I returned from the passage in the castle. The first time I was too terrified to speak; when I saw the decayed body of my karate teacher, wailing over me, because of what I’d done to myself. Five supernatural (Black Dogs) appeared; each smelling of sewage.
“I’ll spit in your face. This is just an illusion.”
I was in a mental hospital, and the authorities were there.
There was a dead phone in the clinic, with a closed circuit TV, that use to belong to the A.A. members. It rang.
I picked it up, so doped up, that I thought it was a colored pencil. “Rick! I mean Jim Cross.”
The line was dead.
“You’re in the matrix, man,” an older patient that resembled Jim Morrison, from the Doors, said.
Suddenly, she broke out in Jim Cross’s speech pattern, followed by what I can only describe as a guttural hiss. “I thought that you loved me. What, my family isn’t good enough for you?”
I stumbled over to her like a drunk soldier.
“This isn’t the Civil War,” she replied in a southern drawl. “Spirits go home!”
Her thick ebony arms grabbed the coatrack from my arms. “What do you think this is, a musket?”
It took two attendants to pin me down, and sedate me.
I grew less fearful every day, even at the threat of a lobotomy. “At least I’ll still have my soul.”
The spirit of my roommate still haunts the tower. She was a paranoid schizophrenic , who died just 3 days after her lobotomy.
These kind of procedures were practiced in our culture, because the truth is; mental illness therapy is still trial, and error.
I became famous at the mental institution after I confronted the doctor about the death of my roomate. Her condition was guarded, and then she was dead.
I probably wan’t being too smart, when I plagiarized my thesis, in order to time-travel to Poveglia. A mad scientist kidnapped our group, and took us to the Peel Castle. It must have been an entrance to the underworld.
Countless spirits recited in ghostly voices, “Poveglia knows where you are! This place will chill your bones! We allow spirits to enter, but never leave.”
I leapt over the guardrail, hoping to jump into the sea. I opened my medicine bag full of lions claws, and serpent’s tails. I had run away, hoping to catch mind-numbing, excruciating pain, rather than losing my thought processes. I fliched as I saw the mad professor shake the drill at me. “You’ll be thrown to the wolves! You’re only as good as that snake-headed goddess anyway!”
I watched the mindless ones (escapees) race toward each other; some in a maddening three-legged sprint. They bred in the caves, closest to the sea. Their children were deformed, having three heads, in the manner of cavemen. Eventually, the scientist leapt to his own death, and the passageways of the castle were sealed; never to be used again.
I can only hope that I reach Jim Cross in time. The distance will take four years by sea. All I can say is, it’s a matter of endurance, will, and my biological clock. The time machine is hidden underwater in the Bermuda Triangle area. I unsheathe my knife, tuck it between my teeth, and begin to swim. You do not seem to understand that one slight miscalculation, will cause Jim Cross’s suicide!