"Thanks for that image," Derik says.
But at least it makes Liza smile. And Mimi smiles too. I can see the corner of her mouth turn upward, even under that ski mask.
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***
The wooded hill that leads up to the hospital is just behind us. Derik gives us each a walkie-talkie and a head-mounted flashlight.
"This could be kinky," I say, pulling the flashlight cap-thing over my head, so that the beam angles out from my forehead.
We work our way up and sideways along the hill, fighting through branch-and-brush hell the entire way. The forest is thicker than I'd expect for March. Everything's still dead from winter, but that also means my various body parts are icing up. It's so effing cold up here, I just want to curl into a tiny ball.
We keep moving forward at a decent clip, Mimi in the lead with Derik close behind her, his camera propped atop his shoulder, ever eager for fruity footage. I'm in the back, following behind Liza, ready to swoop in and give her a shoulder-- or the body part of her choice--in case she needs it.
Nobody really says anything--not when we pass the first sign promising jail time and fines for all who trespass, and not when we pass the twentieth sign that promises the same thing. It seems we're already on hospital property. Apparently, according to Mimi--oh, wise one of haunted asylums--Danvers State spans five hundred acres of land. I press the speak button on my walkie-talkie and let out a couple Jason-from -Friday-the-13th grunts, a couple che-che-che-heh-heh-heh's to lighten the mood, but nobody seems to appreciate it.
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"Are you trying to get us caught?" Derik's voice plays through my speaker.
"I'm trying to make this interesting," I argue, wondering if everybody's sense of humor got extracted with the last lobotomy. At the same moment, a sharp branch scratches across my chin. "Crap!"
"Are you all right?" Liza asks, peeking back at me.
"Better now," I say, happy for her concern. Even happier that she's walking right in front of me, where I can score a good view of her lucky (for me) Seven jeans.
A good twenty minutes--and eighty scratches later-- and we finally make it up to the top. Derik, still filming, orders us to click off our headlights to avoid being seen, and then we sprint across what appears to be a meadow of sorts.
Until we finally get there. And see it. It's like a huge rush, and I have no idea why. I have no idea why I even care. I mean, the place is creepy to the fiftieth power. There are a couple of spotlights strategically placed about the grounds--for the patrol guys, no doubt--enabling us to get a decent view. The main building has wings that jut out on both sides, making it seem even longer. There are gables and steeples all over the main building that reach up into the sky, giving it a Gothic flair.
Standing at the edge of the campus, I look out onto the grounds, noticing the smaller, more modern-looking buildings scattered about--and how one of them is only a short distance away.
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Liza is practically shaking--from the cold or from nervousness, I have no idea. "How are you doing?" I ask her. "Do you want to borrow my scarf?"
I'm just about to take it off when I notice a spotlight blink over what appears to be a garden of overgrown deadness--dry and twisted trees, and walkways spilling over with bushes from hell. "Did anyone see that?" I ask, completely focused on the spotlight, on how it seems to be fully illuminated now.
"See what?" Tony asks.
I shake my head, deciding to just keep it to myself.
Even though the main building is still a good three hundred yards away, it seems so close. And I suppose it is. I mean, it's one thing to see this place from the back of a mini-golf course, when it's far enough away to crack jokes about shock treatments and straitjackets and not feel self-conscious doing it. But it's a completely different thing when it's sprawled out in front of you like a castle. When you probably shouldn't even be here, let alone say anything disrespectful.
Still, there's just something about this place that calls out to me, like it wants to invite me in. And I'm nuts enough to actually go.
I glance around some more, trying to see if I can spot any security guards anywhere, but the buildings and campus look pretty deserted, so I'm thinking they must be hanging out around the entrance off Route 62, on the opposite side of the building, Dunkin' coffee and crullers
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in hand, fighting to stay awake. I mean, how can a place so immensely huge be completely guarded by cops? Still, the idea of sprinting our sorry selves across an open lawn doesn't give me a warm and fuzzy feeling, either. I mean, we're bound to get bagged.
