May Carlén 🕷 · @may_carlen
21st Oct 2019 from TwitLonger
For the curious. Here is my first chapter. Be gentle. <3
A surprise visitor
It was at the end of Death in Galdoria. A wind carrying promises of a cold and eternal Frost howled, making tall trees sway dangerously and leaves dance by the edge of cliffs and plunging waterfalls. The Galdorian landscape seemed to wander off into an abyss of bluish mist in all directions, making it feel isolated. It appeared like no life could exist in a place like this, but almost camouflaged by the surroundings rested a large building of unusual architecture. The greyish structure was so ravaged by time, that it seemed like it was part of the Galdoomian mountain. It was so covered in ivy and moss, that it appeared to be held up by that alone. But what made the architecture truly peculiar was the oddly shaped towers. They were so unevenly placed, that it looked as though the house had grown its very own structure where it felt it convenient. One could start to wonder if the house had a life of its own where it stood guarded by tall, pointy fences, and clinging to the cliffs, because in the twilight, its vaguely lit windows looked like narrow eyes.
By closer inspection, a wooden sign clinging to a rusty nail above the main entrance gate revealed that this was as expected not any old building. The plate with the name ‘Galadagon Asylum’ carved in fading letters, complained like the haunting of a cradled death while the wind did its best to tear it down. The fact that it was an asylum explained the secluded location of the building. A facility like that would usually be conveniently placed far from civilisation because, in a mental hospital, many activities of the questionable manner were traditionally performed. Also, if any of the assumed dangerous patients escaped, they would presumably not survive the hostile nature long enough to reach civilisation. The closest place was the Galadagon village down by the sea, full of what the staff of the asylum considered barbarians. If the patients reached that village, they would fit right in anyhow.
Despite this unnerving appearance on the outside, inside in a large foyer sheltered from the increasing storm, the interior looked remarkably sophisticated. Or as posh as one could expect from an asylum. It had an aristocratic touch of splendour, but a certain gloominess lingered like it was etched into the walls.
The staff of the asylum were impatient. It was the last shift before Frost. Everyone was eager to leave before the storm made it impossible. The new personnel would arrive soon to replace them. The current staff did not envy them. An average person was only fit to handle one cycle at a time in a place like this. An entire quartfucle, which meant five cycles of Frost, would kill them, and they would find themselves doing a permanent stay. The personnel of Frost were specially trained on how to handle the intense isolation when the Galdoomian mountains were covered in snow and cut off from the outside world.
A tense quietness occupied the room, while everyone contemplated a worst-case scenario where the new staff would never arrive.The wind tore at the building and howled through any convenient openings in the old structure it could find, making a large chandelier high above sway and rattle its many crystals. Somewhere in the distance, patients screamed in terrifying agony, making the staff feel uncomfortable. However, today, anyone who was not busy ignoring the sight of patients picking imaginary maggots off their skin, or gouging their eyeballs out, was only occupied with the idea of how to celebrate the upcoming freedom from this place. They could not care less about their obligations. Not that their responsibilities were a priority anyhow.
-0-
The silence was abruptly broken by a visitor entering the dormant room accompanied by a cold blast of wind. Leaves danced around the foyer for a moment, before the tall, heavy doors slammed shut. It sent an echo around the room of startled spectators, followed by a rumble of distant thunder and more rattling of crystals from the chandelier. A visitor this hour was unusual, but that was not the reason why everyone had looked up. They had all hoped it was the new staff arriving, and a disappointed murmur filled the room when they realised that it was only a raggedy looking stranger.
The visitor, a woman, dropped a tattered purse to the floor and became busy brushing leaves off her black hooded coat. Picking up her purse again, she did a quick inspection of the room while adjusting a messy nest of black curls which framed her pale and slightly peculiar looking face. She then walked up to the reception and focused a determined stare at a dense looking nurse who was wearing a nametag that had the name Precious inscribed.
