Yolanda Grieg didn't think of herself as a bad person, but as she waited outside of her friend's house in the dead of night, she found herself reconsidering.

As she looked over the back at the bags of equipment and supplies she had packed for the night ahead, her stomach twisted in anxiety and, unmistakably, excitement. As conflicted as she was, Yolanda was still excited for what the night had in store for them. Besides, if they actually did find something - if they proved the existence of life after death, then surely everyone would overlook the less than legal means by which they came about the discovery.

She smiled as she tapped the steering wheel of her car and glanced at the small, glowing radio in the center of the dashboard. It was approaching eleven thirty at night. She decided against sounding the horn, in case it drew the attention of neighbors.

Tapping her fingers in a rhythmic and rather frenzied pattern, Yolanda Grieg waited for her friend and reminded herself that she wasn't a bad person.

Mason frantically ran around his bedroom gathering his gear. He knew Yolanda was waiting for him outside his house form the headlights shining through his window. He jumped over his bed and in front of his bag, opening it up to reveal its contents. He dug through it a little and started to talk to himself.
"Flashlight, batteries, snacks..." he muttered to himself. He was bringing some extra provisions in a small bag for the night. Better safe than sorry. He made sure his small, handheld digital camera was there, along with his film camera zipping up the bag and throwing it over his shoulder.

As he ascended the stairs, grabbing his house keys off the counter, Mason could feel his chest grow cold in anticipation, his heart pounding inside. He snatched a hood from the coat rack and threw it on, grabbing the bag and locking the door before heading down the driveway toward the awaiting vehicle. His family was out of town to attend to some family matters that he couldn't care less about. He looked back at his empty house and let out a deep breath. He had never done anything like this before and the excitement and adrenaline felt great. Usually, he wouldn't have done such a thing, especially under the shady circumstances, but Mason's pre-exiting curiosity of the afterlife pushed him to go through with it.

He opened the passenger-side door and sat in the seat, throwing his bag in the back with the other equipment. He turned to his friend and gave her an eager smile. "Ready?" he asked, a hint of laughter caught in his throat. "You look nervous," he pointed out, reaching over his shoulder for the safety belt. "Sorry for the wait."

Yolanda jumped slightly as Mason threw open the car door and excitedly hopped in. She scowled a little at his comment, partly because he was completely correct. Starting the engine, she pulled onto the street, only responding when they were on their way to the asylum.

"I'm not nervous," She stated with a sharp, yet playful glare. "I'm just cautious. And I have to be since you're so reckless."

Yolanda smiled a little, the comment - although true in her opinion - was only meant lightly. Her and Mason had been friends for awhile, having stuck together after finding they had a shared interest in the paranormal. Truthfully, she found herself liking him a little more than she'd care to admit.

"Besides," She continued. "We're not exactly going to be law abiding citizens tonight."

Mason couldn't help but chuckle at her statement. "Pffft, I prefer 'adventurously deviant'." He reached for a gear attached to the side of his seat and pulled it up, reclining the seat slightly backward. Propping his legs up on the dash. Mason turned to Yolanda with a reassuring expression. "Just relax, Yolanda," he started, adjusting the safety belt to fit his new angle. "We're gonna be alone in a dark, desolate, and confined building. The more tense we are, the less fun the experience will be."

Usually, Mason wouldn't be one for breaking the law. He liked to play it safe. But whenever he was around Yolanda or any of this other closer friends, he found he could let all his insecurities and worries go. As long as he wasn't alone, he felt safe. The chill still sat on his chest, a sign of his anxious feelings toward the expedition. He was eager to go into the asylum and document their findings but he would be lying to himself if he didn't admit to the the small hint of a doubt inside him. Aside from the risk of being discovered in restricted and private property, Mason was also worried about their findings. As curious as he was, he wasn't sure just how much he wanted to experience the discoveries first hand. As he sat there in the passenger seat, Mason peered out the window and swallowed his doubts. There was no turning back now anyway.

He turned to Yolanda again and cracked a smirk. "Please, I've been downloading music and movies off the internet since I could remember. I've never been law abiding!" he joked sarcastically, hoping to lighten the mood of the drive.

Yolanda reached out and flicked one of his legs, an indication that she didn't care for his relaxed posture. Rolling her eyes, she gave a short nod. "I'm relaxed. I'm relaxed."

