Asylum Above the Deep

 

by Jonathan Morrow

The air in the asylum was thick and dank, a miasma of damp stone and old blood. Through the darkened corridors of the asylum Nurse Ellen Hargrave moved with a solemn, deliberate step. The halls were unlit save for the dim flicker of gas lamps, casting wavering shadows on the walls. Ellen's routine had long been the same, a monotonous round of patient checks and administering medication. But tonight the oppressive silence felt different, tinged with an inexplicable unease that gnawed at her.

It was a bitter cold night and the wind howled like a banshee through the cracks of the asylum's ancient masonry. Ellen’s footsteps echoed as she approached the isolation wing, a section of the asylum where only the most troubled souls were confined. The wing was notorious for its gloom and unspoken horrors. It was here that the asylum’s most secretive and dangerous patients were kept behind heavy iron doors that groaned under the strain of their own weight.

Ellen reached the last cell in the isolation wing, its door adorned with a rusted, iron-barred window. Through the narrow slits a sliver of moonlight fell, illuminating the darkness within. She unlocked the door, her gloved hand trembling, though she could not say why. The interior was devoid of furniture, save for a narrow cot against the far wall, upon which a figure lay. The figure was shrouded in shadow, a gaunt silhouette that seemed to blend into the darkness itself.

"Good evening," Ellen said, her voice steady despite the chill that had settled in her bones.

A low, guttural noise emerged from the shadows, neither a groan nor a murmur, but something inhuman. Ellen’s eyes adjusted to the dim light, revealing the figure of a man, though his features were obscured by a tangled mane of dark hair and the tattered rags that clothed him. His eyes, when they met hers, glinted with an unnatural intelligence that sent a shiver down her spine.

For months Ellen had been charged with the care of this particular inmate, a man who had been admitted under mysterious circumstances and whose name had long been forgotten by the asylum’s records. He was known only as "Patient X," a designation that held no comfort in its anonymity. The only thing remarkable about him was the strange, almost hypnotic glint in his eyes that seemed to promise secrets too dark for mortal understanding.

"How are you tonight?" Ellen asked, trying to maintain her composure.

The man’s gaze remained fixed on her, and then, to Ellen’s growing disquiet, he began to speak in a voice that was both dry and melodious. "The depths... they call to me, Nurse. The abyss that lies beneath the surface."

Ellen frowned, puzzled. "What do you mean by that?"

A distorted grin spread across Patient X’s face. "The deep places. The places where shadows dwell and the gods of old sing their haunting songs. I hear them, Nurse. I hear them, and they speak of you."

Ellen’s heart pounded in her chest. "Of me?"

"Yes," Patient X hissed. "You are the one who will awaken them."

The words hung in the air, heavy and foreboding. Ellen had heard many strange things in her years at the asylum, but this was different. She had dismissed the ramblings of her patients as the delusions of the deranged, but something about Patient X’s tone was different, as if he were a vessel for a truth beyond the reach of sanity.

As the hours ticked by Ellen remained in the isolation wing, unable to tear herself away from Patient X’s unsettling presence. She watched as the man’s eyes seemed to cloud over, his gaze directed not at her but at something unseen in the darkness. Then came the whispers, faint, distant, like the sound of a hundred voices murmuring beneath the surface of the sea.

A sudden, bone-chilling draft swept through the cell, causing Ellen to shiver. The shadows in the cell seemed to deepen and lengthen, coalescing into a form that was anything but human. The air grew dense, suffused with a palpable malevolence that pressed against Ellen’s chest.

The figure, which had once been a mere distortion, now took on a form that was grotesque and alien. It was a creature of the deep, a monstrosity of scales and sinew, with eyes like abyssal pits and a maw that gaped open, revealing rows of needle-like teeth.

Ellen stumbled backward, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The creature’s gaze locked onto her and she felt an irresistible compulsion to move closer, to fall under its spell. But she fought it with every ounce of willpower she had.

"Why?" she managed to croak. "Why me?"

Patient X’s eyes glimmered with a maddening clarity. "Because you are the link. The keeper of the gateway. The one who will free us from our prison."

In a final, desperate act of defiance, Ellen reached for the cell’s door and wrenched it open, fleeing into the hallway. She could hear the creature’s distant, gurgling laughter echoing behind her, mingling with the whispers of the abyss.

As Ellen made her way down the asylum’s dim corridors she stumbled upon a hidden passage she had never noticed before. Driven by a frenzied need to escape she ventured deeper into the bowels of the asylum. The passage led her to an ancient chamber, long forgotten and hidden from view.

Inside Ellen found a strange altar, covered in symbols she could not decipher. As she approached she realized that Patient X’s words had been true: this was the nexus of an ancient, malevolent power. The chamber began to tremble, the walls cracking and groaning as if awakening from a long slumber.

It was then that Ellen understood the horrifying truth. The creature was not just a guardian but a part of a larger, darker force, a force that had been waiting for someone like her to release it. As the chamber collapsed around her, Ellen’s final scream was swallowed by the darkness.

The next morning the asylum staff found the isolation wing empty, save for Patient X, who lay unmoving on the cot, his eyes closed in a serene expression. The deep creature was gone, its awakening thwarted by the very person it had sought to manipulate.

Yet as the staff resumed their routines they would occasionally hear a faint, unsettling whisper echo through the corridors, an echo of the abyss that had nearly been set free, and a reminder of the night when the boundaries between the human and the deep had been almost erased.