I was lucky enough As we waked up the hill It was as if a Giant stood Hearing nothing else I rose first Thid multi-level jail like atmosphere
I was lucky enough to see an old, majestic castle,
A castle, that broke through the crisp autumn air, with a sense of grace and elegance. A mansion of steadfast mental derangement and deterioration of the gallant watcher of the night, and all the souls that have been lost to the depths and darkness of a cold hard void of oblivion. The guardian that stares into the abyss of the madness that can only hold a ripple of reality together as a single thread of a worn hospital gown, that is held together by a width of a patients hair. This monster that arose like the entrance to a world that is completely different from our own, where our nightmares turn into reality, of only one hundred years and thousands of tortured souls were treated, experimented on, locked in cages for years, for decades at a time, and of the forces of madness pushed to the brink of the void can only house a reality that is unrestricted andunteathered to the natural bounds of our perception.
As we walked up the hill, the cool crisp night air tugging at any skin left exposed of skin not covered by under our dark black attire, completed with hat and mask. Carrying a bag of tools to help us with our exploration to the deepest edge of reality, we paused just as the regale crown of this ancient brick and mortared portal appears as a silhouettes against the full moon and cloudless night. We take a min, squat down at the sound of something falling, and waiting for a thud as whatever it was struck the ground or floor from wherever and whatever had been dislodged. But as we waited, the only thud that could be heard was the beat of our hearts, completely in sync and in tune with eachother, jump, quick and just a little on the faster side as the endorphins kick in. Suddenly a rush of energy comes over us, kneeling in the wet grassy knoll, surrounded and enveloped by an eerie and unnatural fog. Glancing up, there was the entire universe, more stars then either of us have seen in our lives, telling the planets from stars by the clearest changes of color and depth. The stars were ones we knew well but, yet, have never experienced in that way.
It was as if a giant stood on the top of the target which touched the sky and beyond, and was able to cut a hole in the blackness of night to let the light of the stars poke through. Or more of a tear that hasn't gone all the way through, broken by pieces of fine silk still holding fast, but allowing the light that shined through the perforated fabric glimmering from somewhere that just out of reach, just beyond the fabric of space and time. Several minuets in the ghostly mists, thik as a carpet yet only three feet high. Five feet from me was my partner, as we crouched I could just make out the faintest edges of her worn back pack, and I could see her eyes shining as bright as crystals which illuminated themselves. Thinking they reflected I searched for the source of light, remembering the pitch black and grey pool of ash....no lights were there.
Hearing nothing else I rose first. The mist stopping at the shoulder of my black hoodie sweatshirt, then I saw her head pop up a few moments later. To me she looked like a floating head, nothing could be seen under the think blanket of this ungodly mist. Then one more look at that gigantic moon, and countless stars that looked as if we could reach out we could take it right out of the sky like a fire fly. This place was the ripple in the vortex that separates reality from the supernatural. This old guard was built in a time where exorcisms and evil entities with demonic powers were still a high concern, plus a money make for the catholic church.
This multi level-jail like atmosphere with rotting asbestos hanging from the ceiling's, the flakes of let paint filling the air gave these endless hallways an eerie atmosphere as the dusk of the witching hour filled the halls of the forgotten and tortured souls that had once inhabited there. The must smell that filled the 16 floor mausoleum, becoming infused into every stich of clothing and every cell of skin exposed, from a consistent leak of water leaving almost 6 inches of water from the basement that poured from an unknown and undiscoverable source. This was the entrance to an internal hell that infected thousands of minds from the beginnings of the institution, built in 1885, housed over nine thousand patients at its peak. This skeleton of a city,... A sprawling campus of 150 buildings, the hospital was a self-sustaining community with farming, construction, and food preparation on site, as well as its own power plants and railroad spur where the end of the line for countless souls found themselves. The industrial sparling pearl of NY. Manhattan Island, had a stain that had one way to clean, the undesirables, mentally ill. people who didn't fit the mold of the 'City That Never Sleeps' so they were forced onto a train with the promise of a new life. This life was supposed to be a place in the country where they could live their own lives unmolested and non stigmatized. A safe haven from hatred, from stigma, from violence hatred and malice that was a consistent way of life from those who suffer from a mental illness in a society that was on the rise. So human beings, members of the city with open arms, where all are welcome to begin their new lives, gathered their tattered clothing and put on their worn through bottomless shoes with hopes of rolling open fields and a home to call their own with safety and security without being shunned by the society they find themselves in.
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