Nurse Precious had decided not to bother looking up as that would be much too tedious, and she clearly expressed being unimpressed by a visitor at this hour by asking flatly, “What do you want at this late hour?” She continued flicking through a magazine and sipping her tea. The cup was neatly decorated with kittens and gave off a pleasant scent of cinnamon.
The weather-blown woman ignored the hostile attitude and answered calmly, “I would like to see Badrian Koldgrim, please.”
Nurse Precious looked up, taken by surprise by the request. The perfect calm of the visitor, making such a horrendous request, had made the room somewhat colder. Badrian Koldgrim was not an average patient. He made Precious’ skin crawl, and so did this woman. Feeling stressed about the mere thought of the man, she snapped, “Only his wife is allowed to—”
“I am his wife,” the woman interrupted and touched a silver-white stone around her neck.
Some tea spilt as Precious sat up in her chair and stared at her in disbelief. She now looked like someone’s head had fallen off. The murmur in the room seemed to fade, and everyone started to pay more attention to what appeared to be a rather exciting display after all. Perhaps their holiday could wait a little longer if they had some solid gossip to bring back home. Only some music playing in a nearby room was heard while the bewildered nurse clumsily extracted some documents out of a drawer and started staring at them with all the concentration she could summon. She was trying to make out the legal writings of doodles she had not paid too much attention to in nursing school, and as the words floated around, she lost her patience. “You can’t just come barging in here at this ridiculous hour with such a request because this will take time. The head doctor needs to sign the proper paperwork, and he has a hectic schedule–”
“The head doctor will make time!” Mrs Koldgrim interrupted and glared at her, still touching the strange stone around her neck. Despite her eyes having been bright blue, they now seemed almost black.
Precious somehow appeared older than her former, less troubled self when she answered meekly, “I see…” Her mind felt like cotton, and she could not stop staring at the stone in the woman’s necklace. Without realising what she was doing, she had pushed the button to the communication system, into which she said, “Doctor Pampf? We have a Mrs Koldgrim here to see Mr Koldgrim.” Her voice echoed from the speakers with dreadful audio feedback, making the rest of the staff cringe, but there was no reply, so she called out louder, “Doctor Pampf? We have a Mrs Koldgrim here to see Mr Koldgrim.” Once more, the speakers shrieked, but the only response was from patients having started to scream like tormented monkeys on the floors below. If she used the communication system one more time, there would be a riot in the basement. Precious huffed herself. “I will have to…” -her voice lowered almost to a whisper when she noticed how the others were paying attention- “…go and look for him.” Precious had become worried that she would be held up at the asylum as another patient for talking to this alarming looking woman.
“I can wait!” Mrs Koldgrim answered coldly and sat down on a nearby chair, crossing her legs, and pulling her purse up on her lap like she was a noblewoman. There she continued gazing at Precious with a frosty stare while bobbing her foot. In the other room, the music had stopped playing. Even the storm seemed to be holding its breath.
The nurse looked disgruntled at the lack of cooperation. She had hoped the bothersome visitor also would want to escape the asylum before the storm struck with full force and leave the matter until she forgot all about it. “Excuse me for a moment,” she mumbled disheartened and got up from her chair.
“And,” interrupted Mrs Koldgrim again, “I’m not only here to visit. I’m here to take him with me home.”
Precious looked like she would implode. She went pale, so pale that it seemed like her complexion had just melted like chocolate frosting during the quartfucle of Drought. She stared bewildered at Mrs Koldgrim and swore that she even saw a taunting smile on her face, despite the woman looking quite expressionless. The head doctor would not be happy. This patient was his favourite lab rat, and she knew that when the doctor was not pleased, there would be severe punishment of the staff in lack of patients to send into a barbequed state. Giving Mrs Koldgrim a glare for having ruined her day, Precious immediately and in a great hurry tiptoed up a spiral staircase located in the middle of the room. The distant echo of her fast-moving heels clicking further and further away was the only thing Mrs Koldgrim could hear for a while before the distant voice of a disgruntled man with a strange nasal dialect was heard coming from upstairs. He became louder as he descended the staircase with an apologising Precious following close behind until he realised how loudly he was lecturing about borderline hospital policies and stopped talking. The nurse and a well-padded, balding man had halted at the bottom of the staircase. They were eyeing Mrs Koldgrim, who was eyeing them back. The brash looking man combed some strands of red hair, which had untangled itself, back sideways over his moist scalp, then he took a deep breath, clearly trying to conjure up a friendly demeanour.
