Angel of Evil

By Michael Swanson

A new novel from the author of the bestseller Farlight and the award-winning The Angel Baby

 

Taneisha Guidry must discover if the terrifying stories about the Laularie Parish Sanitarium are true. Inside the derelict building, she begins to see and hear those who didn't survive the barbaric treatments.  Worse yet, the paranormal encounters awaken an ancient evil, more frightening and more deadly than any of the terrors haunting the sanitarium, including the gang who tried to rape her.

Once safely at the beach, Tanny's newfound ability to witness the past is overwhelming.  In a Galveston antique store, she just has to buy a vintage porcelain doll and is also drawn to a photograph of Galveston's Old City Cemetery.  Seeking out the angel in the photo, the only surviving gang member from the sanitarium follows her hell bent on revenge.  Drawing upon the growing force within her, the slight young woman impales the brute upon the fence spikes surrounding the angel's crypt.

In nearby Houston, an assistant DA who battled The Angel of Evil with Tanny's father sees the story on the nightly news.  Rushing to her aid, the DA brings Tanny to her home in Houston's historic Heights where she learns the truth about her father's death.  Despite everything, Tanny struggles to accept her father was involved in voodoo and died to protect her from The Angel of Evil.

The Angel of Evil is hell-bent on possessing Tanny's soul.  She will fight until her dying breath to break the connection and banish the demon forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Farlight Press
• Release date: Sep 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223207535

Michael Swanson

Finalist for the 2021 Houston Literary Award and author of the Sci-Fi best-seller, Farlight, Michael Swanson is the author of multiple novels and short stories across a broad range of genres.

Book preview

CHAPTER I

Laularie Parish Sanitarium

Beneath a broken streetlight , four figures kept close together in the shadows.  Headlights appearing down at the corner drew their attention.  Watching the vehicle turn at the corner and begin driving their way, all four fled down the sidewalk to a rusted–out car left abandoned in the street, the last one there ducking down just ahead of the lights.

Windows down and radio crackling, a black and white police cruiser with Laularie Parish Police on the side slowed as it approached the rusted–out wreck.  The glow from the dashboard computer illuminated the face of the officer at the wheel as he ran his spotlight over the empty windows and trunk filled with trash.  Cruising slowly by the bright flood of light flowed past the car and continued to move along, illuminating the bars of a tall wrought iron fence and behind stands of massive oleanders.  Visible between gaps in the bushes stood ancient live oaks draped with Spanish moss, and further back came ghost–like glimpses of towering grey walls and dark and empty windows.  Even after the police cruiser had passed, the four crouching down behind the abandoned car stayed low, waiting for the red glow of the taillights to fade completely from view before emerging and stepping back up onto the sidewalk.

Looming up over them stood a brick and wrought iron fence at least ten feet tall.  Each twisting, black bar was close set to the others and crowned on top with a rusty point resembling the tip of a spear.  Just inside the fence ran the row of enormous oleander bushes.  Almost as if these deadly poisonous plants were warily keeping their distance, not a single leaf or twig touched anywhere upon the fence.  Yet snaking up from below the bushes, dead, dry creepers twined up and around the bars.  Their withered leaves and tiny brown flowers draping down from the fence’s top railing gave the creepers the appearance of funerary garlands forsaken and left behind in the aftermath of some terrible sadness long ago.  Even in daylight, getting over this fence would present a challenge.

Of the four standing on the sidewalk and looking up at the fence, two were clearly young women.  With her silver, hoop earrings and purple halter–top, the larger girl appeared as though she might have dressed for a rave.  While the girl to her right was so petite, it would be easy to mistake her for a child if it wasn’t for the decidedly womanly curves of her hips, and her more than ample bust line.  Both of the two young men with them were athletic, each wearing a sleeveless t–shirt to best show off the muscles of their shoulders and arms.  The taller of the two sported a close–trimmed goatee and wore a purple backpack displaying an LSU Geaux Tigers logo.  His companion didn’t quite come up to his shoulder but was rather stout and wore the bill of his black and gold New Orleans Saint’s cap angled rakishly down over his right ear.

The young man with the backpack shrugged it off his shoulders, handing it over to the petite girl who walked up to take it while the other girl stood back watching with her hands shoved down into her pockets.  Quickly stepping up to the fence, he began to stroke his thumb and forefinger down from his cheeks to the tip of his goatee while studying the top railing.  Finally looking down at the fence’s low brick base, he grabbed tonto the bars and stepped up and onto it.  Taking in a deep breath, he held it for a brief second, then leapt, stretching up with his hands in an attempt to grab the top rail.  He managed to get his fingertips up on it, but the thick creepers didn’t allow him to hold on.  When his fingers slid off, he brought down with him a crackling shower of dried tendrils and dead flowers.  Ignoring the brays of laughter from the young woman wearing the gold, hoop earrings, he stepped back up onto the base and refocused upon the top rail.  This time when he jumped, his right hand securely gripped the railing.  Hanging by one hand and dangling for just a moment, he swung his hips left then right, finally slapping the fingers of his left hand down atop the railing.

Clearly excited, the tiny girl hugging his backpack to her called up encouragement.  You did it! You got it now!

Appearing to float effortlessly upward, he performed an easy chin up.  Then bringing up a knee, he got one tennis shoe atop a rusty, metal sign reading: Absolutely No Trespassing! Violators Will Be Prosecuted! Using the sign as a foothold, he swung his right leg up and over the top railing at a gap where two of the spear points had broken off.  A moment later, he was sitting straddling the top railing and grinning down at the others.  Come on, he stretched down both hands, wiggling his fingers.  Toss me up my backpack before that po–po comes cruisin’ back ‘round.

In the hands of such a small girl his backpack appeared a bit too large for her to handle.  Yet lowering it to her knees and keeping both arms straight, in one fluid swing she made a perfect underhanded toss.  For one split second, the backpack appeared to hang suspended in the air beside the young man atop the railing.  Just when it seemed it might fall, his hands flashed out, and he snatched it to him.  Balancing the backpack on his knee and secure in his vantage high up atop the rail, he took a quick moment to peer up and then down the road.  Seeing no sign of any headlights returning, he tossed the backpack behind the row of oleanders.  Then swinging both legs over the top rail, he pushed off, landing with a heavy thud in the deep darkness between two of the bushes.  With nothing but silence coming from behind the fence, for a long moment the three he’d left behind on sidewalk peered anxiously to each other.