"We shouldn't be here," Liza whispers, before I can thwack a little sense into our tour guides.
"There's no turning back now," Mimi says, lifting her ski mask to just above eye level. She takes out her pocketknife, and for a second I think we're all done for, but then she orders us to stay put--all of us except Derik, who follows her with the camera to the building closest to us.
"This better be worth it," Greta says, straightening out her skirt. She's got the thing hiked up around her waist for trekking purposes, a pair of dark tights underneath.
"Just remember," Tony says, "a lot of self-respecting A-listers started out in horror films. Just look at Paris Hilton."
"You are not seriously comparing me to her, are you?"
Before Tony can answer, Mimi gives us the thumbs-up. "We're in," her voice plays through the walkie-talkie.
"Come on in," Derik's tells us. "But be quick and be quiet."
We go--some a bit more reluctantly than others. While Tony tries to soothe Greta, continuing his list of respectable actors in horror films, Liza is still shivering. I unravel the scarf from around my neck and go to hand it
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to her, but the wind blows it from my grip. It ends up tangling into a mass of brush.
"What's going on?" Derik calls from the door.
"We shouldn't be here," Liza repeats.
"Don't worry about it," I tell her. "You can stick with me. You can be the ice cream and I'll be the nuts on top. We can be like Nutty Buddies."
"No," she says. "You don't understand. I already feel it. This place isn't right."
I suck in my lips and nod, doing my best not to flip out. Because there's a big part of me that knows she's right. But an even bigger part that wants to go in and see what this asylum is really all about.
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DERIK
WE ENTER THROUGH a side door of one of the outer buildings. Mimi is able to pick the lock pretty easily, putting me to shame. The girl has some seriously hidden talents. Once inside, we take a few steps down into what appears to be a basement, and click on our headlights.
"Anybody trip over a grave marker on their way up here?" Mimi asks.
I shoot her an eye-dagger, hoping it'll shut her up--I mean, we've barely even made it inside yet. But Mimi's got this wide-ass grin across her face like the idea of freaking people out gets her off.
"What grave markers?" Liza asks. "I didn't see any graves."
"They didn't always use them," Mimi explains. "It's all about downsizing," Chet says, trying to make light of it.
Mimi smiles wider, stoked for the attention. She gets
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right up into Liza's face: "People who were patients and died here, people whose families didn't claim them because they were too ashamed to have a relative in a mental institution, were buried nameless; just a number in the dirt--and now it's all overgrown. I bet you didn't even notice."
"That can't be true," Tony says.
"It can be, and it is," Mimi corrects.
"No wonder this place feels so haunted," Liza whispers, looking around.
"Don't listen to Mimi," I say, grateful for the drama but knowing that Mimi needs to keep her trap shut before I have everyone backing out on me. I keep a good grip on the camera and move deeper inside the basement, glad when the others do the same.
The place is a shitty mess. The windows are all boarded up. And
there are cans stockpiled everywhere, file folders and papers dumped out all over the floor, and old medical equipment--microscopes, stretchers, bed trays-- strewn about the place. Mimi picks up a folder and starts paging through the contents.
"Anything eBay-worthy?" Chet asks her.
Mimi ignores him and closes the folder back up. She tucks it inside her coat for a later look and continues to pick through a bunch more.
"Could it be any colder?" Greta asks, rambling on about how freezing her legs are.
"Maybe next time you break into an asylum in the
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middle of winter, you should go for pants," I offer, noticing the door at the back of the room.
"Next time?" Her eyebrow arches up. "I think not."
"We thought a lot about our wardrobe." Tony gives the hem of his black leather jacket a good tug. "Our goal was sexy yet sophisticated, sleek but not too flashy."