The level of suspense in the room was high when the head doctor, not known for his balanced temper, and with a solid shade of red in his cheeks, strutted towards Mrs Koldgrim with a forced grin under a thick moustache. Mrs Koldgrim wondered if his hair had mistakenly found its way under his nose instead of his shiny top as he approached. Then the man almost spat in her face as he greeted her, “Good afternoon. I’m Doctor Meinard Pampf, the head doctor of this fine establishment.” A sweaty palm with five, thick sausages was expecting a handshake. Mrs Koldgrim shook it politely, counting herself lucky that she was wearing gloves. “I’m Moyra Koldgrim,” she answered.
“Will you accompany me up to my office so we can discuss these matters in more private surroundings?” the head doctor asked, still holding her hand. As he spoke, spitting just at the right words to earn him the title sadist, he studied her strange appearance from behind a thick monocle and hoped he could spot a good reason to lock her up.
While he stared her up and down, Moyra could not help thinking his eye looked absurdly small behind his monocle. He also looked like he was melting, and his breath smelled like old trout, so feeling disgusted, she ripped her hand out of his, almost losing her glove in the process. Nodding shortly, she followed the doctor past the crowd of spectators.
Moyra studied the ceiling as they headed upstairs. The ceiling painting was massive and impressive, reminding her very much of the artwork in the larger chantriums around Longon, where people used to pray and worship strange gods.
As they reached the top of the staircase, they walked down a long corridor decorated by portraits of important-looking men with piercing stares. Moyra thought it almost appeared like they were still scouting for patients and felt nervous.
They stopped at the end of the hallway before a tall, ornamented, black door. The doctor opened it and revealed a sophisticated looking office that had a distinct scent of expensive cigars and Scotch. Working at a mental hospital sure was a lucrative line of work, Moyra thought to herself. Rare looking leather-bound books in all shapes were filling the many shelves stretching from floor to ceiling around the entire room, making it look highly academic. The pattern of books was only interrupted by a couple of arched, barred up windows, revealing a grey and ominous sky outside. It had already become darker than it had been when she had arrived, and she shuddered at the thought of the long journey that waited. But first things first, she held her chin high, demonstrating that she meant business. In the middle of the room was a tall desk with piles of paper on top of it. In front of it stood a couple of chairs for visitors. Meinard gestured towards the chairs. “Please, sit.” She humoured him and sat down, barely able to glance over the high desk.
Meinard felt uneasy. The woman’s stare felt cold as ice in the room, even though he was red as a lobster from having walked the stairs. She had a look of insanity about her. Surely, she was another guest for his asylum? Just that she must have killed off her guards in the process of reaching here somehow. It made absolutely no sense, yet that had to be the only logical explanation. And even if it were not the case, only insane women would want to take responsibility for a person like Badrian Koldgrim. The instructions regarding how dangerous this man was and how tightly he needed to be locked up had been clear, but his orders had also been crystal clear regarding who was allowed to take responsibility over him. Only a person saying they were his wife. It had been an odd instruction. No questions should be asked. The patient was to be handed over immediately to the wife. So far, he had not done that, and that carved another wrinkle in his forehead.
