The Redwood Asylum: A Paranormal Horror L.A. Detwiler (best books to read for self development .txt) 📖

lighting up. I’d thought about starting fresh with a new phone but just hadn’t had the time. Starting life over was exhausting, I’d learned quickly. So many details. Still, I knew I needed to handle this particularly important one. I shuddered thinking about how stupid it was to keep my number.

Ignoring the queasy feeling in my stomach, I sighed at the other uncomfortable aspect of the number on the phone. A pang of guilt bit into me as I hit Decline, ignoring Sheila’s call yet again. I texted her a “sorry, working” note just so she didn’t get worried. It wouldn’t do for the people from my past to come looking for me, to come stirring up details. But I just couldn’t handle chatting with her, hearing about the old happenings at Mercy Hospital and feeling the shame for how I up and left. Sheila didn’t even know where I was, even though she had inadvertently prompted me to come to Redwood.

She’d told me stories about how her friend knew a friend who knew a friend who had done an internship at this spooky asylum nestled in the hills. She’d told me how it was an oddity, that although it was labeled a psychiatric hospital, it most definitely was an asylum of sorts.

“How is that even possible?” I’d asked while we took our five-minute break on the maternity ward floor that night.

She shrugged. “It’s sort of a hush hush thing, nestled into the hills and basically forgotten. It was privately started and is apparently still owned by some wealthy family. The rich stow away their horrors there, and everyone just zips up and pretends it doesn’t exist, or so she’s said. She was desperate for an internship, and apparently her mom knew someone who worked there. Said they weren’t picky, which was what she needed. She had terrible grades.”

“Where is this place?” I’d asked out of morbid curiosity, trying to wrap my head around the fact that a place like that even existed in the modern world.

“It’s called Redwood, and it’s about ten miles from the center of a rich little town called Oakwood. The town works hard to make everyone sort of forget about it. My friend, Brittany, said it’s horrifying there. She swore it was haunted. But she did say that basically management is non-existent, and they’ll hire anyone, so she was happy for the opportunity. She told me they even had an ex-convict working there. And she swore some of the nurses weren’t even certified. But that’s just Brittany talking. She’s pretty dramatic, after all. Who knows, though. Seems like a creepy little place if you want to sort of disappear from the real world, I guess.”

I had no idea that a year later, I’d be putting that knowledge to good use.

It had seemed like an insane idea at the time, but I was desperate. And when I was trying to figure out just where to land, Redwood thumped in my head.

Brittany was right in some ways. Redwood basically would hire anyone. Once they saw my license for nursing, they practically begged me to start the next day. Apparently, asylum medicine in the middle of the wilderness was not a sought-after job, and due to the family background of some of the patients, they were discreet. They didn’t advertise openly for positions, which made it hard to find quality people. Word of mouth seemed to be the way people were hired, or family friends. I was an outsider, a rarity, but there was something they liked about me apparently.

I’d been nervous because I’d walked off the job at Mercy without a two-week notice, so I figured the references wouldn’t be positive if they’d called. But there was no need. I was hired on the spot, thrown into the hospital with Anna as my guide, and that was that. Easy, at least as far as the formalities go.

Digging into my rocky road ice cream, I reflected on the day. I thought about 5B and the way he looked at me, those eerie eyes. What must it be like to be one of the forgotten in Redwood, to be left behind by your family? Sure, the place touted treatment options and state-of-the-art mental health experts—none of which I’d seen yet—but even with my limited time there, I could see through the ruse.

You didn’t go to Redwood to get better; you went to Redwood to be stowed away.

I shuddered from the cold of the ice cream on my tongue and from the thought. No wonder Brittany thought the place was haunted. It didn’t take an expert or a paranormal team to understand the anger, the hurt, the suffering that would happen in those walls. Not to mention the horrific treatments that happened and were probably still happening there.

Maybe that’s why I ended up there. Maybe it’s fate, I thought to myself as I flipped through some dating shows on the television. Maybe I could set things right after all by making life a little bit better for the residents at Redwood. I could show compassion and hope. That was it, I decided. I would find a purpose in the unsettling stone walls, bring some light into the creeping feeling of darkness.

But later, when I settled onto my overly firm mattress and covered myself with the threadbare comforter I’d brought, visions of the cells, memories of the screams echoed in my mind. And that night, my dreams were haunted, not just by the sights and horrors of Redwood. I woke up shrieking in agony, realizing that no matter how far I went, the truth would always be just under the surface, waiting to disturb my peace even in the blankness of sleep.

Chapter Three

The following Monday, I was scheduled for my first night shift with Anna. Driving up to Redwood, my headlights barely illuminating the winding path through the dense fog, I shivered at the thought of what might await. I’d grown accustomed to the routine of