Keeping her voice to a hush, it was the tiny girl who again broke the silence, Hey, Sloan? You okay back there?

For an answer, a rope came sailing up and over the fence, dangling down over the top railing.  The sound of dry leaves rustling and crackling underfoot, Sloan pushed through the bushes.  Stepping up to the bars and gripping them in both hands, he resembled a prisoner in a cell as he peered out at the others.  I’ve tied off the rope back here.  Y’all girls come on over next.  There was no mistaking the smooth cayenne flavor of his French–Cajun accent.  All y’all gots ta do is grab a–hold of the rope as high up on it as you can, and Lavelle will give you a boost to help you climb on up.  Once you’re on top, just hang over the side, and I’ll help you down.

The taller girl was eyeing the rope as though it was a snake, which at any moment might come to life and bite her.  Dressed in a purple tube top with ultrashort cutoff jeans tight about her thighs, her thick, silvery eye shadow matched her dangly hoop earrings.  Though the sun had set hours ago, the night air remained as hot and humid as a sauna, and her makeup was melting, especially the rouge on her cheeks.  Turning her attention to the stout young man sporting the Saints cap, she slapped her left hand to her hip and pierced him with an icy glare.  Now y’all didn’t say a damn thing ‘bout climbin’ no ropes.

Aww now, Aubree.  Taking up the rope, Lavelle offered it out to her.  Don’t get your panties all in a twist.  You saw how easy it was for your bro to climb on over.  And he didn’t get no help at all.  You got this here rope and me to give you a boost.  Piece o’ cake, girl.

Aubree’s eyes ran up and down the length of white nylon tied with knots every foot or so.  Peering up at Lavelle from underneath her silvery eyelids, she crossed her arms and shook her head.  Uh–Uh.  Ain’t no way that’s happenin’.

While following the give and take between Aubree and Lavelle, the petite girl maintained her silence.  Dressed in a pale, pink peasant blouse, which flattered her anything–but–childlike bust line and revealed her flat and well–toned midriff, like her friend, her shortie cutoff shorts were stonewashed to the point there were holes worn in fabric and white threads hung down around her thighs.  Perhaps because she didn’t appear to be wearing any makeup at all, in contrast to Aubree, she appeared calm, cool and composed.  Suddenly stepping up, she snatched the rope from Lavelle’s fingers, grabbed it in both hands and gave it a stout tug.  With everyone on both sides of the fence looking on, she stepped up onto the low brick base and wrapped her fingers about the topmost knot as far up as she could reach.  Not waiting for any help, she jumped up as high as she could.  Scrabbling with her tennis shoes on the bars, she worked her hands up each knot, amazing everyone with how quickly she clambered her way up to straddle the top railing.

Damn!  Whipping off his Saints cap, Lavelle slapped it to his thigh.  Will y’all look at that! That girl must be half monkey.

Clearly proud of herself, yet suppressing a grin as quickly as it appeared, she turned her attention to the other side.  Hey, Sloan! You better be ready down there, ‘cause here I come.  Her Midwest accent offered a noticeable contrast to that of her Cajun companions, as she added.  Now don’t let me get caught up in those bushes and fall.

Once again without waiting, she twisted herself around with her back to the bushes, then set first one knee and then the other atop the railing.  Being careful as to how she positioned herself; with each tiny hand she got a firm grip on the iron bars holding up the spear points to her right and left.  Then allowing her knees to slide over and her shoes to slip down the bars, as soon as she hung down a pair of hands reaching up out of the darkness grabbed her by the waist, lifting her up into the air before finally setting her feet down on the ground.  A moment later, the first two over were grinning back from between the bars at the two remaining on the other side.

Here you go.  Lavelle again offered Aubree the rope.  Just go ahead and take it, Aubree.  You saw how easy that was.  All you gotta do is grab a hold of the rope and work your hands up the knots.  I’ll give you a boost, and you’re up and over.

Aubree looked at the rope, and her dreads swayed as she shook her head.  Uh–Uh.  I done told you.  Ain’t no way.

Aw, come on now.  Taking in a deep breath and blowing it out, desperation as much as frustration colored Lavelle’s tone.  Don’t be that–a–way.  You ain’t gonna try to chicken out now?  He pointed at the two behind the bars.  They’re already on the other side.

Chicken out?  Crossing her arms, Aubree locked her fists under each elbow.  This was a stupid–ass idea.  I must–a been crazy to let y’all talk me into comin’ out here in the first place.  She turned her fiery glare to the girl inside the fence.  I cain’t believe you, girl.  You must be crazy! You ain’t really gonna go through with this stupid bullshit, are you?

The bars gripped in her tiny hands; she peered out through the fence.  Of course, I’m going through with this.  I’m already over.  True to her petite form, her voice was small and soft, yet there could be no denying this girl possessed a confidence in herself that belied her size.  Why would I climb back when I’m already over on the other side?  Talk about doing something stupid.  And it’s not bull–– Stopping and pursing her lips, she didn’t finish the word.

I tell you what.  Aubree uncrossed her arms, shaking a finger at her, as might a preacher pointing out a sinner amongst his congregation.  You say the word, bullshit.  Just say it, and I’ll climb on over.

Silence hanging in the air, both girls stared back at each other.

You see?  Aubree looked back and forth to the guys.  She don’t never use words like bullshit.  Last week, some fool cut her off in traffic, and she wouldn’t even call him an asshole.  She said, ‘What an A–hole’.

What does my choice of words have to do with you climbing over the fence?  Letting go of the bars, she spread her hands as if pleading her case to the guys.  It’s not as though I ever say anything to anybody if they use strong language.  You can cuss a blue streak, and why would I care.  It’s just ... well... looking down to her pink Nikes, her voice grew small ...personally, I just don’t feel comfortable using language like that.  She lifted her attention back up to her friend.  Come on, Aubree let’s not argue.  Just climb on over.  Her palms covered in rust from the fence, she clapped her hands together, rubbing them vigorously back and forth.  This is going to be so much fun.

