neanderthal than a typical homosapien.
"Too right old chap! Beau'iful day to deliver, I says!" Jim Anderson replies, shading his eyes, likewise, and scanning the sky. Quite different from Will, Jim was short and portly with alabaster skin, green eyes, and rust tinted hair. Unlike Wills, his face felt smooth as silk with a hint of stubble on his chubby jaw line.
They stood a moment admiring the heavens. Letting out a deep sigh and dropping his arms heavily to his sides Will spoke, "Come on, Jimbo. Let's feed this nutter to the squirrels. Ya got th' keys?"
Jim lowered his eyes from the sky to meet the gaze of his friend. He hesitated a moment then began frantically searching his pockets.
"DOn' tell me you lost th' keys! You bloody dolt, why'd they hire ya ta this job if ya can't ever find ya keys?!" Will shouted.
After waiting a moment, Jim produced a set of keys from his back pocket. They both uttered a relieved sigh and found the key that unlocked the door's padlock. Carefully they opened the doors to reveal light to the gloomy inside. The interior of the truck was padded with old, thin cots that smelled of ripe sweat and excretments. The small benches that weren't rotted out were covered with dilapidated cushions with lumpy fillinh.
Sitting furthest away from them in the farthest spider infested corner sat Morgan. Her red mass of hair looked convoluted as it hung every which way over her sweat stained restraint jacket. Her eyes darted between the two men fr a moment then retreated into the inner confines of her thoughts. SHe could hide there: nobody would be able to catch her if she stayed hid.
-Nana na na nana-
A trickle of spittle made it's way onto her lip destined for her chin as her body relaxed and went limp.
WIll and Jim didn't hesitate climbing into the truck to retrieve Morgan. They each grabbed one of her arms and, hunkering down to aviod low ceilings, pulled her out of the vehicle safely and without fuss.
"Hold onto 'er a sec can ya? Gimme th' keys to shut th' door." Jim stated Authoritively. Will held onto both of Morgan's arms trying to keep her from swaying dangerously back and forth. The doors locked, and each taking one of Morgan's Jacketed arms, Made their way into Maple Hollow.

• • •

Ever since she was a child, Morgan heard a voice. SHe recalled it starting on her seventh birthday party, back in 1961. Just before blowing out her seven blue, yellow, and pink candles on her cake she gained the notion that she heard someone's voice, but not any of her relative's voices. However, none fo her relatives had a vocalization quite like the one that she heard. The voice sounded very small, but she sensed that it wwas like a hurricane behind an almost soundproof brock wall; you could not ascertain its full potential.
The voice whispered what sounded like her name.
-Mor-...Mor-...Morgan...Morgan-
Could it really be there? SHe did not have the answer.
Throughout the course of time the miniscule sound of the voice grew stronger. Before three years had passes Morgan could COnverse effortlessly with this voice. SOmetimes it gave her helpful advice, and other times it only got her into trouble. She soon learned that the more she listened, obeyed, and followed through with what the voice said, the less she got caught doing wrongful deeds.
In time the voice grew into it's own entity, sprouting the body of a wolf. He was a tall fellow who stood on his hind legs with long shaggy tan fur. His eyes were large and black, and his claws were long and sharp.
She decided, after a term, that she would name the voice Faolan, meaning Wolf.
One sullen night Morgan awoke from a horrible nightmare. She had been falling through colorful nothingness, tumbling endlessly through tunnels of madness, frefalling into hell.

• • •

Dr. Raimie shuffled through paperwork in her sober looking office. She had been operating in the surgical unit in MHPC for forty four years this coming May. Her gray hair flailed all over her face as she bent down looking at her growing stack of papers on her desk. She sported black bags under her eyes, and tattered, moth eaten clothing. Ever since her battle with cancer she has taken care of fewer patients in the operating room; she usually leaves it up to her younger assistants to manage. She left it up to them, but she did not do so willingly. Her two younger attendants used modern tools that she had never read up on before, let alone laid eyes on. The old fashioned way worked best for her.
Her favorite tool to use happened to be the surgical drill. It may not be the best looking tool or the most sanitary tool in her office, but she did enjoy using it.

