Page 5 - Lockdown Literature Bk

The Asylum – by Eden Norris
Upon my arrival, I was greeted by a deep forest thriving with wildlife and flourishing with many tones of green. Noticeably, the vegetation around the building seemed overgrown, almost neglected. All of a sudden, I felt extremely uncomfortable, as though my every move was being observed, from a distance, perhaps. And a sense of stiffness pumped through my veins like blood. There was a spine-chilling ambience to the atmosphere of this Asylum, and the hairs on my arms stood on end, for I knew what I was about to experience. As a journalist, I have encountered truly chilling scenes but this certain visit made my stomach churn with an acidic sense of fear that overpowered me and made me weak.
According to Google, the facility was founded in 1876, by Thomas Edgar, a man who had devoted his life to the care of the mentally deranged. It has been rumoured that he had suffered quite the frightful encounter in his youth; with what, it is unknown, even to date. He was left in a state of shock for quite some time and had withdrawn himself from society, hiding away. In his late forties, he decided to put this experience to his advantage and help others who may have felt similarly to himself.
I stepped out of the smooth, vintage, black taxi and gazed upon the grand building. Based upon appearance, the towering complex looked extremely run down, almost abandoned. The windows were tinted, a dull grey colour, and a few were broken or breaking. Ivy covered the faces of almost all of them and clung to the stone of the building, gradually flowing down to reach the floor of the building. I had noticed that the polished oak door was steadily opening, when a hand appeared to the right-hand side of the door. The hand looked visually worn, by appearance one would presume it was the hand of a working man. “Miss Williams,” says a soft voice. The door was now fully open, and exposed a petite man with ringlets of golden-brown hair and striking blue eyes. “We are delighted to have you visit us, please, come in.” His voice held a tone of tranquillity and he sounded as though he truly was delighted to have me visit, and that he wasn’t just being a welcoming host. His voice definitely did not match his appearance.
“Thank you, Doctor,” I replied without hesitation. He then led me through to the reception, through the treacherous hallway. Although, it is not the image that the mind provides when the word ‘reception’ is mentioned. It was cold and dark; the building had the same overall effect as one from a horror movie. There was a copper statue, presumably of the founder of Weybridge, Thomas Edgar, in the foyer with a plaque on its front. I didn't have enough time to read the engraved text of the plaque before my eyes were drawn to the grand spiral staircase that was situated in the centre of the room. It resembled – and could be described as – a stairway to heaven as it wound upwards in the building, seeming like it continued forever, up to the skies. I was then led to Dr Hayes’ office for the interview.