“How delightful,” Dr. Kloren smiled, his yellow teeth clinched, his nose wrinkled tight. He was a man of short stature, wire glasses, white hair and an odd accent that no one could quite place. In the background, as the lead psychiatrist of Ashby’s Center for the Damned led Dr. Kloren on a tour, were screams and cries of pain. Electroshock, stimuli, devices deemed necessary to rid evil while cleansing the soul; things that made Dr. Kloren very happy.
“And here,” the lead psychiatrist, Dr. Tormont, pointed to a young woman wearing a white gown. “Here she is,” he presented, folding his hands together. “Miss Clarington, daughter of a Barrister, and a witch,” he laughed. Dr. Kloren joined him in the fun.
The girl, about seventeen, had powers which frightened many, including her parents. When her mother passed the previous year, her father had her committed.
In a bath of cold water, trickling over her shoulders at an unrelenting pace, the girl sat without a word. Her eyes sunk deep into her face, her skin pale from never seeing the sun. Along the ridge of her nails was a thick line of muck. And her skin… wrinkled, brittle, and falling away in the tub.
“She scared away her Governess, sent her running into the night with nothing but a thin robe to keep her warm,” Dr. Tormont went on. He cocked his head as the girl stared on blankly. “She might be the reason her mother passed so prematurely.
The doctors, until then completely confident and proud, could not resist a tremble. The tub, sturdy and thick, cracked without pause. Dr. Kloren stepped forward to face the girl directly.
“Don’t get close,” Dr. Tormont warned. “I’ve seen her quiet the candles and fill the space with a wind that should not be.”
Dr. Kloren, however, was interested. The girl, sitting silent and still enough to make them believe she wasn’t even alive, turned her head and looked into the doctor’s eyes.
The air left his body fast. Dr. Tormont rushed in to pull his friend of nearly forty years out of the mental grasp of the girl. Dr. Kloren, struggling for life, kept his eyes to Miss Clarington, desiring to know more of her world of mystery.
Nurses came running from every direction; the hospital filled with chaos. Dr. Tormont retreated to the switch panel and lowered the rocker backwards. The girl, steady and without break, held on to Dr. Kloren until he collapsed. Then, while the nurses prepared to inject Miss Clarington with a sedative, the rocker tipped her into the water. Her reflection pure evil, filled with hate. Her eyes, sullen and weak in the flesh, were blackened and sore in the water below.
“Never again,” she called out in a low and brassy voice. The ground rumbled beneath their feet as the earth started to open. “Never again,” she said once more, falling to the pit below.