Recalling the woman who had handed him over, he shifted nervously in his seat. She was not just anybody. He knew his life would be in peril if he ignored her orders, and it would be in even greater danger if he should try to contact her and ask if this was legitimate when assigned such clear instructions. It was dodgy matters, but it was a deal which had benefitted him greatly so far, and he wanted to continue being the head doctor with all the fancy perks that followed. Finding a handkerchief in his inner pocket, he patted some sweat off his forehead before he reluctantly sat down at his desk to fill in the proper papers. In the current situation, he was in particular glad his table was tall enough to serve as a protective shield. Looking down at the woman’s hostile face, he felt unsure how he should further address the situation. Trying to make small talk about the weather to stall time was out of the question judging by her impatient look. He did not like it. Letting his research project go like this was a real setback, even though he had not made much progress. The man had been in a state of coma for a long time, but the fact that he was alive and not ageing after all their probing and experimenting was a miracle. They had turned him into a living lab rat in search of forever life. All in the good name of science of course.
Part one of Meinard’s problem was now the fact that the man was a scientific miracle. Giving him up to this strange woman would be unfortunate. Part two was that he had stopped expecting anyone to come and see Mr Koldgrim. He had stuffed him away to make room for the more rewarding, paying clients who made regular visits. That was his hospital policy. With so little time to prepare, it was no time reaching this patient in the lower parts of the most dreadful basement, bathe him, and place him in a decent looking room. It had not been in the oral agreement that Mr Koldgrim would have a pleasant stay, and he had even been encouraged to treat him like trash. But the woman across the table did not seem like she would find this agreeable at all.
He pondered the option of telling Mrs Koldgrim that the man was dead, but surely, without a death certificate, that would prove most disastrous. Again, he wondered if he could have her hospitalised because she looked intimidating. He sent her a quick glance again and reconsidered. She was Mr Koldgrim’s wife. Besides, he did not know how many savage relatives would come looking for her, who exactly she was, and it was also the matter of the promises he already had made to a woman you under no circumstances crossed.
Starting to lose her patience, Moyra raised her voice, “I’m in a hurry. As you know, there is a storm approaching...”
The rules were simple, but as a last effort, he suggested softly, “Are you absolutely sure? Your husband is in poor shape. He’s a vegetable. He might be better off here where we’ll take good care of him, for a small fee–”
Standing up, Mrs Koldgrim almost shouted, “Take me to him, right this instant!”
“Very well...” Not only did she strike fear in him, but now she was causing a scene. “I have to warn you. He is at the ward for the most criminally insane. He was posing a menace to the other patients and the staff, so we had no other option but to put him at the very depths of the asylum at maximum security, and he refuses to accept any sort of treatment that we, of course, are ever so willing to provide for him.” The doctor reluctantly stood up and headed out of the office.
“You said he was a vegetable, yet you put him in a ward like that?” Mrs Koldgrim’s hands stood planted in her sides, and her expression made him drastically hurry up, grunting something incoherent to his defence about hospital policies and the taxes. It was better to just get this over with as soon as possible.
When they returned to the entrance hall, he ordered Precious to accompany them. The nurse, who immediately stopped gossiping, grabbed a keychain and looked unhappy. She sent the rest of the room a pleading stare if someone could take her place, but like a miracle had happened, the rest of the staff had vanished into thin air. She muttered to herself and tucked her pink cardigan tighter.
Pushing the button to the elevator, Meinard cursed out loud some words in his own foreign language when the elevator did not respond. “We have to walk. The lift is out of order again. I thought Ygor had fixed it.”
Moyra’s ears were burning. His tone of voice reminded her of flipping bacon in a frying pan.
“It’s like that box has a life of its own...” Precious complained.
“HUMBUG!” Meinard barked. “There is no such thing as the supernatural. It all has a scientific explanation. It’s simply the work of a lazy handyman, whom I have not seen for at least a week…a quark, I mean.”
Precious nodded, clearly worried the doctor would find it necessary to have her committed as she almost whispered, “These new complicated words from the empresses are easy to forget, Mr Pampf.”
