Danvers Asylum

Can you handle a stay at Danvers Asylum? Insanity is the only way out!

Welcome to Danvers State Insane Asylum, home to some of the most demented men and women in the country. Doctor Eugene Charles - head of the asylum and manager of its inner workings - has seen his share of insanity in the eyes of every patient residing behind the walls of his asylum.

But the newest addition to his facility will redefine the meaning of insanity once and for all. John Stephenson, an American writer of horror/fiction, is about to publish his latest creation and the haunting, subliminal messages that go along with them. His books are the works of a madman and the hidden verses within them will change the lives of whoever reads them . . . including yours.

Excerpt from Danvers Asylum

The man with the golden mustache bent over and grabbed John by his feet, clutching the ankles with hands of an angered man hiding the subtle hint of fear hovering over his thoughts for a mere instant and urged the “newbie” to take hold of the unconscious man’s arms and lift him. Both men grunted heavily as they lifted John Stephenson up in the air.

“This guy’s heavy!” the rookie complained.

“Sure is. He doesn’t look like it, though.”

John’s body swung from side to side like an old, ragged hammock waving through the wind as the guards marched through the empty hall of the grand facility. Distant screams were echoing all around them, bouncing off the walls and creeping into the ears of those unfortunate enough to roam the deadened corridor leading into the facility’s West Wing; a special part of the establishment for a special kind of person. 

“They say dead bodies lose a fair amount of weight after a while, but I’ve always thought the quite the opposite. They actually seem to put on a little bit more weight just before they start to rot – at least three or four pounds – and it works just as well for unconscious bodies. It’s as if their souls become… denser; sort of heavier, by the minute.”

As the two men made their way through the narrow and seemingly endless hall holding on to a battered middle-aged novelist by the name of John Stephenson, the screams surrounding them focused on the west. The unsettling shrieks of terror and pain were coming from the depths of the very direction in which they were headed. At the end of the corridor there were two iron doors blocking their path. They were really old, perhaps almost as old as the building itself and yet they held the most important job within the whole facility. Beyond these imposing iron doors lay the unthinkable – a special place for special people. That’s where they were taking John Stephenson – the tremendously feared West Wing of Danvers State Insane Asylum.   Haunting images of lingering death and perpetual sorrow plague the mind of whoever disturbs the macabre domain of the asylum’s West Wing, distinctively enveloped by the feeling of extreme human suffering and its surreal resemblance to some kind of emotional torture chamber. It is the one part of the entire facility that is best left alone. Ignorance is bliss when it comes to that section of the asylum. 

Suddenly, the vibrant screams of those locked away beyond the rigid iron doors were degraded and silenced by the monotonous and irritating sound of a wretched rattling released by the guards’ rusty key chain, announcing their arrival to the tune of little metallic, golden keys rubbing against each other through an abrasive choir of intimidation.  The prisoners of the West Wing knew all too well the nature of that sudden visit by the guards. They only received three visits a day and this one wasn’t a regular. The first one usually took place about an hour after dawn, which was followed by a second mid-day visit. Then, right before sunset, the doors would open for a third time and they’d receive their final meal of the day before being locked away and left forgotten until the early rays of light of the following day would liven the hall with its benevolent presence.  But this time the doors were opened off schedule, which they knew meant either someone had been chosen for a much dreaded trip to the third floor, or a brand new inductee was about to grace the family of the damned. The latter seemed to make more sense to them all, and so they waited patiently for their chance to greet the newcomer through the bulletproof glass of their respective iron doors.  

As the uniformed duo made their way through the narrow hallway of a place that felt haunted to all who dared intrude, they discovered something odd within one of the rooms. 

It was a long and narrow hallway with small, rusty doors on both sides of it. Ten doors to the right and ten to the left; all separated by no more than a twelve-foot gap between them. They were all padded isolation rooms meant to contain the so-called “extreme” patients with great help from the infamous straightjackets they all wore inside. The compressed and overly private interiors of these deadened chambers gave them a very unique feel; they seemed to be little cubicles of grief and despair. 

“What the fuck is that?” the brown haired novice guard shouted in shock.

“What’s what?”

“Over there; third door on the right. Is that blood?”

“Oh shit! I knew this would happen.” 

Release Date: July 01, 2011

ISBN: 978-0-9876894-1-2

Horror/Suspense

Heat Level 5+

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Also Available from All Romance (Coming Soon)