Fun?  Aubree slapped the rope away.  This kinda stupid bullshit ain’t ‘xactly my idea of fun.

For another long moment, the two girls stared back at each other, until finally Aubree broke the impasse with a dismissive wave of the hand.  Okay, fine, y’all go on ahead.  But I ain’t doin’ it.  Turning and walking away, her ample cheeks tucked within her shorts swayed, and her platform heels clattered with each quick step as she stalked off down the sidewalk.

Lavelle rolled his eyes, then shook his head at Sloan who was grinning back at him from behind the bars.  Turning his attention to the quickly retreating girl, he called out, Hey, babe, now where you runnin’ off to?

When Aubree was only a few feet away from the trash–filled trunk of the abandoned car, she stopped and whirled about.  Where am I goin’?  She pressed a finger to the center of her bosom so hard, it bent backwards at the knuckle.  This here girl’s goin’ back to the car!

Goin’ back to the car?  Lavelle snatched off his cap, swinging it in frustration and pleading, Come on, babe.  Now don’t be that a way.  They’re already over.  We gotta go.

Again crossing her arms and shaking her head, she stamped her heel on the sidewalk.  The only place this girl’s goin’ is home! And you, you’re comin’ with me.  ‘Cause I sure as hell ain’t gonna walk down some dark–ass street all by myself.

Slapping his cap back on, Lavelle looked for support from Sloan who was grinning ear–to–ear at him from inside the fence.  Sloan, now don’t you dare go laughin’ at me.  Lavelle’s shoulders and chest rose and fell as he took in a deep breath, then let it go with a heavy sigh.  I cain’t let your sister go off all by herself.  Not in this part of town.

Clearly enjoying himself, Sloan let go of the bars, spread his rusty palms, and then shrugged.  Don’t sweat it, bro.  That’s my spoiled and selfish lil’ toot–toot for you.  If anyone’s used to Aubree actin’ this–a–way it’s me.  But don’t you go tryin’ to say I ain’t warned you before ‘bout this kinda bullshit bein’ what you’ll have to put up with if you’re fool enough to have Aubree for your gaienne.  Focusing on his sister standing by the rusted-out car with her arms crossed and tapping her toe, Sloan tucked his fists under his armpits and flapped his arms, clucking like a chicken.

Oh yeah!  Swinging up her right fist, she extended her middle finger.  Cluck on this, Sloan! You wouldn’t dare give me that sass–mouth if you didn’t have those bars to protect you.  Turning on her heel, she called back over her shoulder.  You better be comin’ Lavelle! You hear me?  And I mean now!

Clearly desperate, Lavelle glanced back to Sloan.  You gonna be okay? I mean with it bein’ just the two of you all alone in there?

A peculiar smile flashed across Sloan’s face, vanishing as quickly as it appeared.  Yeah, ever so slightly, he winked, I got this covered.  She’s gonna be in good hands.

Not doing a very good job of suppressing the bloom of his own smile, Lavelle spread his thumb and little finger, miming holding a phone to his ear and lips.  You give me a call when y’all are fixin’ to be done in there, and I’ll drive on back and pick y’all up.  Give me ‘bout half an hour to get here, okay?  Not waiting for a response, he bolted, quickly sprinting up to Aubree, who was now well off down the block.

Sloan turned his attention back to the girl by his side.  You sure you still wanna do this?

Rubbing her rust covered palms on the sides of her short shorts, she nodded.  Lead on.

Sloan took a few moments to jerk the rope back over the fence and hide it under the bushes.  Then with him taking the lead, they followed the fence line, making their way to the front gates.  Behind the gates ran a narrow drive choked with tall weeds sprouting up out of cracks in the asphalt.  Heavily chained and topped with spools of razor wire, she could see why they hadn’t tried climbing over here.  Turning left at the gates, they walked side by side down the driveway.  To the left and right stood thick groves of spreading live oaks mixed with truly enormous magnolias.  The thick and heady aroma of so many magnolia blossoms filled the steamy air.  Though they were still well–within the parish limits, drapings of Spanish moss hung down from the tree branches like the tattered sails of a ghost ship.  A silvery–gray mist floated just above the ground and the deeper they made their way in, the higher and thicker it grew.  Along with the croaking of frogs and the buzzing of millions of insects, if not for being on the driveway, it would have been easy to imagine they were lost somewhere out in the middle of the Atchafalaya swamp.

Will you look at this creepy place?  She was breathing heavily with the effort to keep up with Sloan’s long strides.  Except for the frogs and the heat, this reminds me of Transylvania in one of those old black and white werewolf movies.  So tell me, Sloan, why are we walking in the dark? Why don’t you get a flashlight out of your backpack? Or, she reached into the pocket of her shorts.  If not, I’ll go ahead and use my cellphone’s flashlight.  It’s so dark in here amongst these huge trees I can hardly see the tops of my shoes.  And with how short my legs are, though Sloan couldn’t possibly see it, she broke into a smile, that’s really dark.

Put your phone away.  Sloan was keeping his eyes fixed ahead into the gloom.  We cain’t risk shining any kind of light.  At least not ‘til we get our butts inside.  Even then, we gotta be extra careful ‘bout flashin’ a light near any windows.  Lots of crazy stuff’s happened here, and the five–o is always cruisin’ by.  If them po–pos see a light, you can bet they’ll come lookin’.  And they get royally pissed off if they have to get out of their air–conditioned cars and actually do somethin’ other than drive ‘round.  If they catch us in here, it ain’t gonna be just some pissy, little ticket for trespassin.’  They’ll cuff us both and haul us off to jail for sure.

She slipped her phone back into the pocket of her shorts, and continuing down the driveway, little by little the air around them began to grow more and more quiet, until the only sound breaking the silence was the soft slap of the soles of their shoes on the asphalt.  As though it had been hiding and waiting for someone to walk up on it before revealing itself, suddenly a large building loomed up out of the gloom, appearing as an enormously dark silhouette against the night sky.  With the mist still thick about their ankles, they almost stumbled upon the curb.  When they stepped up onto the sidewalk, they found themselves standing before flights of circular stone steps leading up to a pair of double doors crisscrossed with heavy chains and sealed by two steel bars secured with multiple massive chrome padlocks.

