Once Upon a Black Kraken

  Part 8 | Part 10 As my seventh task was scratched and my recognition wandering was interrupted last time by a lighthouse “incident,” I continued to explore Bachman Asylum’s surroundings. There was an old shed around a hundred yards away. The door, as usual, squeaked when I pushed it. The floor did the same when I stepped on. Tried the single bulb in the ceiling. It didn’t work, of course. With my flashlight I distinguished gardening tools. Bullshit, on the boulder ground of this island there was no way to do any. A gas-powered electric generator hijacked my attention. It included a handwritten note held with tape: “Wing A.” With the hand truck that was on its side, I carried the device. Surprisingly, just outside of Wing A there was a flat enough area to place my recent discovery. It fitted like a glove. Connected the cable to the generator and back to the power outlet of Wing A, which turned out to be in the ceiling, which in turn forced me to return to the shed for the...

  Part 7 | Part 9 I don’t have any more tasks now. It took me three days to finish the library’s inventory. Already asked Alex to bring more fire extinguishers on his next groceries delivery trip. The seventh, and last, instruction is scratched beyond readability. Maybe, for once I could relax. Another thing I found in the records was that the trespasser’s guy on my first night here wasn’t the first “suicide.” In the late 1800s there was a lighthouse keeper who, after failing to light correctly the thing, caused a two-hundred people crew to crash into the rocks and sank; no survivors. Not even the keeper, who hung himself. After such gloomy story, I stepped out of the ruined building to get some fresh air. The Bachman Asylum has its own little graveyard. Like thirty yards away from the main building there is a small, rotten-wood-fenced lot, about twenty square feet with rocks, yellow grass and broken or tumbled gravestones. I was astonished they managed to bury someone the...

  Part 6 | Part 8 “6. Make an inventory of the library.” If my task list says so. In the ocean of wet, unorganized, and page-ripped documents of the library found a couple interesting things about this place. Turns out the fires on Wing C were something constant, almost happening twice a year. Multiple patients got burn or died due to the supposedly- supernatural lightning rod that was this area. Bullshit. Also, there were multiple notes from The Post stating the Asylum had been under scrutiny due to fiscal controversy. I read: “Due to massaging the figures of the private psychiatric Bachman Asylum, the institution has been retired from ‘N’ Family and, in addition to a fine, the installation will be run by the State now.” The government always takes everything. *** “So, the accused denied giving false information to the Company’s clients, stating that even if he had done it, he didn’t regret leaving (and I’m quoting here) ‘those rich fat bastards without the 0.01% of t...

  Part 5 | Part 7 As soon as Alex delivered me the gauss and ointment for the empty first aid kit, that I had ordered almost a month ago (if I may say so), I used them to take care of my arm’s burns until now only relieved by slightly cold water. Alex watched me as if I was a desperate, starving animal in a zoo. Pain prevents you from feeling humiliated or offended. “Hey, I was meaning to ask you…” he started. I nodded at him while mummifying my arms with the vendages. “Does the lighthouse still works?” “Not know. Never been there,” I answered. “Oh, well, Russel sent you this.” He extended his arm holding a note from the boss. It read: “Make sure to use the chain and lock to keep shut the Chappel. R.” I looked back at Alex, confused, as he dropped those provisions on the floor. What a coincidence those ones arrived almost immediately. *** They didn’t work. The chain had very small holes in its links. No matter how I tried to push through the sturdy lock, it j...

  Part 4 | Part 6 I couldn´t close the Chappel. After being thrown and smashed open the doors of the religious corner of the Bachman Asylum, it turns out I needed a key to lock the entrance as I am instructed to do by my tasks list. Searched for it on the janitor’s closet on Wing A. No light, no space, just cobwebs and old plastic containers with weird chemicals that I can smell even from outside the door. Those aren’t cleaning supplies. A mop fell and startled me a little. I got out. At the management office I was luckier. In the spacious, well illuminated, not broken windows (that’s new) space with a giant mahogany desk that appears hand carved, there was a cork mount with some keys hanging on the South wall. They were even marked. “Lighthouse,” “Chappel” and “Morgue.” The one below the “Morgue” sign was missing. No sweat. Just needed the Chappel one. Took it. Before leaving, I noticed there is a map of the building. Skimmed the places I already know by heart looking f...