Even to her own ears did her tone sound false. Cursing inwardly, she allowed a small laugh to escape at Mason's joke. It did make her feel marginally better and for a moment she thought the night would just be one for a few laughs and making a silly documentary. But as she gripped the steering wheel tighter, she thought that wouldn't be the case.

After about twenty minutes - which passed much faster than she cared for - Piaget Asylum loomed on the horizon, shrouded in not only the darkness of the night but seemingly a darkness of its own, one that emanated from within and spread outwards over the estate. It was a hulking mass, five storeys high and sprawling.

Yolanda shivered a little as they approached, her eyes fixated on the front entrance, two grimy yet grand windows facing outwards, returning her stare.
"If you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you." She thought suddenly, a thought thoroughly unwelcome. But as the asylum stared at the approaching teenagers, Yolanda could only feel they were what was unwelcome.

Mason shifted hie legs away fro the driver's side and let out a playful huff. "I'm sure you are." He knew better, but didn't want to push it farther than that. He rested his head back and closed his eyes for a while, hoping to ease his mind off what they were about to do, if only for a moment.

A cold chill ran down his spine. Mason sat up from his reclined position and looked out in front of him. The asylum stared back at the two amateur filmmakers, it's worn and crumbling exterior almost challenging their suppressed fears. he pulled his legs back and set them on he ground, returning the back of the seat to his upright position. The asylum was truly the stuff of nightmares, but almost comically so. As they neared the entrance the reality of it all started to loom over him. It felt like a scene from a 90s children's cartoon. "That it?" he asked, breaking the silence. It was a stupid question with an obvious answer. The idea sounded a lot better in theory, but now that they were actually there, only a few feet away from the property, Mason felt his palms sweat as the anxiety rose.

He shook his head, hoping to rid himself of doubtful thoughts. He rolled down the window and peered hiss head out, letting the soft night breeze calm his nerves. He pointed to the side of the asylum, outside the iron gates. "Park us right there," he told her. "We need to get the car out of sight in case anyone makes patrol around here." He reached over to the back seat and pulled his bag to his lap.

Yolanda nodded and followed Mason's instructions, parking the car as she was directed. She turned the engine off and pulled the key from the ignition, pocketing it. Taking a moment to compose herself, she undid the seat belt and opened the door, stepping out into the chilled air. It seemed colder here but she shrugged it off, convincing herself it was only her imagination.

She opened the passenger door and removed the small duffel bags of supplies, slinging them on either shoulder. They were slightly heavier than she would have liked but she thought it much better to be over prepared than under. Closing the door with her hip as her hands supported the straps of the bags, she turned her attention to the iron gates before them.

Setting one bag down, Yolanda unzipped it and removed a pair of bolt cutters. "This is it." She murmured, more to herself than Mason. Moving over to the gates, she reached out and felt where the two gates met, soon finding thick chain.

"You're going to have to help me," She said in an almost begrudging tone; she didn't like to ask for help. "The chain is pretty sturdy."

Mason pulled his arms through the straps of his bag and stepped out of the car, rolling his shoulders forward to adjust the bag. He opened the back door and pulled out a camera bag from under one of the seats. He had kept his more professional camera in Yolanda’s car as he knew they usually used her car when going on small filming outings anyway. He gave the inside of the car one last look-over before closing the door and catching up to Yolanda around the front gates. As he turned the corner he could hear chains rattling as his friend struggled to cut them with a pair of bolt cutters. He gave her a short grin at her request for assistance. Setting the camera bag down, Mason reached for the bolt cutters, pausing to say a kind “May I?” before slowing taking them from Yolanda’s grasp.

Bolt cutters in hand, Mason lifted one leg up against the chains and pinned it against the gate. He settled the bolt cutters between two links before tightly gripping the giant scissors in his palm. A struggled groan escaped him as the blade cut through the thick chain. Mason lost his balance as the gate opened away from him slightly from the pressure of his foot. He staggered back and managed to catch himself before he could topple back with the sharp bolt cutters. He looked at Yolanda with a sheepish smile, his face slightly hot in embarrassment. “Heh, got ‘em,” he said with a hint of a giggle. He returned the bolt cutters to Yolanda before grabbing his camera bag and readjusting the pack on his back. Mason stared ahead of him at the abandoned building, breathing in the eerie air that surrounds it. “Welp,” he muttered, pushing opened the gates with some effort. The gate creaked as the rusty hinges grinding against one another. As if this place needs anymore creepy ambiance… he thought.