Taking in the chains covering the door’s ornate ironwork, the sound of her soft whistle stirred the silence.  You weren’t kidding about the cops not wanting anyone to get in.  The hush of her small voice sounded even softer in the darkness.  So how are we going to get inside?

Over on the south side.  Raising his hand, Sloan jaunted his thumb to the left.  There’s a window back over there where the bars are broken out.  We can climb in through there.  I brought you in this way, ‘cause I wanted you to see the front of the place.

Looking up and around, without realizing it, she took in a deep breath and held it as her eyes drew it all in.  Except for a few ghostly wisps of silvery clouds high up amid the stars, the sky was clear tonight.  It was her eyes had adjusted to the gloom, or that the newly risen crescent moon shining through the thick tangle of tree branches behind them provided just enough light to create shadows even darker that the darkness around them stretching out from the tall iron lampposts standing to either side of the stairs.  Arched over the front doors, she could just barely make out the stone lettering reading Laularie Parish Sanitarium Est.1882.

This clearly wasn’t her guide’s first time visiting the sanitarium, but just like the girl with him, Sloan also stood looking all around and taking it all in.  Allowing her own eyes to roam, clinging to the rough–hewn red granite stone walls were thick tangles of the same dead creepers and vines draping the outer fence.  Along the roofline, medieval stone parapets gave the massive building the appearance of a fortress.  Here on the ground floor, only random shards of jagged glass remained in any of the windows.  The exposed bars and metal grille works within the steel frames revealed those who were unfortunate enough to have their families or a judge commit them here found themselves trapped in a prison for the criminally insane rather than a hospital dedicated to helping the mentally ill.  Emerging from somewhere within the back of her mind, her imagination suddenly drew forth a vision of desperate faces peering out through these bars and metal grilles in a state of hopeless despair.

Though the sun had set more than a few hours ago, the night air remained quite warm and swampy.  Yet as though touched by a passing chill, she crossed her arms protectively over her chest and shivered.  Her eyes flowing along as she scanned the length of the front facade, as if seeking something out, she found herself drawn to the upper windows of the second and then the third floor.  At this one window, just down from the northeast corner’s parapet, perhaps because the glass appeared so much darker than any of the one or two other surviving panes she’d seen, but the depth of the darkness within appeared brooding, perhaps even angry.  Even more unsettling, she would swear the true depth of the darkness didn’t lie behind the glass but within the glass.  As though compelled against her will to peer inside as she focused upon that one window an icy shiver ran down her spine, and only a heartbeat later, all the tiny hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stood up.  Even though she was unable to make out anything at all within, she found it impossible to escape the feeling that a presence was there, watching and even waiting.  As quiet as a whisper of wind stirring the curtains of Spanish moss hanging down from the branches in the trees behind her, an unsettling thought stole its way into her mind.  Waiting for what? Or for whom?

The sensation of fingers upon her shoulder snatched her attention away from the window.  Starting but not crying out, she peered down to Sloan’s hand, then up into the dim, black and grey shadows of his face.  What? What is it?

Hey, you okay?  Keeping his hand on her shoulder and his voice to barely above a hush, Sloan gently urged her to step in just a little closer to him.  Just now ... you looked ... I don’t know?  Cocking his head, even though it was difficult to see all his face in this deep gloom it wasn’t necessary to make out all of his features to know Sloan was clearly suspicious.  Did ... did you see someone ... or maybe more like somethin’ up in one of them windows?

No.  She shook her head.  At least I don’t think so.  I just ... I just ... I guess I got a little caught up taking it all in.  Everything about this place is rather... she paused, searching for the right words, ...disturbing.

Sloan peered down at the petite young woman as though he was about to reveal an unpleasant truth to a child.  If you think out here is bad, just you wait ‘til you get inside.  Girl, you’re gonna need to stick real close to me once we’re in there.  And I ain’t foolin’?

Sure, she nodded, I get it.  Glancing down at his hand on her shoulder, when she looked back up, she showed him she had a suspicious squint all her own.  But we’re not inside, yet, are we?

Sloan decided now would be a good time to lower the tension, because reacting to the suspicion in her eyes, his quick laugh was softly disarming as he lifted his hand from her shoulder and then took an extra giant step back.  My, but ain’t you the feisty little thing?  Even though he was standing a few feet away, the dark outline of his form appeared to tower over her much smaller outline.  My ol’ Cajun grand pére, Sloan cranked his Cajun accent all the way up to eleven, he’d call a lil’ toot like you ‘mon petite fille fougueuse.’  Now, I cain’t lay claim to talkin’ Cajun near as good as my grandparents, but me, Sloan pressed a finger to his chest, I think I’d call a little doll like you, mon poupée.  Flashing his smile as he spoke, clearly Sloan was having fun showing off his Cajun.  No, no, better yet, mon ange bébé.  That’s it, when Sloan snapped his fingers, he even did that softly, how ‘bout if we make ange bébé your Cajun name.

I didn’t know I needed a Cajun name.  The suspicion in her eyes had grown in proportion to Sloan’s accent.  What’s that supposed to mean anyway?  Something to do with my boobs or my butt I bet.

No, no, no, reacting to the fire in her eyes, when Sloan attempted to reassure her with his laugh, he again kept it extra soft and low, don’t you worry, I wouldn’t dare diss on you.  Ange bébé means angel baby.  But maybe I’ll just say Ange for short.  You know, pausing to allow his grin to grow even broader, he added a playfully teasing, since you’re kinda on the short side.  Just as quickly, he threw in, short, but pretty, pretty as an angel.

Shaking her head and sighing so deeply her shoulders heaved, she rolled her eyes.  I’ll give you credit for using an original line on me.  I hadn’t heard that one before.  But go on ahead and call me whatever makes you feel happy.  But when I ask Aubree about it, if I find out it means something else, you’ll have hell to pay from this, underscoring her resolve, she did a surprisingly good job mimicking his accent, ange bébé.

You know, Sloan shook a finger at her, that’s somethin’ else I like about you.  You ain’t about to take any bullshit from nobody.  And speaking of bullshit, how can it be a petite poupée as feisty as you gets all crossways ‘bout just sayin’ a word like, bullshit?

