J.R. Erickson
Rag Doll Bones
Author’s Note
Thanks so much for picking up a Northern Michigan Asylum Novel. I want to offer a disclaimer before you dive into the story. This is an entirely fictional novel. Although there was once a real place known as The Northern Michigan Asylum - which inspired me to write these books - it is in no way depicted within them. Although my story takes place there, the characters in this story are not based on any real people who worked at this asylum or were patients; any resemblance to individuals, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Likewise, the events which take place in the novel are not based on real events, and any resemblance to real events is also coincidental.
In truth, nearly every book I have read about the asylum, later known as the Traverse City State Hospital, was positive. This holds true for the stories of many of the staff who worked there as well. I live in the Traverse City area and regularly visit the grounds of the former asylum. It’s now known as The Village at Grand Traverse Commons. It was purchased in 2000 by Ray Minervini and the Minervini Group who have been restoring it since that time. Today, it’s a mixed-use space of boutiques, restaurants and condominiums. If you ever visit the area, I encourage you to visit The Village at Grand Traverse Commons. You can experience first-hand the asylums - both old and new - and walk the sprawling grounds.
Dedication
To Karen and Ron who help care for the Honey Beast so the books can actually get finished.
1
Ashley fell out of the tree and landed with a thud inches from Carl Lee’s rock.
She scrambled away, watching the boulder as if Carl’s blood might still stain the marbled surface. It didn’t, though she saw a line of ants march studiously up the rock’s face and disappear into a fissure at the top.
Carl Lee had blown his brains out while sitting on the rock three years before. Her neighbor, Norm Smarts, had found him and said there was nothing left of Carl’s head except a glob of red and gray mush splattered across the rock.
Now the rock held the mystery associated with haunted houses and creepy dead forests. Kids dared each other to run over and touch it. Sometimes they snuck out to the rock at night and ran home screaming, sure they’d heard Carl bustling through the trees after them.
Ashley didn’t like the rock and yet often walked to it when she played in the woods, as if it had some kind of pull. What Mr. Ferndale called a gravitational force, which was interesting enough until he started to drone on about newtons and mass and calculations, at which point Ashley wanted to crawl under her desk and take a nap. She liked science well enough, but Mr. Ferndale made even interesting subjects boring.
During their flame-resistant paper experiment the week before, Harvey Nelson had fallen asleep on his desk. They’d been using Bunsen Burners for Pete’s sake! But Ferndale still managed to put a kid out cold.
She left the boulder and started toward home, halting at an odd little chirping sound, like wind through a flapping umbrella. Squatting close to the ground, she listened to see if she could tell where the sound was emanating from.
It took her several minutes of walking in ever-widening circles. She paused next to a dead ash tree. The upper half lay fallen and decaying on the forest floor. At the bottom of the tree, she noticed a dark hollow. She squatted and peered into the opening.
There, wriggling in the tree’s empty belly, three tiny raccoons crawled and chirped, their miniature paws like sharp little hands.
Ashley smiled and cooed. She reached into the hole, ignoring the silent voice of Grandma Patty reminding her that if you touched wild animals, their mother would abandon them.
The raccoons scrambled to her fingers, nipping and sucking at the soft ends. Their noises grew louder and more desperate. One began to crawl up her arm, reaching the edge of the tree’s opening and flopping onto the ground. It landed on its back, legs pawing at the air.
“Oh, no, poor little critter. Did you fall out of the tree?”
She scooped him up and stroked his head. He was lighter in color than the other two, the mask over his eyes more brown than black.
“I guess you’re the Alvin out of this bunch, huh?”
She set the raccoon in her lap and reached in for another.
“Simon,” she murmured, gazing into his face and imagining two little spectacles over his black eyes.
The third raccoon made a rather perfect Theodore. He was fatter than the other two and slower. He started sucking on her thumb the instant she picked him up.
“You guys are hungry, aren’t you?”
Ashley had seen a dead raccoon that morning on her walk to school. She wondered if it had been the mother of the three babies.
“Ash? You out here?” Her best friend, Sid’s, voice cut through the trees.
She pushed the babies back inside the tree and jumped up to meet him.
She spotted Sid. He was still wearing the dreadful powder blue polo shirt his mother had forced him to wear to school that day. It made him look like a forty-year-old banker instead of a thirteen-year-old seventh grader. Ash kept her mouth shut about the shirt. Sid got enough teasing without adding his best friend’s voice to the mix.
“Sid,” she yelled, waving her arms wildly. “Look what I found!”
Sid hurried over, his face flushed.
Ashley led him to the tree and squatted down.
He got on his knees and peered into the hole.
“Whoa,” he murmured. “They’re so little.”
“I know, and I think the mom died. They seem really hungry.”
Sid used the end of his shirt to wipe off his thick glasses and then returned them to his nose, leaning in closer.
Ashley reached a hand in and scooped out Alvin.
Sid recoiled and shook his head.
“Maybe you shouldn’t touch them, Ash.”
“Well, it’s too late now. Plus, this one practically jumped into my lap. I’m telling you, they’re starving. If we don’t help them, they’ll die.”
Sid sighed, a sound Ashley knew well. The sigh marked his surrender to Ashley’s plan despite his obvious desire not to.
“What do you think they eat? Like bugs?” Sid asked.
Ashley rolled her eyes.
“They eat milk, stupid. They’re babies.”
“Oh, and what? You’re a raccoon expert now?”
Ashley cuddled Alvin against her chest.
“We need a bottle.”
“A baby bottle?” Sid asked, scratching his chin. “Who do we know with a baby?”
Ashley bit her lip.
“The Potter’s have a new baby, but I don’t think they’d offer a bottle up for the raccoons,” she thought out loud. “A medicine dropper!” she announced, imagining the tray of medicines that had stood next to Grandma Patty’s bedside for the last six months of her life. Ashley’s mother had bought medicine droppers by the dozen. Not only had Grandma Patty needed them for medicine; near the end of her life, she’d also taken water and bits of meal replacement shakes through the droppers as well.
Ash put Alvin back into the tree. “Okay, medicine dropper and milk. Anything else?”
Sid shrugged. “A blanket? It might get cold in there at night.”
Ashley nodded in agreement. “Yeah, good idea. Dang,” she paused. “We might be out of milk.”