Ghosts of Rosewood Asylum by Stephen Prosapio

me, mate, but a Germain Greer
will really hit the spot.”
     “A beer?” Zach was starting to get the
hang of it. “Not for me. I gotta wake up early.”
    “A’course, but I can’t sleep without my
beer.” Pierre winked. “Don’t worry, I’ll slosh back a kitchen sink or two for
you. G’nite, mate!”
    Zach watched him mosey up the street, but
couldn’t let the Australian have the last word. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Keep
your eyes peeled for me.”
    Pierre looked back and nodded.
    Out of nowhere, Zach’s internal voice spoke.
    One may smile and smile and be a villain.
    Charming as Pierre was, Zach didn’t trust
any of the Demon Hunters and found it a bit suspicious that he’d run into him
at Rosewood. Then again, maybe Pierre was thinking the same thing about him.
     
     
    Situated at the east end of the strip mall, Muses
Coffee House , especially its outdoor patio, offered a good view of
Rosewood’s back wall. At least fifty yards from the road, the building was
beyond the reach of streetlights. As twilight turned to night, the asylum
became harder and harder to see. It slowly slipped into brooding darkness. As
he sipped a Decaf, Zach wondered if this nightly disappearing act helped
account for Rosewood’s haunted reputation. He spent a couple hours jotting down
notes, impressions and reminders–notably about the houses across the street
from Rosewood’s grounds.
    Beyond an alleyway behind the strip mall
were six bungalows. Both corner lots on either side of the cul-de-sac that
connected to Lincoln Avenue were vacant. At one time, all the houses, lots and
even the entire strip mall had been the property of Rosewood Psychiatric.
    Zach looked at his watch, sipped the last of
his drink and stood up to leave. From behind him, came a timid voice.
     “Mr. Kalusky, is that you?”
    “‘Mister Kalusky’ is my dad,” Zach said,
turning around.
    The voice belonged to a woman much older
than he had expected. She wore a simple, off-white dress with a white shawl.
She stood there smiling. He guessed her to be almost eighty-years old. Her
wrinkled face gave away her age, but there was also a youthful glow, a vibrant
aura that exuded from her.
    “Oh, hello ma’am. I’m Zach.”
    “My mother is ‘ma’am,’ she said. “I’m
Evelyn.”
    “Nice to meet you, Evelyn.” Well trained in
manners, Zach knew not to extend his hand to a woman, especially an older
woman, unless and until she did so first. She did not. “What can I do for you?”
    “Perhaps, it’s what I can do for you. You
are to investigate Rosewood, are you not?”
    Her question seemed more a statement of
fact. One that took Zach by surprise. “How do you know that?”
    She smiled. It was both bashful and knowing.
“Well, you are here across the street from Chicago’s most infamous place, so I
assumed. More importantly however, I have some information for you regarding
Rosewood.”
    “Really? How?”
    Her mouth twitched, a sudden and quick
nervous tic. “My mother worked there as a nurse. I know things.”
    “Okay. What can you tell me?”
    “Well, Mister Ka—”
    “Zach,” he reminded her, gently.
    “Well, it is a rather sensitive subject,”
she said, softly. “My mother told me things. She spoke of events that happened
there many years ago.”
    “Painful things?”
    It appeared at first as though she didn’t
know how to respond. “Secret things,” she said. “Happenings that, under normal
circumstances, should not be brought into the light of day.”
    “Can I buy you a cup of coffee,” Zach asked,
glancing inside. When she hesitated, he added, “Or perhaps tea?”
    She smiled wistfully as though considering.
“No. No thank you. I don’t drink coffee or tea anymore.”
    Zach grinned and shoved his hands into his
pockets. “Well then. Tell me what you know about Rosewood. Please.”
    “Before I begin, I need you to promise that
you’ll keep what I say in the utmost of confidence. For reasons which will
become