I don’t get... pausing while perhaps thinking about calling him out on the meaning of petite poupée, she instead moved on ...crossways.  It’s just I don’t feel comfortable using words like ... like....  Not able to bring herself to say it, creating more distance between them by taking a step further back, she spread her hands.  I know it’s pretty dark but take a look at me.  I’m not exactly what you’d call a very imposing figure, am I?  So, yes, I do feel awkward about using strong language when I’m not ... well you know ... very strong myself.

The snort of Sloan’s laugh was as telling as if he’d actually said the word ‘bullshit.’  The way you ‘bout flew over that fence, smiling broadly, Sloan kept his laugh low, I think I’d have to disagree ‘bout how strong you are.  You ain’t gotta be big to be strong.  There’s all kinds of strong.  But let me warn you, once you go inside this place, more than likely you’re gonna have a strong word or two slip out, whether you like it or not.  Sloan’s easy smile vanished.  I don’t know what all Aubree’s told you, but this place ain’t no foolin’ ‘round?  This ain’t some cheap and cheesy ten–dollar Halloween spook house out on the side of some highway.  Some really nasty shit’s gone down inside these walls, and I mean for real.  Both when it was open for business, and even more so after they shut it down.  It’s one thing for you and my sister to be sittin’ at a Starbucks on campus, sippin’ on a latte, talkin’ ‘bout hoodoos, tellin’ scary stories, and gettin’ your hearts all in a pitter–patter.  But this place is hell ‘n’ gone from a Starbucks on a sunny afternoon.  All ‘round here, his arm moved in a circle as he swung his hand around, there ain’t no Wifi and cell phones don’t work neither.

Sloan slipped his own phone from the pocket of his jeans and lit up her face as he pressed the side button and showed her the screen.  See, no bars.  Perhaps it was the seriousness of his tone that caused the smooth flow of his accent to sound as Cajun as crawfish gumbo.  You and me, right now we be standin’ smack dab in the middle of a dead zone.  I heard tell this guy who knows ‘bout ‘lectricity said it’s ‘cause of the buildin’.  It’s got a zinc roof and lead pipes.  He said all the water drippin’ and seepin’ inside makes the whole place act like some big ol’ ‘lectric car battery.  Only the ‘lectricity it makes is a hundred percent negative, and it kills the cell phone signal and the battery.  Pressing the button on the side of his phone, when the prompt to Power Off appeared, Sloan tapped his finger to the screen, and a moment later the screen went black.

I’d advise you to do the same and shut down your phone.  Perhaps the glow of moonlight seeping through the trees was fading, because Sloan had become visible only as a dark outline in the gloom.  If you don’t, after just a few minutes inside, your phone will be deader’n hell.  Best save it in case of an emergency.

Pulling her phone from her pocket, when she pressed her thumb flat upon the screen, a moment later her face lit up.  You’re right.  Nodding, she looked back up to Sloan.  It was fully charged when I left the house.  I checked messages right after we got out of the car, and it said ninety five percent.  Holding up her phone in its glittery pink case that matched her fingernails, she showed Sloan the screen.  Now, it’s down to just fifty percent.

Ya see, there ya go.  The glow of the moon returning drew Sloan’s face back from within the shadows.  And we ain’t even set a single foot inside yet.  If you don’t shut it down now, your phone will drain right on down to zero.  He snapped his fingers.  Just like that.

While considering what he’d said, she studied her screen.  I can’t believe this.  Again she held up her phone, illuminating his face in the glow of the screen.  It’s down to only forty eight percent now.

With only two taps of her fingers she turned off her phone and slipped it back into the pocket of her shorts.  The soft glow from the sliver of the crescent moon playing hide and seek between the branches of the tree faded away again, and without the light from her phone, a deep darkness closed in all around them.

To tell ya’ the truth.  Perhaps paying respect to the depth of the darkness, but as though Sloan was about to reveal a deep, dark secret, he dropped his voice to a soft and hesitant hush.  I ain’t so sure the buildin’ is the whole reason why cell phones die here.  In any case, we might as well just never mind ‘bout the why, ‘cause ever since we climbed over that fence we’ve been on our own.  That’s why right now, I’m gonna have to ask if you have any idea as to what you’re gettin’ yourself into by comin’ to a place like this t’night?

Crossing her arms over her bust, she cleared her throat.  I get it that you’re trying to set the stage and scare me, and that’s okay.  But before I answer your question, let me fill you in on a few things.  At the beginning of this semester, when the student financial aid office placed me in the same dorm room with Aubree, as I’m sure you can appreciate, it didn’t take me long to learn she can be a little difficult to get along.  I know this might sound strange, but despite Aubree being Aubree we kind of hit it off.  When I told her about the paranormal angle I was considering for a paper I have to write this semester, right off she became all worked up like she always does and insisted I simply had to come check this place out.  She said the Laularie Parish Sanitarium has a well–deserved reputation for paranormal activity.  So I did a little background research into the history of the site and about the sanatorium back when it was open.  From what Aubree described and what I read on the Internet, this place sounds a lot like Louisiana’s version of the Waverly Hills Sanatorium in Kentucky.  I don’t know if you’ve ever heard about Waverly Hills, but it was a tuberculosis hospital where those infected by the disease basically went to die.  Hospital records say over fifty thousand patients and staff died at Waverly Hills, and now it’s reported to be one of the most paranormally active places on the planet.  Since I couldn’t afford to go all the way to Kentucky on my own, coming to this place while on spring break with Aubree seemed to be my best option to satisfy the field research requirement for my thesis paper.  Right now, you are probably wondering what does the paranormal have to do with psychology.  Actually, my interest lies in the field of parapsychology, which is the branch of psychology that seeks to understand mental phenomena for which we currently have no scientific explanation.  In my mind, parapsychology is the cutting edge of psychology today.  I first became interested in the subject quite by accident when I just happened to come across a book in my aunt’s bookcase by a Professor Jackson titled, ‘A Revelation of the Psychology Associated with the Paranormal.’  As well, I guess you could say an interest in the paranormal runs in my blood.  My father’s side of the family has deep roots in New Orleans, and from what I understand his grandmother and her grandmother before her practiced Santería.  I never heard anything about my father having anything to do with any religion one way or the other, though I do know he was really into ghost hunting.  But... pausing, she took in a deep breath then slowly let it out, ...my daddy, he passed over to the other side when I was only five years old.