Mrs Koldgrim gently touched the stone on her necklace like she was protecting it from a grave insult. It was neither science nor the supernatural. It was energy from gods, and her rock was taking her to the one true saviour. But she said nothing. It was not the time or place to start a riot.
As they stood staring down the stairs into the darkness below, Meinard continued complaining, “It is terrible moist down there, and bad for my arthritis...” He hoped Mrs Koldgrim would show some mercy.
“After you,” Mrs Koldgrim said flatly with a smug expression.
Meinard sighed and continued to complain about Ygor the incompetent handyman while they descended the stairs. “I swear Ygor is sleeping off another drunken night. If I only caught him in the act of drinking while on duty... Oh, my knee,” he moaned and moved in an exaggerated, limpidly way.”
Mrs Koldgrim did not mind the constant complaints the doctor was making. The basement was everything but pleasant, and it was better to concentrate on a whiney voice.
The stairs went several stories down until the air was so thick with the stench of decay that Moyra found it hard to breathe. The sounds of residents from behind locked doors on the floors they passed seemed as though they got worse the further down they went. As would be expected, Moyra thought. She shuddered and fiddled nervously with the stone in her necklace again. The stone felt warmer. He was close. She could hear her necklace sing now, as clear as in her dreams.
“Travel far to the land by the sea and set your saviour free.”
And indeed, the stone had her name and his carved into it in silvery, pulsating handwriting only she could see.
Mrs Koldgrim was ripped out of her thoughts as they had reached the lower basement. Reality ambushed her and made her feel faint. Five hallways of a somewhat sinister impression, like everything else down there, stretched in all directions, but they headed down the first one to the left.
She wondered what the other wards must be like. The ones they had passed on their way down to this damp and inhospitable place. The first ward was probably for the self-proclaimed insane who just needed a break from work and had invented a set of mental illnesses from a medical encyclopaedia. The second ward was perhaps for the not really insane, but for the ones who had relatives who for various reasons had decided that it was better to be at the asylum than to disgrace the family. The third ward was perhaps for the actual insane, but with only a minor degree of it, like forgetfulness of socks and seeing a ghost or two. The fourth ward would be for the ones who enjoyed banging their fried heads against walls. And the fifth for the ones who enjoyed to not only bang their own fried heads against walls but also to bang other fried heads against walls, then smear blood on the floor and roll in it. And at last, the sixth ward was for the truly insane, who collected eyeballs to properly see you. And that is where they were heading right now. Realising, she had to focus her mind on places less dark than her own imagination, she fixed her stare at Precious’ pink cardigan instead. For some reason, it was even scarier, so she started listening to the music upstairs once again playing. A woman sang about the days of the quart.
“Modrday, no time for joy
Tonday, life is dull
Mariday, get a toy
Nedrday, coins make belly full
Flinday, fearless and coy
Seraday, drink from a skull
Fenday, play with a doll.”
Moyra doubted these lyrics were helpful for the patients. Every day must be like Modrday.
The light seemed dimmer the further into the hallway they went, and the interior became more deteriorated until there was no interior at all and only bricks with peeled off wallpaper. Moyra felt that having wallpaper at all in a place like this was strange, but she assumed that they had at least tried to make some effort at livening the place up. She had observed, as they had passed the other floors, that there had been attempts at painting happy things on the walls, but illustrations so desperately trying to be cheerful was only make the situation worse. Smileys, flowers, rainbows, and clowns did not make her feel warm and fuzzy inside right now. Together with the distant music upstairs, that sounded anything but joyful down here, she wondered if these efforts were made deliberately to keep anyone from recovering, and instead recruit more patients. It felt like she was trapped, and she tried to focus on her purpose, so she would not fly into a frenzy.
