The Secret of Kolney Hatch (7 page)

Nigel informed me that a mile down this path, we would be at Kolney Hatch.

Midnigh
t
.
—It was three in the afternoon when Nigel and I finally saw the tall, black wrought-iron gateway, for the rain had slowed our journey significantly. Carved onto a large sign just outside the gate were the words “Kolney Hatch Lunatic Asylum- Established 1832.”

         Nigel stepped out of the car in an attempt to announce our arrival. He tugged on the large gates to see if they would open, but they were locked tightly. When the heavy rains resumed, he returned to the car.

For several seconds, I watched the dark silhouette of the facility in the distance, and then shrugged off a sense of foreboding. Finally, a man in a long, black-hooded coat appeared b the gate. He unlocked the gateway and with some struggle, pulled it open wide enough to let Nigel’s car pass.

We drove slowly down the long gravel path that led to the asylum. The vast, flat, and green land was surrounded by endless trees that formed a second border behind the high stone wall that encompassed the property. The asylum, though a smaller structure, was made of stone and had a grand, castle-like appearance with two identical towers on either side of the symmetric building and a bell tower in the middle. An abundance of ivy climbed up most of the asylum, stopping just before the chimneys on the roof. In the large green courtyard that surrounded the building were scattered oak trees and wrought-iron benches. A long, cobblestone pathway led from the asylum to a beautiful river.

Nigel pulled around Kolney Hatch’s gravel circular driveway and parked at the front of the building. I exited the car, taking cover under the stone archway at the front entrance, while Nigel gathered my suitcases. The man in all black finally caught up to us.

“Hullo there!” he exclaimed in a thick accent. “I’m Heathcliff, the warden.”

“Hullo!”

“You’re Doctor Watson, I presume?”

“Please, call me Paul,” I said, shaking his wet hand.

“Pleasure to meet you.”

“And you.”

Heathcliff turned to help Nigel bring my luggage into the asylum.

“It’s no trouble for you to stay,” Heathcliff was saying to Nigel. “We have plenty of room for you.”

“N..no, that’s alright,” Nigel stammered without looking at  Heathcliff. “I’ve business in Edinburgh, and I must get back.”

He placed my luggage inside, and then patted me on the shoulder.

With sympathetic eyes, Nigel said, “Take care of yourself now.”

Then he returned to his car. I gave him one last wave goodbye and entered the asylum.

Once inside, musty air filled my lungs. Arched windows, covered by dusty gold curtains, rose to the ceiling. A skinny legged table with a dull candle lamp sat next to a shabby green couch and its matching single chair. Cobwebs dangled from the ceiling. Candle flames flickered in the chandelier, and I wondered if the asylum had any electricity. Behind a tall, wooden spiral staircase were two heavy doors. The whole atmosphere was strange and new to me.

“Raining for two days now,” Heathcliff remarked as he removed his wet coat and hung it on the tall coat rack.

“Oh?”

Heathcliff looked slightly older than me, with prominent creases around the corners of his thin lips. He had light hair and eyes, and a straight fierce nose and jaw. He was a big man, both in height and bone structure—an even bigger man than I—not a man one would want to engage in a squabble.

“The patients are getting restless,” he continued.

“I’m sure.”

“Well then, come along with me, and I’ll show you to your room. You have the rest of the day to settle in.”

 He grabbed my luggage, and I followed him up the creaky, spiraling staircase to the second floor, which was eerily quiet. A tired, heavy feeling crept over me. Only a faint light filled the dull white corridors.

“You should have everything you need, but don’t hesitate to ask if you do need something.”

I nodded. The wooden floor creaked underneath my shoes, and we made a few turns before we finally reached my room. Heathcliff pulled out a large ring of keys from his pocket.

         “Here we are,” Heathcliff said unlocking the door. “The key to your room is on the table by your bed.”

“Thank you.”

He lingered in the doorway for a moment, and with overdone cordiality, he said:

“If you’d like me to show you around, just find me in my office by the front entrance. I’m sure you’ll want to know where the dining room is...must be starving.”

“I am hungry,” I agreed.  “I’ll find you once I finish unpacking.”

He left me then. Though the room was unsophisticated compared to my own, the bed, with its crisp white linens and mahogany bed frame, seemed rather inviting. The soft light from the lamp by my bed, and the gold rug with leaflet designs gave the room a warm feeling. I even had my own desk with a chair, a fireplace, and two decently sized wooden bureaus, one that rested under a large trellised paned window and the other by the back wall next to the desk.

I walked over to the small fireplace and gazed at a portrait of a fair-haired woman fixed to the wall above the mantle. Her eyes had a sad, frightened look about them. I felt a chill run up my spine. For a split second, I thought I saw her eyes move. I realized then how tired the journey had made me and decided I better eat something.

After I unpacked, I found Heathcliff in his tiny office adjacent to the front entrance. He rose from a comfortless gray chair on which he’d been sitting and staring perplexedly out a tall window at the rain.

“Unfortunately, I’m too tired for a tour,” I said.

“I understand.”

 “But I would like to eat before I retire to my room...if you wouldn’t mind pointing the way to the dining room.”

“Of course. Through those doors,” he said, pointing to the hefty double doors at the end of the lobby. “Just sit down, and the kitchen staff will serve you.”

 “Great. Thank you.”  

All of a sudden, I heard a blood curdling scream. I looked at Heathcliff with alarm.

“Oh there’s plenty of that here, Paul. You’ll get used to it.”

Though I knew he was right, his queer tone made me think he was hiding something. I bid him a good day then.