Sloan offered a softly sincere, Sorry to hear that.

Thanks, but it’s okay.  It’s funny, but I don’t remember my daddy all too well.  I would think I would have to remember more, but I can only recall little bits and pieces here and there.  The only excuse I have for not remembering him is I was little when he passed away.

Little?  The moonlight was fading again, but the spread of Sloan’s broad smile shone out.  Even tinier than you are now? Nah, that cain’t be possible.

It might be her eyes were growing accustomed to the dark, but seeing the shine of Sloan’s white teeth as he grinned down at her, she couldn’t help but respond with a smile all her own.  I know.  I know.  Ha–ha.  I guess it’s pretty hard for you to believe I could have ever been even tinier than I am now.  Of course, casting a glance down at her ample bust, when she laughed, she also kept it soft and low, I’m sure you’ve noticed I’m not exactly tiny all over.

Suddenly self–conscious about having called attention to her breasts, she buried her hands down into the pockets of her shorts.  Her smile vanishing as quickly as it appeared, the tone of her voice grew soft and secretive.  For reasons, my mama has always kept to herself, she almost never talked about the time before my daddy died.  It was actually my grandmother on my mother’s side who opened the door and revealed the skeleton in the family closet when she told me my father was highly sensitive to all things paranormal.  She’s also the one who told me about his passion for paranormal investigations.  According to her, my father and a coworker were pretty serious amateur ghost hunters.  When I asked my mother about the things her mother revealed to me, she became really upset with my grandmother.  I don’t know hardly any details about my dad’s ghost hunting hobby, except that he and his partner took a scientific approach to their investigations.  They employed a philosophy that going in, it’s best to keep an open mind and avoid prejudicing their perceptions with too much prior knowledge about what they might experience during an investigation.  In psychology, we call this, Visualization.  It basically means if you are expecting to experience something, your subconscious mind has a tendency to try to fulfill those expectations.  So, to finally answer your question about if I know what I’m getting myself into by coming to this place, the answer is, no, I don’t.  I learned what I needed to know about the history of the site, but I purposely didn’t delve into all the spooky stories posted all over the web.  Coming in with a fresh and unprejudiced perspective is actually a key component to testing and proving my thesis.  If I don’t know what to expect, if I do experience something it has a better chance of being real and not my imagination.

Sloan thought about it, then nodded.  Makes sense to me.  So, what exactly is this fancy book report of yours gonna try to prove?

Pulling her left hand from her pocket she slapped a mosquito on her arm.  "It’s not a book report like kids in middle school write.  I’m writing a thesis paper for my class in cognitive psychology.  One of the reasons I chose psychology for my major is I’ve always been intrigued by the interplay between the conscious and the unconscious mind.  So much goes on within our subconscious of which our conscious minds aren’t aware.  You could say hidden within the subconscious is where all the ghosts of our inner psyche reside.  What I’m hoping to find out tonight is whether being in a location with a verified history of strong paranormal activity can trigger latent or inherent parapsychological sensitivities, which previously remained hidden in the subconscious.

Latent or inherent parapsychological sensitivities?  Sloan echoed.  Inner psyche? Coowee!  Sloan’s amused whistle dripped pure Cajun.  I’m sorry, but all I know ‘bout is middle school stuff like book reports and such.  I ain’t been to college

Oh, I do apologize.  She was sincerely apologetic.  Truly, I don’t mean to talk down.

Hey, I’m just messin’ with you.  Sloan’s easy grin floated back into view.  I did graduate high school and was pretty high up in my class.  Just ‘cause I talk coon–ass don’t mean I’m a dumb–ass coon–ass.  There’s lots of different kinds of smarts that ain’t got nuthin’ to do with goin’ to school.  For example, if I was in college, and I was on spring break, for damn sure I wouldn’t come here.

Aubree didn’t tell you?  I assumed you knew.  The distant glow of the moonlight filtering through the trees had become bright enough again to reveal the surprise on her face.  Aubree and I are going to Padre Island for spring break.  She set it up so we could stop here first.  Aubree can visit your parents, and I have the opportunity to check this place out.  So it’s a win–win for us both.  If we actually do experience any paranormal activity tonight, I can use whatever happens to satisfy the field research requirement for my paper.  Then tomorrow, Aubree and I are off to soak in some fun in the sundown on South Padre.

"What’s this if you’re talkin’ ‘bout?  His hand flashing down in a blur, Sloan slapped a mosquito on his leg.  If somethin’ happens? If? I can see I’m gonna have to fill you in, girl, ‘cause you for sure don’t know what you’re gettin’ yo’ sweet self into.  First off, Aubree don’t know a damn thing ‘bout anythin’ that’s gone down in this place.  She ain’t never been inside that I heard tell of.  Not even once.  She talks a bold game, but she’s really just a chicken shit.  The only stuff she could’ve told you is stuff she’s heard.  Did she tell you ‘bout the dude last summer who got so scared he pissed his pants then fell down the stairs gettin’ the hell out an’ broke his neck? Or what ‘bout the three girls who got raped here over the last couple–a years?"

Hey!  Reacting to the shock on her face, when he held up his palms in defense, she could see the crushed mosquito as well as a smear of blood on his palm.  I didn’t mean to start talkin’ ‘bout rape.  You ain’t got nuthin’ to worry ‘bout bein’ out here with me.  I’m Aubree’s brother, so you know you can trust me, right?  Right?

Illuminated in the dim, gray half–light from the sliver of crescent moon continuing to rise higher up through the trees, she was peering back at Sloan with a suspicious, if not an outright evil eye.  Yet after a few long moments, a glimpse of her smile finally edged back across her lips.  I’m not worried about you, Sloan.  I may not have much experience with haunted sanitariums, but I do have more than a little firsthand experience dealing with guys.  You know, Sloan, Aubree has told me a few things about you.  Of course, knowing Aubree, most of what she said probably isn’t true.  But I can tell she trusts you.  So I imagine I can trust you, too.  She paused, then added a slyly knowing, At least as much as I can trust any guy when I’m out somewhere and all alone with him.