Yeah, thanks for telling me, I want to say. But instead I hold it in, taking a second look at Tony's crazy-tight black turtleneck--to show off his ten-year-old-boy chest and matching arms. The guy can't be more than ninety pounds soaking wet, and at least twelve of those pounds are for his hair--a huge dark mass of curls just begging to get hacked off. If he had a mustache, I'd be calling him a seventies porn star.
Meanwhile, Chet tries to make fun of the near-Siberian weather, smoking an invisible cigarette; the cold air puffs out of his mouth and floats across his flashlight beam, looking like actual smoke.
"Do you think it's extra cold because of ghosts?" Greta asks, aiming her headlight at the wall. Someone's spray painted the words Screw you, Security across the paint-chipped bricks. "I saw this documentary once where a ghost hunter guy said that paranormal activity makes places really cold."
"Well, duh," Mimi says, still picking through the files. "I mean, we are in a basement. Ghosts are notorious for haunting damp and dark places."
"Speaking of damp," Tony says, "what's with the
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puddles on the floor?" He checks the heels of his Aldo boots and makes a face.
"Hundred-year-old piss," Chet says. "Nothing else I know stenches this bad."
"You obviously haven't smelled your own breath," Greta shoots back.
"Let's go," I say, cutting through their shit and trying to lead them toward the door at the back. I pull the map out of my pocket and go to angle my headlight over it, but the damn bulb keeps flickering. I smack it a couple times, and finally it stays on.
A second later, we hear a knock at the basement door--the same door we're headed for, the one that leads into the tunnel.
"What the hell was that?" Greta blurts.
I place my finger over my lips to quiet everybody and then I move closer to the door and press my ear up against it. I can hear a faint pounding sound coming from somewhere in the tunnel. "I'll bet it's just a heat duct," I tell them, thinking how the one in my house makes a hell of a racket.
"That was no heat duct," Tony says, all defensive. "Someone was knocking."
"Plus," Mimi chimes in, "the heat isn't even on. The place is vacant, remember?"
"Right," I say. "No one's here."
"Just ghosts," Liza whispers.
"Lots and lots of ghosts," Mimi says, arching her
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eyebrows. She stuffs a couple more files into her coat, making me wonder what she plans to do with them.
"There's nothing here," I insist, for Liza's sake. "Look, I'll show you." I pull the door open, the hinges creaking like a crypt, and cast my headlight down the tunnel. It's dark and narrow with a series of arches that span the entire way. The walls are made of bricks, all painted over with white, but now chipping in places and covered with graffiti. An overhead pipe leaks water onto the floor, making a dripping sound. "See?" I say, trying to get a grip. "It's vacant."
"Holy yuck," Greta says, peering down the tunnel.
I aim the camera at Liza's face. "Are you okay?"
She shakes her head. "I really think we should leave. This place doesn't feel right. It doesn't want us here."
"How do you know?" Mimi asks, giving her lip ring a tug.
"Trust me," she insists. "I want to go back."
"Not funny," I say, feeling a chill pass over my shoulder.
"I'm not joking. Can you take me home?"
"Now?"
"We can't go back now," Mimi says. "We're here. We got in."
"It doesn't feel right," Liza snaps, enunciating the words like nobody's really hearing them.
"We could drop her off home and come back," Chet says. "Or, I could just drop her off...." He snakes his arm around Liza.
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"Yeah, right," I say, totally getting his play. The guy thinks he's a freakin' superhero.
"If we leave, I refuse to come back," Greta says, repositioning her beret so that it sits crooked on her head. "I'm sorry I even agreed to this thing in the first place. I didn't even have time to squeeze in an appointment for highlights. My hair's going to look totally over-the-counter Clairol in this lighting."
"I'm starting to regret it myself," Tony says, holding his flashlight high, way above his head, as though trying to light up the shot.
I lower the camera a second, trying to decide what to do. It'd totally suck to botch this thing. I mean, this is my future we're talking about here.
"Get a grip," Mimi says, approaching Liza from the mound of files. "Think how much stronger you'll be as a result of this."