Her eyes wandered across the endless walls, and she realised that there were framed photos hanging on the walls, even here, but the frames were either empty, or the pictures so severely faltered that she could not make much out of it. However, she could swear she saw a photo of some doctor drilling a hole in someone’s head, and it did not make her any less eager to leave. Every corner was full of cobwebs, and the dim light above their heads seemed sickly green due to many full cycles of neglecting the lamp shields. Staring up at the fluorescent lamps, she was convinced that new life forms had developed inside of them because they were thick of mould, fungus, and dead insects. She swore, she even saw a rat. The light itself made a vicious humming like it was about to stop glowing. A sinking, claustrophobic feeling had taken hold of her, and she feared they would soon stand in complete darkness six levels underground.
They finally stopped in front of a solid door of metal. Precious pulled out the heavy keychain and took her time figuring out which key to use, but soon, the door opened with a rusty sound and revealed a new corridor. A stench worse than anything Moyra had encountered before stood against them like a wall. Precious and Meinard grabbed each their stun sticks standing right outside the door. Then they entered what was undoubtedly the ward for the criminally insane and worse.
The sounds from the patients were the most unnerving hum of suffering Moyra had ever heard. The hallway seemed to end in a pitch-black nothingness, and shadows were moving around down here. They were ghostlike and drifting aimlessly in the dark, making her unsure what was real and not because everything felt like a bad dream. Whatever bravery she had built up for this mission was starting to wear off. The stone of courage and guidance burned her chest. She knew the courage had soon been used up.
They were all a bit startled, when the door shut behind them, preventing any patients from leaving. Then they continued walking down that hallway as well, while eerie-looking patients investigated them like they were explorers in their kingdom of doom.
Eventually, they stopped in front of another door of metal. It was that of a cell, and Mrs Koldgrim could tell that the head doctor looked more nervous now. He reluctantly unlocked the door while mumbling to his defence, “We had to keep him away from the rest of the patients. They were scared of him, even down here.” At least that part was true, Meinard thought to himself. Every other patient feared the man.
Mrs Koldgrim scowled and ignored the excuses. The lies smelled even worse than the decay and excrement in this place.
Inside the cell, it was black as a grave. Moyra could not see anything at first, but after a few moments, she realised that what she had first thought was a pile of old clothes in a corner, was a fatigued figure. Finally, she saw with her own eyes the man she had been searching for. The saviour. A gasp left her as though she was surprised to see he was real. He seemed nearly dead because of his hollow appearance. Her heart swelled and almost stopped in sympathy. Slowly she moved towards him, worried any sudden movement would frighten him or turn him into dust. Behind her, she could hear Precious moan impatiently, but she ignored it. Instead, all her energy was focused on the lump in the corner. “Mr Koldgrim?” she whispered as sweetly as she could, but he made no signs of recognition, and just kept sitting there with his blank stare staring like he was staring right through everyone and back into the centre of his own mind. Death surrounded this cell and had infested everything in it. It was as though he was sitting right in the middle of all things evil.
She was disgusted. This place was the worst place she had ever seen, and it was not a place for healing. It was not even a prison cell. A tray with some old bread and water had been put right inside the door. The food looked untouched, and it was blue. How long had this man gone hungry? Was he even alive? Where he sat motionlessly, he might as well be dead, but she could see his chest moving. The man still made no signs of realising that someone was in the room, but she was sure she could sense something in him being alert. Calmly she sat down next to him. He looked like he was staring directly at something terrifying that was invisible to her. She wondered if he was staring at his last sane moment. Perhaps he kept seeing it over and over again in his head, reliving the dread that drove him insane. “Badrian, I’ve come to take you home,” she said softly. Hoping the words would sink in.
A chill wind from the depths of the hallway lifted Precious’ hair. She complained loudly that they should hurry up, but Moyra took no notice of her. Neither did she feel any sympathy for the doctor, who muttered about his arthritis again. Instead, she sat there for a while longer on the cold stone floor, holding Mr Koldgrim’s skeleton hand, trying to send some energy into him through the stone in her necklace. He needed strength so that he could move. He had to move. They had a long way to walk. She felt despair and concentrated all her energy. The last thing she wanted was to ask Meinard and Precious for help. They would laugh, or worse, just leave her there in the cell to die with this ghostly man. He still had not shown any signs of realising anyone was in the cell with him or even being there himself, but somehow, he seemed more alert than he had been a few moments ago. Perhaps the stone had worked?
