Wakey wakey. The time to act is now.

What first came back was the sound of rain tapping against glass. Then, the feeling of a soft mattress came to my senses as my nervous system sparked alight. I was alive, awake, and not in my own bed. My eyes burnt as I opened them, revealing the room surrounding me.

I was in a bedroom in St. Dymphna’s hospital. The same layout as the patients were in. Did I really hit my head that badly? I thought to myself.

Pushing myself up, I noticed that I felt… Good. Excellent, even. Whereas I would have expected to be in pain from my injuries and weak from exhaustion, I felt well fed and healthy. Rather than how badly I hit my head, I wondered how long have I been here? What happened?

I grasped the covers to get out of bed to notice I had gained weight. So much so that I could tell by simply viewing my fingers, which were no longer pale white and skeleton-esque, but somewhat flushed with color and more regular in size. Continuing out of bed and towards my window, I viewed my own reflection. I was ghastly thin, still, but I was no longer starving, at the very least. Although that was a blessing, I also noticed the dark shadows under my eyes were deeper than ever.

Outside the window was the courtyard of the hospital. Rain poured down harshly, and the black clouds blotted the sun so greatly that I could barely see.

My self-collection was brought to an abrupt stop as my door began to creak open. Quickly swiveling on my heels, I saw a caretaker walk in. He carried a single glass cup with a clear liquid in it. “Good morning, Chatwood.” He said, nonchalantly. He walked towards me, extending the glass. I looked at him confusedly, which made him respond. “Come on. Take your medicine.”

Part of me wanted to ask countless questions. Clarify where I was. Figure out what had happened… But my instincts spoke to the contrary. I wondered if I had cracked. If I had truly lost it and been taken in... Whatever the answer was, I felt the need to figure it out with subtlety.

Quietly, I took the glass. The clear liquid smelled like the most potent alcohol I had ever come upon, with a distinct alkalotic scent hidden underneath. I swung the cup back and filled my mouth with the foul liquid. The caretaker continued to watch me, making sure I swallowed. He raised his brow afterward, leading me to open my mouth and show that I had consumed his vile concoction.

The caretaker nodded, took the cup, and left. I immediately felt disoriented and lightheaded, but I tried my best to keep my wits about me.

Once I believed the coast to be clear, I threw open the window and released the stormy weather into my room. Rain instantly drenched me as I leaned over the railing and jabbed my fingers to the back of my throat. The need to regurgitate rose, and I gladly coerced it further by rocking forward. In a moment, I had spewed the viscous, frothy, vomit in the shrubberies below.

Whatever that liquid was, it was not my usual medication…

As for my usual medication… I could feel the engulfing blackness crawling further into my peripheral vision… From that I knew I was sober. My body had no medication circulating through it. Nothing between me and them.

A bell was ringing in the distance, along with incoherent yelling. My guess was that it was breakfast.

I had to keep from giving myself away, which meant going to eat with all the other patients. How I would excuse the state of myself, dripping wet with rainwater, was more difficult. The only thing I had the time to do was quickly dry myself with the frayed bedsheets I had bundled at the foot of the bed when I awoke. After that, I made my way to the lounge.

There was a long line of patients, all shuffling toward a single server at a window to the kitchen. I picked a tray and got in the line. I noticed I was not wearing my usual clothing, but a plain white shirt and trousers. Not a button up shirt and fitted pants like the caretakers, but something akin to being draped in a burlap sack.

The food came, and it was a grotesquely over-aged assortment of oats, fruits, and a single sliver of dried meat.

I had to keep my strength, so I consumed the meal in its entirety. As I did, I watched the sunken faces of those around me. Every single time I had seen the patients before, they seemed somewhat unsettling, but for the most part calm. Now that I saw clearly and without alteration, I noticed them weep and fidget and pick and gnaw upon themselves in anxiety. The hospital had changed, and for the worse.

After my meal was finished, I continued to watch the mumbling, anguished, patients. In the crowd, I made out a familiar face.

Bradley wandered with the group, his eyes wide and twitching from place to place as if he were lost. I got up and made my way to him, shoving past the waves of zombified ill. Once he was within distance, I whispered to him. “Bradley? Bradley?”

He did not look at me, instead continuing to wander. He was mumbling as he walked, but I had not the ability to hear what he said. Getting closer and putting my hand on his shoulder, he finally raised his voice enough for me to make out the incomprehensible jargon he recited. “Ul’roth N’tho C’thelo…” he continued speaking in the unknown language as my hand fell from his shoulder and he continued on his way.

