Building 8 “Mold in the Walls”

“It smells in here like mold and concrete. By law they have to keep this place cleaner than that, but that's only when they come around. Things have gotten better over the years, but you can't get rid of that smell. It's in the walls of this place.

Everything is in the walls.

My old bunk mate used to complain about it all the time. You would think over time that he would get used to it. That any of us would, but I suppose he was right to complain. Mold does terrible things to sick people. I am not sure if it was just the pneumonia that killed him, but an asylum is the sort of place that likes to help people along the process.

They have to make room for new arrivals.

They don't put anyone with me anymore. They say it is because I am good. I am even allowed a desk in here. The edges are sanded down of course.

And I get to write all the letters I want.

They say that it is because I have been good, but I think they just don't trust me with people anymore. And I imagine they are running out of room.

In the summer the smell gets worse. It gets sour. The visitors, what few there are, tend to complain, but nothing is ever done. They just turn up the air conditioning and hope for the best.

I suppose there are more honest options. Could have cleaned out the whole place and search for the source of the smell, but if they did that then the place would get shut down.

They don't put people with me anymore.

Don't let me out much either. Except when inspectors come. Sometimes I consider making a scene. Making things hard for them, but I really can't think of how that would benefit me. I like this place. Gotten used to it. And within the walls I am safe.

The walls made for a king.

I don't mind the isolation. Not really. I am sure it used to get to me. But I get to send out my letters, and that is enough for me. Play chess by mail with more than a few. Helps distract me from the whispers. Also allows me to remain in communication with my court.

Any day they will come and get me.

Even in here, they cannot rob me of my right. My right to rule. My subjects surround me. I imagine if they admitted to that, then I wouldn't be the only one in trouble.

That make me happy.

It smells like mold and concrete, except in the summer when the walls warm up. My walls are a patchwork of old and new concrete. Broken down and put back together. I suggested they try brick, but it would be suspicious.

We are running out of room. The walls are almost full.

A guard here and a guard there. Maybe a patient who gets too close.

I can get anyone to come in here.

I just need to talk to them. And I have so many pencils. Not that I need them. And they wouldn't dare to take them away.

Or take away the members of my court. They surround me.

In the summer I get restless.

The walls smell like them.”

Tired. Work changed my hours. I see Margaret less than before. Loyd is always up. Sometimes we sit outside, especially when the moon is out. There are a bunch of old trees lining the back of my property.

When the wind blows through them, there is the smell of decay. All that green, and yet it is the decay and the earth I smell.

The Surgeon. Haven't seen him since the day at the beach. I have been looking for him. Been carrying a gun just in case. Took a while to get it. Lots of history. Friends in the department made it easier.

Those familiar with what happened to Margaret.

With what happened to Sarah.

Sometimes I walk alone at night, hoping to draw him out. Make my way to the factory.

It's reckless, but I am doing something.

I have to be doing something.

Come home, and when I look past the glass door as I make sure I lock it, I can see my neighbor across the way. He has insomnia too. Not sure what the reason for it is.

Haven't had him or his wife over since the party. It's a shame. Lovely people as far as I can tell.

I am tired.

Margaret went to visit her parents again. Just wants to get away. A small break.

Haven't ever felt so distant from her.

I am thinking about the time we went to a barn sale. That small lantern she bought is still in the den. It was before she was attacked. Maybe after. It is hard to remember.

Hard to remember her old face.

Before The Surgeon.

I look at pictures.

The neighbors to the left of us haven't been heard from in weeks.

Smell of mold and decay.

We need some rain.