-You need sleep-

She chuckled sortly herself, "Crazy? Not I. I have a new patient coming in at 1 o'clock today, you know. I don't want to be half rested for the surgery."
Her lips curled into a sinister smile for a fraction of a second and her eyes squinted as she managed a small yawn.

-On second thought, I could go for a nap-

She slowly got out of her chair and stalked scross the stale smelling room to her dusty day bed. Dr. Raimie hesitated before she sat, her arthritis was getting worse and it was hard to grip things sometimes as well as walk. She gritted her teeth and plopped heavily on the day bed causing dust to spurt in all directions and her to cough arduously.
After the dust settled, Dr. Raimie fell instantly asleep. She slept for a number of hours, right through 1 o'clock.

• • •

"Tell me what you hear Morgan. Who talks to you?" Dr. Jay quiried in a soft tone. He was eagerly leaning against his mahogany colored desk with his long blonde bangs, which strayed from his ponytail, brushing against his eyelashes. He quickly brushed his hair behind his pierced ears and continued to look eagerly at the new patient in the chair infront of him.

-Don't tell him Morgan. He's on the Outside. He can't come in.-

"I can't tell you. You can't come in." Morgan said in a monotonously droning tone. Her eyes were transfixed with the pattern of wood grain on the desk. She arrived in Dr. Jay's office directly after she was half dragged into the institute. Once arriving through the doors her straight jacket had been removed and she was quickly escorted into the becoming office belonging to Dr. Jay. Upon arriving She sat limply in the chair in front of Dr. Jay's desk. Her face looked dirty and splotched with dots of old blood.
"Good God," Jay thought, "they didn't even wash her off after she killed them."
He was a handsome counselor with black, thin rimmed glasses infront on icy blue eyes. His jaw looked broad and he had a dabble of beard growing on his chin. He ignored her answer, not letting her see his frustration.
"Morgan, do you know why you came here to see me today?" he paused to wait for her answer.
She heard nothing out of Faolan, but she felt him sulking in the back of her head. He did not like all these questions from Dr. Jay. After thinking for a moment, Morgan decided to answer his question, since Faolan Hadn't told her not to. She desperatly wanted to please Dr. Jay.
"I came to see you because he told me to." Morgan Replied after a tense silence had elapsed.
Dr. Jay sat unblinking for a moment, expecting more of an explanation. When he got none he spoke again, "Who told you to come?"
For the first time that whole visit Morgan sat up straight and stared him in the face and managed a small smile. Dr. Jay could see how lovely she was even through her dirt, and rusty colored blood caked face.
"Faolan told me to come. Not directly of coarse, but he told me what to do, and I just arrived here by fate." she replied in a not so monotonous tone as before.
"Maybe she's coming out if it." Jay thought.
Faolan laughed softly to himself inside of Morgan's head.
"Tell me what happened to you, Morgan. WHat controls you? Who do you hear? Why did you kill all of those peopl?" Dr. Jay asked while waving his arms in extreme gentures. He was unsure of his own emothions that were surfacing, btu could not, and did not want to hide them.
Morgan's eyes glazed over as if traveling into a far off corner in her mind. SHe spoke with a distant, almost nostalgic tone in her voice.
"I remember the night before I did those things. Faolan and I were reading "The secret Window, Secret Garden" by Stephen Kind, Our favorite author," she paused, "respectively. The clock over our cherrywood mantle struck the midnight hour." She chuckled, "It startled me. 'nothing to be afrais of Morgan' Faolan would tell me. He always reassured me like that wne I was afraid. e rose to go upstaris to our bedroom and sleep as I shut the book and neatly placed it on the table."
As her mind began to wander, she closed her eyes and saw everything happening again as if she might be reliving it. How could Faolan be letting her do this? She relayed every detail she saw to Dr. Jay who sat attentively at his desk.

• • •

She stared at the book lying on the table. Steven King was her and Faolan's favorite author.

-to bed with us Morgan, Darling-

"Yes, Faolan. Let's go to bed." She said aloud.
She turned slowly around and headed up the stairs and into her bedroom to sleep. After brushing her teeth, and combing her hair, Morgan got into her bed and closed her eyes for the night.