I had no familiarity of the words themselves, but the cadence of his speech was eerily nostalgic… That was no matter at the moment, though. The important knowledge I had garnered was that Bradley was incapacitated, and my guess was whatever medicine they tried to give me would do the same.

Instead of following Bradley, I made my way to where I remembered the exit to be. A deep feeling of dread brewed in my stomach along with the rotten flesh and stale oats. I continued to push past the patients, forcing my way closer. With each person I had to move, I grew more rushed to escape.

I had no idea what locks or security awaited me, but I knew I could find a way around them. It took only a moment after that to get near the door. Yet before I could release myself from the depressing crowd of lunatics, I came across another familiar face.

Emilia sat in one of the old armchairs, her head leaned back as she stared into space. I knew it had to have been fruitless, but nevertheless I had to try getting her attention.

Walking up to her, I kneeled to eye-level. Surprisingly, Emilia lowered her gaze to meet mine, keeping our gazes interlocked with some sense of intelligence behind it. In a hushed voice, I spoke. “Emilia? It’s Chatwood. Theodore. Do you remember me?”

In a startlingly loud voice, Emilia responded. “WHAT?” I nearly jumped from my skin as faces turned to look at us both. Footsteps approached rapidly.

With no other option, I jumped to my feet and tried to merge with the crowd. It was mostly successful by the time two caretakers pushed through the mindless patients. One of the workers, lurching and thin, spoke to her in an impatient tone. “What is it now???”

Emilia calmly followed everyone else’s gaze to the workers, in which she responded at the same ear-piercing volume. “WHAT? I CAN’T HEAR YOU PAST THE SCREAMING.”

The two workers shifted in their posture upon hearing such things, as did I. They timidly backed into the crowd to return to their stations as they decided nothing was wrong, and I walked deeper into the mob.

Finally, I got to the exit. I could hear rain crashing against the cobblestone path as I found the door to be… open….

Not only that, but the gate outside was also open. There was no security or precautions set in place whatsoever. If one wanted to brave the rain and exit, they could easily do so.

My feet began to move forward, yet as I came upon the doorway I paused. My friends were in there, completely helpless. I still knew nothing about how I even got there. I had not even seen Hughes or Price, and I knew that the police would not assist and escaped insane asylum patient… I could not leave. Not without the others.

Reluctantly, I retreated from the exit.

I had to figure out exactly what had happened since I hit my head, and there was but one person I thought could provide some information…

Shuffling through the crowd, I went to the back of the lounge, and eventually broke off into the hall that led to our rooms. There was a caretaker roaming the hall, making sure each respective patient went to their own chambers. He allowed me to walk back to my own, as many other people did after breakfast, except I needed to go even farther.

I waited for a good half hour so my face would not be fresh on his mind, then I creaked open my door.

The black stormclouds blotted out almost all light, making the caretaker, or guard, pace the halls with a candle. He was easy to spot, which made me confident I could time myself well.

First, I waited for him to traverse past my room towards the lounge, then I would be able to make some distance between us.

When he left and I fully emerged into the hallway, I felt a sense of dread looking in the shadows. It became so dark that I could not fully see the end, and it reminded me of the depths of the sunken ship. Nevertheless, I continued.

After a few seconds of moving down the hall, I began to feel as if I was not making any progress whatsoever. The candlelight behind me crept ever closer, yet I had no ability to move forward. For each step I took, the hall only became longer. The infinite depths of the corridor continued to grow as I broke out into a sprint, hoping to overcome my position locked in space. The speed helped nothing as the hallway continued.

The light behind me grew closer. I was going to get caught if I did not move more hastily. Exerting all the energy I could into my legs, I sped further down the infinity-loop. Doors of countless numbers and exactly similar features flew by as I began to pant in exhaustion.

Dozens upon dozens passed until no more doors appeared from the blackness. I tried to slow my descent into the abyss, but I had dedicated too much momentum. In a moment, I was engulfed in the blackness.

When I looked back, the doors were no longer present. I could sense nothing of my surroundings but an enormous sense of space.

Never before had my entire surroundings changed. Never before had I become trapped in a vision all around me…

I decided to run back to the direction I thought I had came, although it was more a guess than anything. I ran, and ran, and ran, never finding the end.

