Mitt sensed that the sudden sighting of the deserted building had had a similar effect on Lashonda despite her familiarity with it because she abruptly stopped to stare up at it. He had to put out his hands to cushion the collision. “I beg your pardon,” he said, lifting his hands off her back and stepping to the side.
“My fault,” she said, still staring up at the hulking black edifice with all its architectural details appearing ghoulish in the darkness. Adding to the drama was the high wrought iron fence interspersed with granite stanchions that surrounded the building. In the darkness the imposing barricade had a particularly menacing quality, especially with every other baluster having a stylized spear point.
To the left, Mitt could see the unending traffic on First Avenue heading northward while to the right the street dead-ended. Directly ahead of them was a decorative but locked double gate as part of the surrounding wrought iron fence. It was topped with symmetrical, curvilinear elements and secured with a rusting chain and a hefty padlock. Beyond the gate was an overgrown walkway leading up to an ornate two-to-three-story entrance structure, which stood proud from the building’s central façade with a pedimented top, decorative concrete urns on plinths on either side, and a large arched niche containing what appeared to be an ornamental state seal. Below that were two Corinthian columns supporting a full doorway entablature and framing an oversized double door. Incised into the frieze area and just barely visible in reflected light were the words Psychiatric Hospital.
“I hope you also have a key for the gate,” Mitt said, trying for a bit of humor. They certainly weren’t about to climb over a barricade of that size.
“Of course,” Lashonda said while continuing to gaze up at the black, massive red-brick structure. Unlike all the other more modern buildings in the neighborhood, the psychiatric building was totally dark: Every one of the windows was pitch-black. “The numerous times I’d gone in and out of this place, especially when I worked here on a nightly basis before all the patients were moved out, I never stopped to look at it critically. Now that I have, I can see why it would give anyone pause.” She laughed humorlessly. “I have to say, it definitely looks spooky, almost like a set for a horror movie.”
“You are right about that,” Mitt said, but in his estimation it was more than “spooky.” To him, it was a huge anomaly, a quintessential haunted house smack-dab in one of the busiest parts of one of the busiest cities in the world. As the thought occurred to him, he felt a definite chill, wondering what it was going to be like inside. Was he going to see the apparitions that supposedly had taken up residence, and if so, would he and Lashonda be seeing them simultaneously? And if they did, would the visions be exactly the same or would the eye of the beholder influence what was perceived?
Mitt had no answers to these questions, but for the first time he felt a tug of reluctance to follow through with the plan, wondering if there was any risk involved. If the building was actually haunted as Lashonda claimed, it would be a world in which he had absolutely no understanding or experience. At the very least it promised to be a disturbing, scary experience and possibly disgusting if it included the surgerized people, the rats, and the horrid cacosmia.
At the same time these thoughts and questions arose, his motivations for going ahead with the plan quickly reasserted themselves. He was more than motivated, he was compelled to make the visit. With his family legacy at stake, he had to see this stash of hospital records. And there was another reason as well. He had an inkling that the visit had the potential to provide answers as to how and why all his patients had died, which would add credence to Lashonda’s warning about Bellevue not being safe for him or his future patients.
Encouragingly enough, Lashonda obviously had no qualms about entering the building, and from Mitt’s perspective, she definitely seemed to know what she was talking about. Of particular importance, she was confident that the spirits or ghosts or whatever couldn’t touch them directly but could only make their presence known by manipulating inanimate objects. As reassuring as that idea sounded, what if Lashonda was right about the ghosts but wrong about their capabilities? What if they had more earthly power in their own domain than, say, in the high-rise hospital building?
Mitt broke off staring up at the empty psychiatric building and looked back at Lashonda. She, on the other hand, was still totally mesmerized. “Are you rethinking whether you want to go inside?” Mitt questioned. “I have to say, it is forbidding-looking, particularly in the darkness. Maybe it would be better to do this tomorrow during the daylight hours.”
“No! Absolutely not,” Lashonda remarked definitively. “As I said earlier, if we are going to do this, it has to be at night, and this is as good a time as any. I’m hesitating because I never appreciated how truly unique this building is. I’m amazed at all the fancy ornamental details like the columns, the urns, the plaques, and even those fake balconies on some of the upper-floor windows. It’s almost like a parody of itself or, like I said, a set for a horror movie.”
“I read that it was designed to be in what’s called the Renaissance style,” Mitt said. “All those embellishments are taken from classical architecture, like the columns on the side of the entrance door. I have to say, it is a particularly decorative entranceway. I thought the building’s main entrance was on First Avenue, where there is also an impressive door.”
“This was always functionally the main entrance,” Lashonda said. “The one facing First Avenue was purely decorative and was never used.”
“Really?” Mitt questioned. He’d never heard of a building having a purely decorative entrance. “That’s all very interesting, but maybe we should get on with this visit. If we’re going to spend a lot of time on this errand, I’d rather spend it reading the old records than just standing out here.”
“You’re right,” Lashonda agreed. She quickly handed her brown paper bag to Mitt while getting out a key from her side pocket. A moment later, she had the padlock open and proceeded to slip the chain out of the double gate. As she pushed one side open with some effort, its hinges complained loudly with a grating squeal. She then gestured for Mitt to precede her onto the psychiatric hospital grounds.
Once inside, Lashonda took the time to pull the gate closed behind them despite its equivalent strident rasp. She even looped the chain back through the frame and re-engaged the padlock but without locking it. “I prefer not to take any chances someone might see this lock and chain open,” she explained even though Mitt assumed as much. She took the bag back from him and extracted the two flashlights. They were of a significant size with large lenses and square battery packs. After giving him one but telling him not to turn it on, she put the empty bag behind one of the granite fence stanchions for their return to the hospital high-rise.
From there they faced a short stretch of sidewalk to the front steps and the impressive, oversized double doors. As they hurried forward, Lashonda used the opportunity to exchange the gate key for the key to the building. A narrow lawn extending along the entire length of the building was a riot of overgrowth. Several small trees and shrubbery were completely enveloped in vines and even a bit of poison ivy.
Now that they were close, Mitt noticed something else that had escaped him as it was covered by the overgrowth, namely that the building’s entire first floor was sheathed in decorative granite and crowned with a narrow cornice separating it from the brick. “My word,” he said as he mounted the front steps behind Lashonda, glancing up and down the structure’s façade. “This place must have been quite impressive in its heyday.”