Clearly relieved, Sloan dropped his hands.  Aubree told you that you can trust me? That don’t sound like Aubree at all.  Sloan showed he was as quick with the flash of his smile as he was with swatting mosquitos.  Now, that ain’t to say I’m harmless.  Perhaps realizing he should change the subject, he did.  And you’re also right ‘bout not payin’ attention to all the crap people post ‘bout this place.  Most all the scary stories people spread are pure–d bullshit.  When Aubree texted me sayin’ she was bringin’ a friend home with her from school, I thought maybe we’d all go out to the strip in Lafayette and go dancin’ or somethin’.  I couldn’t hardly believe it when she sprung it on me tellin’ me y’all wanted to come here.  This ain’t exactly Aubree’s kind of thing, as you can see from her not bein’ here right now.  Not climbin’ the rope was just her excuse for chickenin’ out.  That’s the way that girl is.  And I gotta admit, even after all you just told me, I still don’t know what to think ‘bout you.  A petite ange bébé like you ain’t exactly what I conjure up in my head when I’m thinkin of a college girl.

And why’s that?  Looking up at the young man whose moon shadow was slanting down over her, she planted her hands on her hips and showed him a particularly sharp glare.  What’s a college girl supposed to look like?  Are we all supposed to be tall and blonde?

Sloan again raised his palms in defense.  Chill, girl.  I ain’t sayin’ that at all.  Like I told you b’fore, I didn’t get to go to college, but I’m well aware y’all come in all shapes and sizes.  I’ve noticed you come off as bein’ a little self–conscious about bein’ such a petite little thing, but, girl, you’re lookin’ just fine to me.  Surely realizing it would be in his best interest to change the subject again, Sloan surprised her with an amused chuckle.  Speakin’ of blondes, one time back in high school Aubree bleached her hair blonde.  His broad smile reappeared spreading even larger than she’d seen before.  Now you wanna talk–a ‘bout somethin’ scary!

Clearly pleased at getting a laugh out of her, Sloan dropped his hands.  I don’t know what all kinda lies Aubree’s told you ‘bout me, but if I hadn’t messed up my knee playin’ football my senior year in high school, I could–a had me a scholarship to LSU.  Of course, he sighed, that was a few years back.  For a while, I bounced ‘round workin’ crappy nuthin’ jobs, but ‘bout a year ago, I started trainin’ as a carpenter’s apprentice, and now I’m framin’ houses.

Good for you, Sloan.  She started to reach out to pat Sloan on the shoulder, but stopped short and quickly withdrew her hand, burying it back in the pocket of her shorts.  Not everyone has to go to college.  My daddy was an air–conditioning repairman.  It was a good trade, and my mama said he made good money.  You should be proud about learning a trade like carpentry.  You’ll probably make a lot more money than I ever will after I graduate.

An’ to pass your class, you need to write this paper ‘bout bein’ in a scary place like this an’ the hoodos roamin’ ‘round inside messin’ ‘round with your mind.  I think I get what you’re after.  But b’fore we go in, reaching out, Sloan leveled a finger at her, you need to ask yourself, do you wanna be scared? If the answer is yes, dropping his finger, Sloan began to nod, then, girl ... you came to the right place.

Flickering between the trees, lights from a car driving along the road drew their attention.  As the vehicle neared the place where the front gates should be, it slowed, creeping along as it passed outside the fence.  Even this far back in from the road, she could make out the thump and surge of a subwoofer blasting away in the car.  Then as suddenly as it slowed, the car sped up, thumping off down the road.

You see.  Sloan turned and shook that same finger he’d leveled at her at the distant red bloom of taillights flickering between the trees.  Them po–po’s be always cruisin’ by.

She didn’t say anything, but she seriously doubted anyone in that car had anything to do with the police.  Not unless the cops had their gangsta rap cranked all the way up to twelve.

Come on.  Sloan reached out for her hand.  If we’re goin’ in, let’s go.

She peered at his hand, trying to recall if this was the one with the remains of the mashed mosquito and smear of blood on his palm.  Sloan must have realized this was the source of her hesitation because he quickly wiped his palm on his pants and then offered out his other hand.

Don’t worry, the moonlight from the sliver of crescent moon was fading again, making it difficult to see his face, this hand just has rust on it from the fence.  To make sure, Sloan brought his hand back to his face, looked at his palm, then began wiping it on his pants.  Oh, an’ you’re not gonna need to worry too much ‘bout swattin’ at mosquitos once we get inside.

When he reached back out, she went ahead and placed her fingers in his palm.  And why is that?

Taking one step, Sloan stopped and looked back.  I don’t know the why of it, but for some reason there ain’t hardly no mosquitos inside.  Mostly, what they got in there is these moths.  He held up his fingers as though he had a tiny pinch of salt held in between.  Teeny–tiny, little grey moths.  Sometimes, it’s like they’re everywhere.

Allowing Sloan to lead her, they made their way along the drive in front of the building.  Yet she slipped her hand from his fingers as they left the driveway and began walking through a stand of tall weeds on their way around to the building’s south wing.  Perhaps the rising crescent moon was hiding behind the branches and thick moss, as it was almost pitch black on the south side of the building.  Though she was keeping close behind Sloan, it was difficult to make out the bright purple LSU logo on his backpack even though it wasn’t even a foot from her face.

Okay, I think we’re here.  Stopping, Sloan turned to face her.  It’s been a while since I was here, but if I remember correctly, the place we climb in is just over there.  Reaching over his shoulder and into his backpack, Sloan pulled out a flashlight and clicked it on.  At first keeping the beam on the ground, he swept the light up and around the wall, finally illuminating a window frame without any glass.  Rather than the grillwork, which secured most of the windows on the first floor, here there were iron bars.  Yet appearing as though there had been a violent explosion from the inside, the bars bent outward.  When Sloan stepped up to the wall, the bottom of the steel window frame remained at least a foot above his head.  Turning about, and quickly dropping the flashlight’s beam to the ground, the light illuminated her tiny pink sneakers.  I’ll need to give you a boost up, so you’ll have to go in first.