Mason stepped onto the cobble path leading to the front entrance of the facility and glanced over his shoulder at Yolanda, gesturing his head toward the building. “Now or never,” he said, a croaked laugh forcing its way out.

Yolanda laughed as Mason toppled backwards, covering her mouth as the sound echoed more than she would have thought. It wasn't just that she was afraid of getting caught; she knew most avoided the old building and their were no guards posted.

But, in a strange way, she felt compelled to speak at a respectful near whisper, as if the asylum itself was a stern teacher who demanded quiet. She grimaced slightly, as if the thought pained her, before giving her friend a small smile as they stepped through the rusted gates.

"Now or never," Yolanda agreed as she turned and quickly picked up the bags behind her, having almost forgotten them. 'Focus', she snapped internally. Focus. Walking forwards, the asylum loomed up further, growing as they approached. The air felt almost tangible, as if it could be cut through with a blade. Heavy.

Yolanda, with more effort than had ever been necessary, continued walking until they reached the front entrance of the main building. Boards were nailed over it, signs screaming 'KEEP OUT' in a loud red adorned the boards, displaying the message in multiple different languages. It was sound advice.

Stepping up the three steps and onto the small cement landing, she saw how sturdy the boards were. They had clearly been placed recently. Cursing quietly, she turned and descended the stairs, frowning at Mason. "I think we'll have to break a window, hofnar."

Yolanda often referred to Mason as 'hofnar'. She hadn't revealed the meaning of the word to him, thinking it funny to watch him try and guess what it translated to. It was the Afrikaans word for 'jester', something she thought befitting because of his happy and joke filled disposition.

Mason opened his mouth to protest before noticing the nailed planks across the front entrance. He made a slow “Oh” motion with his mouth upon realizing the obstacle. At the sound of his mysterious nickname, Mason let up a smirk, shooting his right hand up to his forehead in a salute. “Yessmam!” he spoke, his voice still hushed, as if someone may hear them. He hadn’t the slightest clue as to what Yolanda’s odd word meant, but to him it sounded vaguely similar to the word ‘officer’ so that’s what he always imagined when she spoke it. Either that or ‘honor’, but he’d prefer to be a cop than a judge any day.

He walked past Yolanda and stepped up onto the landing. He inspected the red letters of the sign near the door and turned over to his friend. “Check it out,” he motioned toward the sign with his thumb. “So considerate about other cultures,” he joked, referring to the various languages the message was displayed.

“Okay, okay,” he murmured to himself, searching the ground for anything of use. He stepped down the porch and returned to Yolanda, reaching down by her feet for a sharp-edged rock. He tossed it in his hand and grinned. “It speaks ‘window-breaking’, don’tcha think?” With the rock in hand, Mason climbed the steps and approached one of the first floor windows. He swallowed his fear as he neared it, his paranoia pleading him not to look within the building. He pulled at the sleeve of his thin jacket to cover his hand and held the rock firmly in his grip, its sharp point toward the glass. He turned his head away from it and smashed the rock into the window. He heard a small crack and repeated the action. The window was fairly sturdy, especially for something that’s been lying around unattended for years. He chalked it up as the asylum installing thick glass for the safety of their patients. Made sense. After a few more not so subtle blows, the window shattered inward. Mason looked up to see the damage and was surprised that not much was broken; at least not as much as he had thought. Still, now that it was already broken through, hitting away the edges wasn’t too much of a task. He made sure to get rid of any shards sticking up from the window sill before dropping the rock and returning his attention to Yolanda.

Mason leaned his head forward in a bowing motion, directing Yolanda to the new entrance with his hands, oblivious to the cuts his right hand endured. “M’lady,”
he grinned.

Yolanda cringed each time the rock struck the glass of the window, the sound too loud. Breathing a sigh of relief as Mason completed his task, she glanced down at his right hand which was decorated with small cuts. She touched his hand briefly.

"You're bleeding," She murmured before turning her attention to the window before her. Stooping and picking up the bags she had dropped moments before, she stepped up and peered inside. It was ridiculously dark and a thick smell of dust and decay attacked her senses. Pushing through the feelings, she threw the bags through the window, hearing them drop heavily. Thankfully, it was only a short drop.

Yolanda glanced at Mason again for a few moments before she pressed her palms against the windowpane, hoisting herself upwards and awkwardly throwing a leg over the barrier. She didn't have much room to work with and, completely lacking in grace, she stumbled inside, tripping and falling into the darkness.