“Oh Paul,” Heathcliff called to me when I was nearly through the lobby doors. “
If you want to write home, be sure to give your letters to the gardener, Mr. Newbury. He’s the one with the orange hair.
”

I pushed through the doors and found myself in an eerily quiet hallway. Where had that scream come from, I wondered? Where was everyone? A single door separated the dining room from the hallway. I opened it to find a narrow and empty room, lit only by the dull ceiling lights. Comfortless chairs surrounded each of the ten square tables. Glass windows were streamed across the top of the front and back walls of the room. On the side closest to the hallway, part of the glass window followed all the way to the floor—I was able to see the hallway clearly from inside the dining room. A door connected the dining room to the tiny sunroom that led to the back grounds.

Heathcliff had said to simply sit to be served, but the room was so quiet, I wondered if anyone would even know I was in there. I started whistling.

 Through a set of double doors at the end of the dining room, a stocky man emerged and waddled toward me. He had wisps of tiny, shiny light hairs on his blemished chubby cheeks.

“Good afternoon, sir,” he said in his thick Scottish accent. “Name is Sheldon. I’m the head cook ‘ere.”

“I’m Paul Watson, the new doctor.”

“Splendid to meet yah,” he said. “Bet you’re hungry. Meat and potatoes all right for supper?”

“Yes, yes. Of course.”

“Kitchen’s right through those doors if yah need me. Happy to have ya here, Doctor Watson,” Sheldon said, and then he hobbled back toward the kitchen.

After I finished my dinner, which was surprisingly tasty, I thanked Sheldon and headed back upstairs to my room. The sound of the heavy rain against the windows relaxed me, and my eyelids began to close. I sat down at the tiny desk to write home before I fell asleep.

Letter from Paul Watson Richard Baker

“Richard,                                           “May 3, 8 o’clock.”

Kolney Hatch Lunatic Asylum is a curious place, nothing like the world we know in London. I can not say much more as I have only just arrived. I only write to say that I have arrived safely and that the air is fresh in Whitemoor. Are you well? How is Claire? Please give my regards to your father.

“Your friend,

“Paul Watson”

Letter from Paul Watson to Eda Holmes

“
My dearest Eda,                                   “May 3, 8 o’clock”

I have arrived in Whitemoor safely. Please give me news of your brother. I look forward to hearing from you.

“Your faithful friend always,

“Paul”

nin
e
 
CRIES AT NIGHT

Paul Watson’s Journal

May 4, noo
n
.—
No cars, no dogs, no sounds of men, women and children. Just the sweet songs of birds and the rustling of a large pine tree’s leaves outside my open window filled my ears in the early hours of the morning. I breathed in the fresh air and stayed in bed a few extra moments to take in the peaceful quiet.

I washed in the lavatory, and once I was clean-shaven and acceptable, I hastily dressed. Doctor Reid wanted me in his office by seven in the morning. I neatly folded up the sleeves of my white-collared shirt and threw on a dark brown vest and matching pants.

After locking my door, I hurried down the South-A corridor, where I, and most of the staff, including the teachers, cooks, and housekeepers, resided. As soon as I opened the hallway doors, I nearly fell backward as an old screaming man in a long white gown ran past me, his arms flapping in the air. A tall and lanky attendant, dressed in all white, chased after the man, eventually catching up with him and restraining him gently.

“Good morning,” I said to a youthful, freckled face nurse who was guiding a woman toward the East Wing. “Is that the women’s ward?”  

“Martha, let’s stop for a moment,” the nurse said timidly to an unkempt brunette with glassy eyes. “Yes,” the nurse answered, flashing me a smile out of her beautifully curved lips. She gently tucked a piece of her auburn hair under her crisp white hat. “The West Wing is the male ward.”

“I see.”

“And of course in the South Wing...” Suddenly, the nurse tensed. “Never mind. I must go. Come on Martha.”

“What’s in the South Wing?”

She said nothing as she turned to leave, but I called to her.

“Wait....what is your name?”

She turned around.

“Anna. Anna Hinkle.”

Nurse Hinkle wore an apprehensive expression. I wondered what she wasn’t telling me about the South Wing.

“I’m Paul, the new doctor here.”

“Pleasure to meet you Doctor...Paul, but I really must go.”

“I understand,” I said. “First, would you tell me the quickest way to Doctor Reid’s office?”

“Through there,” Nurse Hinkle said, pointing to a tall glass door only a few feet away from where I stood. “The atrium.”

“Thank you,” I said, giving one last look into her wide brown eyes.

“Of course.”

 Then she turned her attention back to Martha.  

The atrium was an 18 foot day area for all patients. The windows extended to the floor—they were closed with expanded metal and wooden shutters. With stone flooring and archways leading to the ward and corridor doors, and tall arched glassed paneled ceilings, the atrium seemed a true sanctuary. A beam of light shined through one of the ceiling panels onto the stone floor, and I felt its warmth. I hurried past a male and female patient playing a game of chess.

“Good morning,” I said brightly, but neither the man nor the woman looked at me or said anything. Looking back at them, I saw they were not really playing the game, only staring at the board with glassy eyes.

 I made my way down the creaky stairs and found Heathcliff in his office, looking through some papers.

“Good morning, Heathcliff.”

“Morning, Paul,” Heathcliff said glancing at me and then back to his papers again. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Can I help you with something?”

“Where might I find Doctor Reid’s office?”

“Just head through those same doors as yesterday, only this time make a left. His office is a little ways down.”

“Thank you.”

As I turned to leave, I remembered Nurse Hinkle’s peculiar behavior.

“Heathcliff...what...is in the South-B corridor?”

Heathcliff’s mouth twitched. He considered for a moment.