What Is It About Certain Places?

Carol Newsom's reporter senses are on alert. 300 words

What Is It About Certain Places?

“I hate this place!” I covered my mouth as if the comment had slipped past my inner censor.

“So do I,” said the woman I was sitting having coffee with.

I stared at her.

“You think because I work here, I like the place?”

I nodded. She shook her head.

“I pity these poor people, and I try to help them get well, but I don’t like the way they run this place!”

“What don’t you like about it?” I asked, prepared to make mental notes of what she said.

“It’s creepy. They pretend to be a high-class spa/hospital so they can collect the big bucks. But in reality, it’s not much different from the old insane asylums of the old days.”

“Like strapped to a bed, electroshock therapy...”

She nodded.

I looked around. The place was bright, sunny and cheerful. The woman was watching me.

“All this is window dressing, the kind people see when they come to have their loved ones helped here.”

“Ms. What is your name?”

“Everybody calls me Annette Lubbock, so you can too.”

“My name is Carol Newsom. Tell me more.”

“Meet me in the Common Room in about an hour, and we’ll talk some more.”

“Annette, time to clean the bathrooms,” a harsh voice said.

I watched her go and turned to the matron who had addressed her.

“Why is she here?”

“Same reason you are. She killed her husband and children one night. In fact, you have a lot in common, she used to write murder mysteries. I hear you’re a crime reporter.”

Memories took over and I began to scream endlessly. The matron had me sedated and restrained in a bed before I could blink twice. I got lost in the horror of nightmares again.