"Fok!" Yolanda exclaimed, slipping into her native tongue. "Dom bloedige venster! Christus!*"

[* "Fuck! Dumb bloody window! Christ!"]

Mason glanced down at his hand, his jacket torn up and blood speckled on the fabric. He slowly balled his hand in a fist, trying to assess the damage. The winced through his teeth for a moment before relaxing his hand and tossing his camera bag through the window. Well, he set it down inside. The injuries weren’t bad, they were very minor cuts, but they still stung. He scoffed at the pain. “ ’Tis but a flesh wound,” he assured her. A thud in her direction caused Mason to poke his head through the broken window and into the darkness, panicked. His eyes adjusted to the empty reception lobby and he could see Yolanda lying on the ground in a flurry of curses. A snicker slipped from Mason as he carefully, and more gracefully, tossed one leg after the other over the window sill. He stood inside the building now, staring down at his fallen friend.

“I don’t have to be a linguist to know that you have a potty mouth, young lady,” he smirked.

He extended a hand out to Yolanda before reaching over to his bag and taking out the film camera. His backpack was designed to clip to the camera bag at the front as the pack itself was just a glorified camera bag. He clipped the now weightless case onto the front of his pack and slipped his injured hand snug inside the camera strap. He turned it on, the nostalgic ting of the device as it booted up put him at ease.

“Okay,” he started, looking at the receiving screen on the camera. The pointed it at Yolanda who appeared as a bright green entity, along with the darker green background behind her. “Night-vision on. I can see this place much clearer now.” He peeked up from the camera and smiled at Yolanda. “Say hi.”

Yolanda blushed slightly in embarrassment, thankful for the dark in that moment. She stood up with Mason's assistance and dusted herself off and adjusting her clothing. Sweeping her eyes through the darkness, she eventually found the small red light of the recording camera, a pinpoint slicing through the dark.

She smiled in the direction, giving a small wave. "Hey. So, we're at Piaget Asylum and we're about to start our exploration. If we're lucky, well find something interesting."

Yolanda gave the camera a thumbs up before rummaging through one of the bags on the ground, having felt along the cold, hardwood floors to find it. Through feeling, she located the flashlight she had packed and clicked it on, blinking in the sudden light and feeling herself relax, only slightly, as she basked in the small comfort of the white and yellow glow.

Through the screen, Yolanda’s flashlight emitted a bright glow that seemed to engulf the whole room. Mason backed up and adjusted the angle of the camera I order to get a better view of the whole lobby. A high pitched whistle slipped between his lips. He scanned the room while maintaining focus to Yolanda with the camera. A shiver went across his shoulders and shrugged them up. “This place is pretty eerie…,” he muttered, turning the camera know with his wrist to give a better perspective in the film. He noticed the reception desk behind a glass window, only a small rectangular opening near the bottom to allow interaction from one side to the other. He gestured in its direction.

“Thought they would have a normal reception desk like in hospitals,” he told his friend. “That one is like one you’d find in a police department or…a movie ticket booth,” he let his tone pick up near the end, trying battle the depressing and lonely atmosphere of the building.

“Maybe they’ll have a patient roster.”

Mason hadn’t planned on a lot of talking while filming but he couldn’t help his curiosity. He wasn’t the most professional filmmaker and he figured he’d do some editing afterwards, anyway. He gave a nod toward Yolanda. “Alright, take the lead, ‘Lana,” he said, trying to brush off the uneasy feeling creeping up on him as he viewed the darkness through the screen.

Yolanda sweeped the light of her flashlight across the floor until it settled on the small reception area that her friend had been referring to. She had to admit that he was right, it did look a lot like something one would find in a police department. 'Criminally insane' flashed again and again in her mind, bold letters that were reminiscent of the red lettered warning they had ignored upon arrival.

Yolanda walked over to the reception, angling her flashlight downwards so it would not reflect off of the glass in front of her. She reached out slowly, laying her hand against the surface before pulling away suddenly, as if burnt. She watched at the imprint left by her hand faded slightly but remained outlined in the layer of dust that seemed to coat everything within the room.

Shivering, she forced herself to step closer to the glass and peered through the small window that her handprint had made through the dust. Yolanda couldn't bring herself to look any longer than a few moments, irrationally fearing something would jump up and scream at her.

"Mason, you should get a shot of all this." She murmured, glancing back at him.

