Insane Asylums Stories Novels & Stories

He puts the paper down and walks out. I get up to look at it. Prince Ansel: Fit to Lead? Ansel is the headline story. It’s a major, journalistic investigation into his past. Various sources describe him as brutish, “psychotically violent,” tyrannical with his gammas, and dangerously obsessive in his mission to clean-up the werewolf underground. But the bulk of the story is information from anonymous sources who reveal the details of Ansel’s sanatorium past, letting loose to the entire werewolf community - that Ansel spent his childhood chronically, and often seriously, ill.

I looked at Anu after coming on the earth back as she asked me, "Inaya, where are you lost? You haven't even touched your sandwich yet? What happened?" I just stared at her silently, having no answer to her question. I can't tell her about my condition, not now. If I tell her, she will eat up my mind more. I'm already losing my mind. I can't take this anymore. She clasped my face. "What happened, Inaya? Is everything fine?" She asked concernedly. No, Anu, no, nothing is fine. I'm going insane. Oh god, but how do I tell her? How do I explain to her?

The Insane The Foolishly Greedy And the Overconfident Warriors. The insane ones were those that were so curious about that dangerous land that they were willing to risk their lives just to see what exactly was in the place. Of course they never made it out so whatever they found out, lived with them – no, died with them rather.

I looked at Anu after coming on the earth back as she asked me, "Inaya, where are you lost? You haven't even touched your sandwich yet? What happened?" I just stared at her silently, having no answer to her question. I can't tell her about my condition, not now. If I tell her, she will eat up my mind more. I'm already losing my mind. I can't take this anymore. She clasped my face. "What happened, Inaya? Is everything fine?" She asked concernedly. No, Anu, no, nothing is fine. I'm going insane. Oh god, but how do I tell her? How do I explain to her?

The air in here was even colder than it had been outside, and I rubbed my hands together, feeling the chill settle into my bones. As I worked, the silence pressed in on me, the kind of silence that isn’t empty but full—full of things unseen, things you can almost hear if you listen closely enough. I tried not to listen. The stories about this place were bullshit, I reminded myself. Just legends. This asylum had shut down in the 1970s after a string of malpractice accusations. Cruel, inhumane experiments on the patients. A doctor with no morals, no ethics, who used the patients like lab rats.

They screamed— “You went up? You opened 509? You woke it up!” They told us— The room had been sealed 22 years ago. The man inside— A psychiatrist. He experimented on the insane. Went mad himself. One night, he locked himself inside… Scratched his own face off… And died. But his laughter— Still lived there. We ran. That night, Megha fell ill. The next day, her pulse slowed unnaturally. On the third day, she slipped into a coma.

He scoffs, “You know what he did to me?!” I don't answer but watch him as he rants, He has this craze look in his eyes, and I'm beginning to wonder, just how long he's been waiting to tell this story “He locked me up, that's right. Kept me in the basement without food or water for not taking on the responsibility of a big brother and just when I thought nothing else could be that, he sent me away. Sent me to an asylum, told them I was crazy, and I got locked up. Had to live like a crazy man, on a Schedule, eat when I'm told to, sleep when I'm told to, and I couldn't even have privacy. But you know what kept me going? The idea that one day, One fine day. I'll be out, and I'll go back where th

CALISTA’S POV After we had ice-cream, we went towards our apartment and started getting ready for our shift in the restaurant. When we entered inside, people were gossiping, like how there was a person brutally killed by a mafia boss or some mob, I don’t know. But after the murdered news I was scared like hell. So I started my shift, and try to concentrate on my work, rather then moving my mind towards the scandals. When I was near the end of shift, everything went still, and I got confused like what really happens to these people who were gossiping, a mint ago, but now it’s deadly silent.

There are a few people who are idly hanging out in the garden but upon closer look, they don't look normal. The people are in completely plain white garb. Some of them are staring in space, not talking or moving. They seem motionless and some may even perceive them to be dead. But they're breathing slowly, the only signs of life in them. A few of the people are talking mindlessly, muttering and murmuring under their breaths but they're lost in their own world. Lincoln shudders at these people. They're all captives of the asylum, stuck in an endless loop of trauma and mental illness. They scare him the most and he can't fathom living like an empty shell.

-Actually, yes, but I would never say it out loud; I didn't want any trouble. I apologize, Mrs. Taylor; I did not mean to disrespect you in any way, I replied politely. Mrs. Taylor returned to her desk, muttering something unwillingly. At first glance, this place looked like an ordinary boarding school, but it wasn't. The Ashwood Institute was an experimental psychiatric hospital that had mostly young patients who suffered from some kind of disorder. The floors were categorized by levels of disorder: from mild, medium to severe.