At that point, I wished I had been found by the guard and his candlelight. It was so dark, yet not the kind of blackness that kept myself from seeing my own hands. I wished I had some light to pierce the darkness, although in my gut I knew such things would not help with the type of shadow I was in.

No time to sit and wish. I had to keep running.

I sprint forth, and without warning I rammed into a metal structure. The back of my head spiked in pain as the front made collision with the large metal door. The knock brought my wits about me, and the real world materialized once more.

My collision was with a thick, locked, metal door at the very end of the hall. All the other doors were metal and kept shut, lock and key. When I was in the blackness, I had not even heard the screaming.

From each door was a different wail of anguish, but this one, at the very end, rang out with a familiar voice. Hughes bellowed in a rasped tone, his voice lost from countless hours of screaming no doubt.

I grasped the door and immediately tried to open it, yet it was to no avail. I had no means to undo the lock. The only action I could take was to open the small slit near the top of the door to view him, although when I witnessed him, I had wished I hadn’t.

The walls were made of canvas draped over a plush material. On them were numerous smears of dried blood. In the corner, going through a mix of weeping and screaming, was Hughes. His scalp was bloody and bald, having torn all his hair out. His torso was tightly wrapped in a straitjacket, keeping him prone. He was facing away from me, forcing me to call out in order to see him better.

“H-H-Hughes?” I choked out.

His head snapped to the door, showing me his full countenance. His eyes were bloodshot and red. Ten deep fingernail gashes went from his forehead to his jaw, cutting through skin to the muscle beneath. His nose had been torn off, leaving nothing but two open nostrils coated blackish red with blood. He drooled at the mouth, the majority of his teeth missing. What was left in his gummy maw were rotted, yellow and partially broken. The man was near irecognizable from the Hughes I once knew. Yet even though he looked akin to some combination of a corpse and a leper, the tears in his eyes showed the same humanity as before.

I stepped away, barely able to stomach seeing him. As I did, he went from screaming in pain to moaning in desperation. He could not verbalize any words, but he cooed in such a way that I knew he was calling for me to return to his sight.

“I-I’ll come back… Just hold on a little longer… I’ll be back…” I said, continuing down the corridor. He went from moaning to crying.

My heart told me to go back, but I knew there was nothing for me to do. If I wanted to help him, I could not stay.

I had to use my time well. I had to figure out what had happened. I had to find my mother.

Before I could get to her room, the candlelight in the hall shone once more. There was nowhere for me to hide, and I refused to return to the darkness at the end of the hall.

The guard found me right away and gasped. Soon his surprise went to anger, though. “What are you doing!?” He asked. Before I could conjure a lie, he commanded. “Come with me.”

I hesitantly followed him, seeing my mother’s door as we continued back. I would have to find another opportunity to see her. Then, she could tell me what happened. I hoped she would be coherent, as my mother was the only chance I had at gaining traction towards figuring out what had occurred since I hit my head.

The guard brought me to my room and opened the door, shoving me inside. The door slammed shut as I was made to think about my mistakes… The horrors I had just seen brought unto my companion…

In less than a moment, another caretaker barged into my room. The same man from earlier in the morning. The same as last time, he held a glass of clear liquid in his hand.

“Theodore! You’re wandering off again!?” He said.

Again? I thought.

He placed the glass on my desk and walked to the window. I held my tongue as he took a key and locked it shut. “We’re going to have to quarantine you once more. You can have the privilege to open your window and leave your room at dinner.” Afterwards, he took the glass and handed it to me. It was a full minute before I could force myself to drink it, knowing there was no way out of becoming mindless.

I gave it back and the caretaker hastily left the room and locked the door. There was no longer anywhere to rid myself of the vicious drink. I was doomed for the rest of the day, and I doubted that I would even remember the things I had saw if I did not leave a sign for myself.

My legs already ceased to listen as I stumbled towards the desk. I threw open the drawers, finding nothing but a bent ink pen. I fell to my knees upon taking the pen, trying to fight the drugs as precious seconds passed by.

I crawled back to the bed. There was no time to write anything for myself, so my best option was to simply write a tally mark of the days passed on the bedframe. Surely I would rummage through my room and see the mark, and then I could begin tracking my days in the asylum.

With all my strength and coordination, I lifted the mattress. I readied the pen, knowing I would have to use its sharp edge to cut a notch into the wood.

Then, I saw it. Right where I had intended to place my mark.

There were already dozens of notches…