I am really sorry for the late update. A lot happened in the past week. I got sick, I volunteered many hours at a hospital, finished online courses. I passed chemistry with a B+. I was so close. I got my report card'. And guess what!!!! I have a four point GPA!!!! I am sooo happy!!!!
Chapter 8: Imran
TWO NIGHTS AGO my dad got so hammered that he ended up backhanding me across the face. He doesn't normally do that. Normally when he drinks, I just keep my bedroom door closed and locked. Normally I try to keep out of his way. But two nights ago I didn't.
My dad got pissed that my music was too loud, that I ate the last banana, drank the last Pepsi, and didn't thank him for serving in Desert Storm. And so he smacked me' hard'making my eye socket feel like it was going to explode.
The guy just refuses to put the bottle down.
We haven't talked since it happened, so I'm not even sure if he remembers that he did it. But I wonder if he notices the shiner he left me with'if he asks himself where it came from. If he's even looked at me to check it out.
Suffice it to say, the idea of getting away for one night is too tempting to ignore. And so here I am, driving to Danvers crazy hospital, wondering if maybe I should turn around and just camp out someplace in my car for the night. But maybe it won't be so bad. I mean, once you subtract the whole spending-the-night-in-a-haunted-asylum factor, there are definite benefits to this trip. For one, there are going to be girls there. For another, those same girls are going to be scared. And third, scared girls + hard-up Imran = possible nookie.
What's it been, like, a year since I had a date?
The truth is the asylum has always intrigued me' driving down Route 1, passing the local strip clubs, wishing I had a fake ID to actually get inside said local strip clubs. And then seeing the asylum peaks and steeples peeping up at the top of the hill. I remember the first time I saw it. I was at the mini-golf course in Middleton with some of my buds. All you saw ahead of you was this giant brick castle sprawled out in the distance at the top of a hill. I as ked my friend what it was and he told me; only, he called it the witch's castle, claiming that the judge for the Salem witch trials used to live there- the guy who had all those people hung. Sometime after Judge Hawthorne moved, they tore the house down and built the asylum. So it's almost as if, with a history like that, the place never stood a chance.
I drive down Route 62, noticing the hospital driveway on the left at the turnabout, but speeding past it. Tanveer, who seems to know a little too much about the asylum if you ask me, says it's best to access the campus off the beaten path since cops are notorious for hanging around the entrance. So I take the exit for Route 1 South, remembering how Asad said that we should get to our meeting place between nine and nine thirty, rather than arriving all at once. It's a little after nine now, so I'm hoping I'm the first, hoping that maybe I can hide and then sneak up on Asad and the others and spook them all out, lighten the mood a bit, maybe'since I'm thinking they're going to need it.
I pull into the office park where we're supposed to meet, and drive around to the back of the buildings. The parking lot is mostly deserted except for a few cars, all empty'maybe a sparse night crew working at the electronics company. You can see the outline of the hospital from here'all the pointy steeples, like a creepy sort of church. There's a wooded hill that leads up to the place, but it's completely dark'like a horror movie about to happen.
I take a look at myself in the rearview mirror and try to calm myself down, to tame all my stupid cowlicks. Unfortunately, I inherited my father's dark brown hair. Unfortunately, I'm not exactly GQ material with my ghost-white face and big nose, and now the shiner I've got to top the picture off. But who knows, maybe one of these girls will have a soft spot (or two) for tall, banged-up, and funny.
Slicking my hair back as best I can with one hand, I stretch my brain cap over the crown of my head with the other. It's one of those second-skin bathing caps. It's got a picture of a brain on the top, making me look like a bald man with a lobotomy. I wore it last year to a Halloween party and pulled it out for tonight (among other party pleasers) since, for obvious reasons, it suits the occasion well.
A few minutes later, I spot a car pulling into the lot. It's Asad's'a dark blue Chevy truck. He backs in a couple cars down from mine, but he doesn't get out'just kind of sits there with his headlights shut off, engine halted, like he doesn't even know I'm here.
I grab my backpack and scoot out quick, hoping he doesn't spot me. I can see the shadow of him sitting there. Tanveer's in there, too, sitting in the passenger side. The lights in the parking lot are anything but bright, but I'm still able to make out her kinky black hair.
I walk as slowly and quietly as I can toward the driver's side. Then I smack my palms against the window and let out a sickly moan'the victim of a lobotomy. I even lower my head so they can see the brains.
"What the hell are you doing, man?" Asad shouts, rolling down the window.
"What?" I ask, the smile melting off my face. I look at Tanveer to see if maybe she has a sense of humor, but she looks just as peeved.
"Are you trying to get us bagged before we even get up there?" Asad asks. "Get that thing off your head. You're supposed to be wearing black."
"I am wearing black," I argue, pulling a black knitted hat on over my brain cap.