"You don't understand," Liza argues. "This isn't my kind of thing. My parents think I'm at a sleepover, for God's sake."
"Oh, and what, this is my type of thing?" Mimi says. "Or any of us, for that matter? You're not the only one who's scared, you know."
"You can stay close to me," Chet whispers to Liza.
"She'd be safer on a shock treatment table," Mimi says, pulling Liza away from Chet, like Liza's a wishbone or something.
I angle the camera to zoom in on Liza's face, adjusting
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the shotgun mic so that it's positioned outward to pick everything up.
Liza looks right at me--right at the camera. "Please?"
I let out a sigh and lower the camera back down. "Are you serious?"
She nods.
"If she goes, I go," Greta says, pulling a cobweb off her shoulder. "I mean, I know about low budget, but this is downright hokey. What kind of director has his cast walk out on him barely an hour into the shoot?"
"Look," Tony says. "I think what Greta is trying to say is that, while we're all for supporting independent filmmaking--"
"Please," I bark, cutting him off. I focus hard on Liza. "This place is gonna be torn apart in a few days. I don't have time to get another crew. I need you guys." I place the camera on the ground, fighting the urge to hurl it against the wall.
"Well, I'm not going anywhere," Mimi says.
"And how about the rest of you?" I ask.
But none of them even looks at me.
"This is my only chance," I say, running my fingers through my hair in frustration. "Don't you get it? If I screw this up, I'm stuck working in a diner for the rest of my life."
"What are you talking about?" Tony asks. "Forget it," I say, grabbing my camera. I go to pack it up and get the hell out, but Liza approaches me.
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She nudges my hand away from the off switch, making my heart beat fast. "Leave it on," she says finally. "I'll stay."
"Are you sure?" My lips shake just forming the words.
Liza stares at me, her giant green eyes filled with fear. I feel like a complete and total asshole for even thinking about letting her stay. "I'm sure," she says, not sounding like she's sure at all.
But she moves into the tunnel anyway.
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DERIK
WE BOOT IT THROUGH the door at the back of the basement and enter into the narrow tunnel, the smell of rot and decay plugging up my nose, making me want to yack. Paint is peeling everywhere, and chunks of the ceiling have f
allen onto the ground. I maneuver through it all, following the paint-splotched signs for Building A, noting how the writing is red. Like blood.
Like some bad horror flick.
The perfect setting for my movie.
The banging sound continues, but I can't tell where it's coming from. My headlight continues to flicker. I stop and smack the thing again.
"Did you bring extra batteries?" Tony asks.
I shake my head, pissed at my own stupidity, but luckily the light starts working.
"Listen for a second," Greta says. "Did you hear that?"
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"What?" I turn toward her.
"I thought I heard something squeak." She points to a door, like for a utility room or something. It's open a crack.
"I don't hear anything," Tony says.
"Maybe it was a rat," Chet says. "You gotta assume a place like this has got some dog-sized ones."
"Or human-sized." Mimi shoots Chet an evil smile.
We listen for a couple more seconds, but it's just dead silent. Then we hear music--the sound of a little girl's voice singing Happy Birthday, making me almost shit myself.
"Sorry," Greta says, grabbing her cell phone and checking the caller ID. "It's just my ringtone."
"Nothing like a little evil children's music to lift the spirits," Chet says.
"Who is it?" Tony asks.
Greta smiles, checking the number. "Don't worry about it," she says, stuffing the phone back into her bag.
But Tony doesn't let up, continuing to try and get her to spill it about the phone call. Meanwhile, I lead everyone forward through the tunnel, surprised that a cell phone would even get reception down here.
My shoes are drenched from stepping through puddles, making it feel even colder, despite how fast we're moving. Finally, we get to the end of the tunnel, to the main building. I lead them up a staircase. It's falling apart in places; some of the steps have collapsed. There's a rusted metal fence that divides the staircase in two--to separate the