She looked up to the window.  It’s not all that high.  If I jump, I’m sure I can make it up there without any help.

It’s taller than it looks.  He ran the beam up the wall to the window.  See, it’s way taller than me, and I’m six foot two.  Now come on over here.  Kneeling down, he held out the flashlight.  Here, you take it.

As soon as she stepped up, he handed her the flashlight, then laced his fingers together, forming his hands into a step.  Put your left foot here, then when I lift up, stretch out and get your hands on the sill.  But be careful, there’s still them bars stickin’ out.  I guarantee you; you don’t wanna get hung up on one of those climbin’ in.

Without any hesitation, she placed her left foot into his hands.  When he rose up, she had no trouble getting her elbows up on the sill.  With the flashlight firmly in her grip, she could see into the room.

Go for it.  Sloan released his right hand, supporting her foot with just his left.  I’ll give you a boost, and you climb on in.

Before she could tell him she didn’t need any help, the palm of his hand made contact squarely with the seat of her shorts.  The unexpected contact in such a personal area took her by surprise.  Yet before she could protest, he’d already boosted her up the rest of the way, and she twisted about, settling her bottom down on the sill.

Shining the flashlight down on Sloan, he shielded his eyes with the flat of his hand and called out, Hey! Hey! Don’t shine the light out this way!  Turn ‘round and slip on in.  Don’t be ‘fraid.  I’ll be right b’hind you.

She lifted her legs and using her free palm on the sill as a support, she scooted around.  Taking a quick second to scan below with the flashlight, she then jumped down to the floor.  Quickly looking around, she then turned back to the window in time to see Sloan’s hands slap down on the sill.  She was about to reach over to grab his wrist to help if she could, but even more quickly than he’d made it over the fence, Sloan chinned himself up, got first one elbow and then another on the sill, and a moment later she had to quickly step back as he almost launched himself into the room.

At first rubbing his hands, Sloan then spread them apart, looking down to his palms.  I think I grabbed me a piece of bar.

She shone the beam on his hands.  Did you cut yourself?

He held out his palms.  The crushed mosquito and blood was no longer visible, but there was a deep, red welt across his palm.

Sloan rubbed his hands together.  It ain’t no big deal, just a little scrape is all.  Reaching up behind him and into his backpack, he produced another flashlight.  More than a foot long and made of a black, anodized metal, it was the type the police are only too happy to use as a weapon if they don’t have a Billy club handy.  Holding the flashlight, as would an officer searching for a suspect hiding in the dark, Sloan held his forearm up with the flashlight’s lens facing out from the bottom of his palm.  With his left hand, Sloan gave the top a twist, and when the flashlight lit, he reached out to her with his free hand.

What?  Giving him that suspicious squint, she peered back at him.  You don’t seriously expect me to keep holding your hand?

No, he wiggled his fingers.  I want you to give me the other flashlight.  I’m gonna put it in my backpack.

You mean, she hesitated, raising her eyebrows, I don’t get to have a flashlight?

I told you b’fore.  The resignation in his voice was as though reminding a forgetful child of something they’d already heard too many times.  We cain’t risk havin’ someone drivin’ by seein’ a light in one of the windows.  One flashlight is bad enough, but two shinin’ all over, and we’ll get busted for sure.

She hitched a thumb over her shoulder.  This side of the building doesn’t even face the road.  The street we came in on runs on the north side, and we’re on the south side.  Too, there are all those monster oak trees and magnolias between the building and the road.  As long as we are on this side of the building and not way up on the third floor, there’s no way anyone on the road could possibly see a light in here.

There hung a moment between them as the tiny girl faced down the athletic young man, who appeared easily twice, if not three times her size.

Okay.  Maybe it was the grim and gritty look of the room, but when Sloan smiled, his teeth didn’t seem to shine out as white as they had outside.  You win.  For such a petite ange bébé, you sure are feisty.  All I’m doin’ is just tryin’ to be careful, so’s we don’t end up spendin’ the night in jail.  I’m tellin’ ya, them po–pos ‘round here is more fierce than the mosquitos.  If you’re still thinkin’ ‘bout goin’ off to Padre Island t’morrow, then you better make damn sure you always shine the light down low.  But when we go upstairs, you stick extra close to me, and we’ll only use mine.  It’ll be safer that way.

Hey, I just thought of something.  She tapped the flashlight with her fingernail.  How come these batteries don’t die in here like you said the cell phone batteries do?

They very well might could.  Sloan was calmly matter of fact.  But these flashlights got big ol’ D cell batteries.  Not some teeny–tiny cellphone battery.  I have extras in my backpack, and I put fresh ones in both flashlights b’fore I left home.  But without any warnin’ the light can dim down to yellow or go out altogether.  You never can tell nothin’ ‘bout nothin’ that might happen in here.  Batteries just dyin’ all sudden like is just another damn good reason to use only one flashlight at a time an’ for us to stick close t’gether.

As she turned slowly about, she swung the beam of her flashlight around the room.  Okay, but for now, I think I’ll keep the flashlight.

The room they had entered into wasn’t very large, with only one doorway, which opened out into a hallway.  A few feet from the empty doorframe the wall gaped open where someone had torn a huge hole through the plaster and wood lathing that made up the wall.  Graffiti sprayed in black, red, silver, and blue was everywhere, even on the ceiling, and strewn all over the floor lay shards of plaster, pieces of broken bottles, cans, and other assorted trash.  In the corner lay an old–fashioned fire extinguisher, the kind that had to be turned upside down to spray a stream.  The sides dented and the bottom bashed in, someone had obviously wielded it like a battering ram to tear the hole through the wall.

So what do you think?  Sloan stepped up to stand at her side.  They tore it up pretty damn good in here, didn’t they?  But this ain’t nuthin’ compared to the vandalism you’ll see in some of the other rooms.  He kicked at a silver Coors Light can, which clattered across the floor until it banged into the wall.  It’s hard to imagine this was probably once some doctor’s office.

She didn’t say anything, but she knew this had never been a doctor’s office.  Not only was it too small, but there was too much bitterness poisoning the air about them.  Somehow,