Behold the Scalded

Chapter Seventeen

The red space. Skewed, slightly tilted, dark with shadows of the mysterious, lit with an unknown and unnatural light source of crimson.

I used to avoid this place for as long as I could until my visits became inevitable due to lack of sleep. It was forced upon me to visit and see its black tainted walls and tar-like puddles and trails.

Now the room seemed a bit inviting as its contents were relocated or changed but remained familiar. The horseshoe shaped reception desk was nearly covered in splattered black liquid. The Winnie the Pooh backpack was no longer in its usual place but rested on the opposite end of the tabletop, and the raggedy lopsided chair that use to sit behind the desk was overturned.

An urge to go to the long hall nagged at me. Something was telling me, pushing, prompting me to go toward that area. To explore, examine, investigate.

Slowly and cautiously, I made my way to the corridor. I peeked around the corner, looking, peering, wondering why I was suddenly drawn to a particular room.

I followed that urge and it led me to my old bedroom. A place I avoided at all costs due to the upsetting memories I had hoped to leave behind. I hesitated at the entrance, suddenly not wanting to continue.

Already memories flooded my mind. Those of Nurse Jane speaking on the other side of the closed door to the other nurse, asking if she smelled burnt sugar. The moment that changed everything for me and made me realize that my imagination was indeed powerful ... and dangerous.

Other memories came to pass. Those of being alone. Not wanting to participate in social activities with the other girls, especially after Dr. Johnson was adamant about taking away my entertainment privileges for my and the residents sake.

I hated him for that, even though he was correct and did the right thing for the good of everyone, I still hated that the thing I loved to do had been taken away from me. And when the change in medication started to have its effect, the resentment never died even though my imagination did.

Standing in the doorway of my old bedroom. The bed was nothing more than a wooden box spring and a warn, thin and stained mattress so disgusting I didn't even want to look at it.

However, at the foot of the bed was a notebook that was so clean and fresh, I knew for sure it didn't belong there. I dipped my eyebrows and scowled at the rare and suspicious gem.

Of course, the urge increased and all I wanted to do was enter the room and look inside the book. The impulse was so intense I finally gave in and took the notebook in hand.

Flipping through the tattered pages with my thumb, I scanned all the words and penciled images I could. There were dozens of illustrations of fairytale creatures and enchanted forests.

After flipping over a particular page, I paused and returned to the page to take a better look.

The story handwritten on the lines had me transfixed, as I realized it was the contest winning story I had written back then. And when my eyes scanned over a particular part of the story, an abrupt gasp caught in my throat.