Asad sighs and leans back in his seat, clearly stressed. He checks his watch. "Nine twenty," he whispers. "Where the hell is everybody?"
"Getting fitted for straitjackets," I joke.
But Asad doesn't appreciate my humor. "How 'bout I pop you in your other eye?" he says.
A few moments later, another car pulls into the lot. "This is probably them," Tanveer says, pulling on a black ski mask. At first I think the mask is a joke'that she's on the same wavelength as me'but she doesn't even crack a smile.
Ayaan and Humaira get out of their car, dudded out in black as well. Humaira's got on a long black skirt with a black fur jacket that reminds me of Shithead, my cat.
"Are you gonna be able to climb in that outfit?" Asad asks her, stepping out of his truck.
"You said dark clothing," she says, in the deepest, huskiest voice I've ever heard come out of a girl. "And for your information, this skirt is Calvin Klein. As a filmmaker, you should be grateful that I took so much time with my wardrobe."
"I'll be grateful if you can get your butt up that hill," Asad says.
"You look amazing," Ayaan tells her.
"Are you sure? I mean, maybe the fur is overkill. No pun intended. I don't want those PETA people talking trash about me in some tabloid."
"Amazing," Ayaan chirps, a high-pitched voice like someone kicked him in the jewels. "Like a real A-lister."
Whatever that means, it totally perks Humaira up. The girl snuggles up to his Slim Jim figure and purrs into his neck.
"Get a room," Tanveer says.
"Preferably one with some shock equipment," I say. "Could add a real zap to the experience."
"Where's Zoya?" Asad asks, ignoring my joke.
"She's with us," Humaira says, pausing between purrs.
I look toward their car and notice a shadow moving in the backseat.
"Let's just say she's a tad bit nervous," Ayaan says.
"More like a basket case," Humaira corrects. "This obviously wasn't a good idea for her.
Asad unzips his DV recorder from its case and turns it on.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
Instead of answering, he brings the recorder over to Ayaan's car. He knocks on the window, and Zoya lets him in.
"That's really smart," Ayaan says, once Asad's inside. "Get the drama on film right from the get-go."
"Or the smut," I say, knowing full well about Asad's male-s**t reputation (and envying it), wondering if Asad's trying at this very moment to capitalize on Zoya's nerves. I mean, who would be that sketchy?
Um, I mean except for me.
A few minutes later, Zoya comes out. Her arms are folded and there's a worried expression across her face, her lips pursed together like she's on her way to have root canal or something. I'm half tempted to pull off my hat so she can see my lobotomy cap, thinking that it'll make her laugh. "Are you all right?" I ask instead.
Zoya nods, but her eyes are focused on the hill'on how steep it is, maybe, or how the trees and brush look so thick.
"She's been doing some online research about the place," Asad tells us. He pulls a hooded sweatshirt from his bag and drapes it around her shoulders, totally stealing my game.
"The Internet can be a dangerous place," I say. "I once got so obsessed with female wrestlers, I couldn't stop surfing for pics'girls in headlocks, giving each other noogies, doing body slams, pulling each other's hair." I close my eyes and smile for effect, as though lost in the Land of Reminisce. "After a while I couldn't sleep at night, couldn't get my mind to shut off."
"More like you couldn't get Mr. Righty to shut off," Tanveer says, gesturing up and down with her hand.
"Funny that you would automatically think of Mr. Wanky at a time like this." I wink. "Anything you need to tell me . . . or show me?"
"Thanks for that image," Asad says.
But at least it makes Zoya smile. And Tanveer smiles too. I can see the corner of her mouth turn upward, even under that ski mask.
The wooded hill that leads up to the hospital is just behind us. Asad 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, Tanveer in the lead with Asad close behind her, his camera propped atop his shoulder, ever eager for fruity footage. I'm in the back, following behind Zoya, 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 Tanveer'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.
"Are you trying to get us caught?" Asad'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?" Zoya 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. Asad, 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.
Zoya 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?" Ayaan 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 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," Zoya, whispers, before I can thwack a little sense into our tour guides.
"There's no turning back now," Tanveer 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 Asad, who follows her with the camera to the building closest to us.
"This better be worth it," Humaira 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," Ayaan, 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 Ayaan can answer, Tanveer gives us the thumbs-up. "We're in," her voice plays through the walkie-talkie.
"Come on in," Asad's tells us. "But be quick and be quiet."
We go'some a bit more reluctantly than others. While Ayaan tries to soothe Humaira, continuing his list of respectable actors in horror films, Zoya is still shivering. I unravel the scarf from around my neck and go to hand it to her, but the wind blows it from my grip. It ends up tangling into a mass of brush.
"What's going on?" Asad calls from the door.
"We shouldn't be here," Zoya 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 nut 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.
Edited by Nandini0910 - 12 years ago
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