Outside the door, she saw movement. Some of the braver patients were curious about what was going on and had started to gather closer around them. The doctor and Precious had already ordered some of them back, and the residents had retreated slightly, clearly fearful as they probably knew very well what was in store for them if they misbehaved. Their moaning, whispering, mad giggling, crying, and twitching, made her almost lose her mind herself. These were no longer living creatures. They had long ago forgotten how that was like. Her heart sank, thinking about the man sitting next to her. Would he ever recover?
It was time. Mrs Koldgrim could not endure this anymore. The tenseness in the air told her that the patients were at the verge of hysteria. Gently pulling Mr Koldgrim’s hand, indicating for him that it was time to leave, she was pleasantly surprised. He did not object. In fact, he stood up, and he stood remarkably well despite his condition, but he was trembling, and she was alarmed he might fall over. In his state, he would collapse, and his skeleton parts would rattle all over the floor.
The feeling of dread that surrounded the place now overwhelmed her, so she walked as fast as she possibly could while guiding Mr Koldgrim towards the thick metal door that separated sanity from insanity. Meinard and Precious aimed their stun guns and fought off a few patients who were getting threatening. Their progress forward felt like walking in tar with the weak and unsteady Mr Koldgrim by her side. The patients stepped aside for Moyra and Mr Koldgrim though, running into the shadows again at the sight of them. Moyra assumed her stone protected them.
When, finally, the main door shut behind them with a loud bang echoing, she was trembling almost as much as the tall, skinny man by her side. It was like waking from a nightmare and worrying if she was really awake. The room felt like it swirled as they walked as fast as they could down the corridor and up the stairs again towards the light of day, and as they entered the brightly lit reception room, Moyra felt she could finally breathe again. The bright light was blinding, but the heat and sight of the sane was a welcoming sensation, even though they all looked at them with the utmost disgust. She felt Mr Koldgrim losing his balance and held him steadily. “Not much longer now, before you’re out of this dreadful place,” she whispered.
After a few more moments of excuses from Meinard, she had finally retrieved his belongings as well. Or what was left of it. It was just a rock, some rusty keys, and bits of old paper, tucked into Mr Koldgrim’s pockets by Precious who seemed to be in a hurry to have the man out of sight. It was evident, by her wrinkled nose, that the smell of him displeased her. Moyra suspected that the staff had taken everything of value from Mr Koldgrim, and glared at them, knowing that starting an argument about it would be futile. Luckily his clothes were made for a cold climate. Helping Mr Koldgrim to get dressed, she did most of the dressing because he was just standing there like a living dead in his striped patient suit. He smelled dreadful, but she did not want to linger longer in that hideous place and ask for a bath as well. She would find a way to clean him up soon. The village of Galadagon was not that far away.
Apart from being tattered and partly digested by moths, Badrian Koldgrim now looked like a proper gentleman in an outfit that would pass as fashionable vintage.
On their way towards freedom, the last thing Moyra saw before she disappeared through the heavy doors of the reception hall, was Meinard Pampf’s sullen face.
Once outside, her last bit of courage disappeared like the last drop of a powerful potion. She was shaking uncontrollably in the already violent storm, and let her tears roll freely. She had finally done it.
As she came to her senses, she felt bewildered. The wind was threatening to lift them off the Galdoomian cliffs. Her only thought inside the asylum had been to get Mr Koldgrim out. She had absolutely no clue what to do next.
Former mental patient, Mr Badrian Koldgrim, just stood by her side with his black coat billowing. He was unaware of being a free man, still having a vacant stare into his own mind.