Pennhurst Asylum Book Novels & Stories

And so, I dove into the past of the asylum. The library was a musty, dimly lit room, shelves towering like ancient sentinels, filled with volumes that whispered secrets long forgotten. I pulled down dusty tomes, flipping through pages stained with age and neglect. My fingers trembled with a mix of excitement and dread. Each word I read felt like a thread pulling me deeper into the darkness surrounding Nina. The asylum had been founded over a century ago, built on the outskirts of town, far away from prying eyes. The records described it as a sanctuary for the mentally ill—a haven where they could find peace and healing.

Being betrayed by one of his own tended to ratchet his paranoia to an “eleven.” Fucking Carl Gallow, that bastard. The entire asylum smelled of terror and death. He knew what happened in this facility during and right after Katrina. A lot of places—jails, asylums, and slums, mostly—were abandoned by those charged with keeping people in such places safe. He saw first-hand how people were treated by those with power again and again during his different tours of duty.

The two of them entered the manor, and Shaun led Wilbur to the basement of the mansion where there were two Black Bishops from the Church of Holy Illuminati. "Mister Penn, this is Aisha and Symon. They're both Black Bishops." Wilbur smiled, extending his hand. "It's a pleasure to work with the both of you." Symon and Aisha exchanged glances before smiling at Wilbur, then shook Wilbur's hand one after the other. Symon's handshake was firm and strong as he said, "I'm delighted to work with you, Mister Penn."

CHAPTER 75: THE FIELD OF ASHES VENUS: I could barely keep my hands from trembling as Maxine helped me out of the black SUV. We were finally in New York—standing in front of the building that had once been my home, the one place that might hold the key to everything I never knew about myself. “”Welcome to St. Hilary's Home for Infants and Children,” Maxine read aloud from the faded brass plate nailed above the doorway. The building looked smaller than I imagined, with peeling white paint and a wooden porch that creaked under our feet. It felt more like an echo of the past than a beacon of answers. I took a deep breath, trying to steady the weight in my chest.

“Is this the office that Suzanna was talking about?” My heart was racing because I hadn’t really shared this space with anyone other than Krista. Mr. Penn was the first one actually inside since Krista’s father helped us get the chaise in. I know he probably didn’t know but I felt extremely exposed in front of him. “This is…where I keep my books.” He hummed, reaching up and grabbing a book. “Why keep them here?”

All around him they’re staring at him as if deep down, they know that he doesn’t belong there. But they’re all quiet, not talking nor caring. They’re just…there. “Is it me or is this place really creepy?” Trent mutters. “Boss, I don’t like it here.” “It’s not a place we should stay long at,” Parker shivers. He has been going in and out of the asylum for days and he’s still not fond of it. The place is just too much even for him. “Trent, you know what to do,” Nathan mutters.

He was wearing the exact same indigo shirt Matthew had on when we lost each other—his favorite silk scarf fallen nearby, the one he never left home without. What followed was the darkest stretch of my life. I knelt in the family chapel for eighty-one days and nights, surviving only on bowls of watery oatmeal slipped to me by a kind servant. The day I walked out of that chapel, I became the cheapest whore in the brothel. My clients were either middle-aged matrons past their prime or wealthy women with cruel appetites. They took out their rawest desires on me—with whips, with brands, with torture devices I didn't even have names for.

"Stop being such a stubborn brat and listen to me. Please give the doctor three months. There's no harm in trying. We can leave right now if you like." I remained silent and finished the rest of my coffee. Although I was willing to do anything to get out of this situation, I didn't want Axton to feel important. But he kept pleading with me, and I only agreed because he mentioned the doctor's frequent travels. My resolve had weakened, and I followed him to the asylum. The Gothic architecture gave it a creepy appearance. It was one of the pack's oldest structures, built in the late nineteenth century. I felt so uneasy as we walked in, and I ignored Axton's advice to relax. Manics hooted and gi

Heather was two years older than Aislen, and the assault had occurred at the local university, the year after Aislen had left. “Where do I know you from?” Aislen asked her. “We wouldn’t have been in school together. Maybe I saw you around town? Or maybe it’s just because your father is a bit creepy.” She replaced Heather into the file and picked up the paper with her own photo attached. There was not much there. Her photo, her details written at the top, and bullet points outlining the arrival in Havermouth, the death of Alfred Boyston, the discovery of Penny James, Aislen’s declining grades and attendance at school, the rumor about the Triquetra’s whore, and the date Aislen left Havermouth.

Asher yelled, and slowly Leonard turned his gaze at asher. "She was left in a loop of her worst nightmares," he answered before turning his gaze at evelyn who shivered in fear with her arm wrapped against her legs whispering the same words repeatedly "Get away from me, Get away from me," she had spent the last few minutes reliving the moments of being strapped to a table while the asylum's doctor Mr Oliver would have his sick twisted fun with her by torturing her mentally and physically, she was broken unable to tell she wasn't in the asylum.