Mason walked over to Yolanda, the lens watching her as she fiddled with the glass. He tried get a good shot of the other side of the glass, letting the camera take in the dusty files scattered on the countertop. From the corner he of the glass on the other side of the window, he noticed an old, bulky computer monitor, the keyboard dangling from the table. As he focused on the contents of the reception desk, Mason caught a small glisten of light form the corner of his eye. His chest grew cold, unsure if he would turn or not. A part of him wanted to look if only to ease his mind when he would find nothing there. Another part of him feared he’d see something. He wouldn’t have agreed to film such a documentary if he didn’t have a small belief in the afterlife. He believed in life after death, but was still skeptical about any sort of malevolent entity. Even so, the stories he’s heard crawled through his mind and created the fear he currently felt. He shut his eyes tight for a moment, hoping to clear out the ‘dust’ in his eyes, before turning the camera in the direction of the light.

Through the screen, the saw the long, empty corridor that lead into the rest of the building. He couldn’t tell where it would lead or what that section of the building housed, but he did know that it made him feel uneasy. Staring into the long hallway, he began to think about the possibility of seeing misty figures roaming from room to room, peaking out to investigate Mason and Yolanda. The thought sent a chill down his spine.

“So Yolanda,” he whispered, returning the attention to her as she continued to look about the reception area. “What exactly happened to this place?” he asked, more so to add background to the footage.

Yolanda moved away from the reception area and headed towards the long corridor by them. She peered down it, following the stream of light. Turning back towards Mason, she leaned against the left wall of the hallway. She searched momentarily for the red light of the camera, soon finding it.

"It was a real thriving medical establishment for many years," Yolanda murmured. She realised that she'd have to speak louder to be heard on the camera and cleared her throat. "It was the number one place to send sick people, or people that others just wanted to forget. Back in those days, you could be admitted for anything. Most still held the belief that psychological disorders were caused by demons."

Yolanda chuckled a little at that, though it was an uneasy laugh. "The doctors here would try everything from an exorcism to a lobotomy to cure a person. It lead to a lot of deaths. Too many. There was also a story that one of the lead surgeons, Doctor Barrett, was a fan of experimentation. Bodily experimentation."

She looked pointedly at the camera. "But there's no proof of that."

Mason felt something crawl under his skin when she mentioned the experiments. He knew it was an old practice to lobotomize insane individuals in an attempt to subdue their odd behaviors. It was sick, inhumane, and evil do to such things to living human beings, or any being at all for that matter. He had heard of the good doctor Barrett from stories and was familiar with his experimentation. However, the things he did crossed the time of medical practice, so he was told. He wasn’t just preforming unethical procedures in the hopes of ‘curing’ them of their demons, he was exploring with them, using them to satisfy whatever sadistic urges he possessed. To him, it wasn’t the patients who were wrought with demons; it was the doctor and his willing staff. Of course, the hospital itself didn’t really seem to condone the experiments performed by the doctor, but perhaps they turned a blind eye which made them equally at fault.

“The poor souls,” Mason murmured, looking down the dark hall and envisioning the place full of fragile minded individuals.

As he gazed down the hallway, Mason let out a long sigh and gave Yolanda a weak smile. He did a little bow and gestured toward door leading into the reception desk. “After you,” he laughed half-heartedly. “Maybe there are records in there.” There probably were, but none documenting the experiments. Those, if any existed, would surely be found in the doctor’s office. His curiosity pushed him to go forward but inside he felt anxious, nervous, and even fearful. The belief in spirits factored into his sense of fear but it was also the foreknowledge of what had transpired in the very building he stands. To think, defenseless people who were in need of real help, their trust betrayed by those they believed would provide them with salvation, relief from their own madness, tortured right under the noses of the society who placed them there. The place disgusted him just as much as intrigued him.

As he turned to face the camera toward the hall, the light returned to the corner of his eye and vanished. Mason felt his muscles tense up as he forced himself from looking in its direction. He let himself relax before taking a calm breathe. “I’m seeing things…” he muttered.

Yolanda gave Mason a scowl before heading over to the door which lead into the reception area. She opened the door after a short struggle, muttering something about 'damned old hinges', and stepped inside.

Sweeping the light along the floor, she approached the small desk and opened the now rotting wooden drawers. There was nothing in the first couple besides dust and dead insects, but in the third was a folder. It was clearly old, the lettering faded and a musty smell emanating from the pages.

Yolanda set her torch on the surface of the desk and sat down before it, the old chair giving a groan of protest. Opening the folder, she almost jumped out of the chair when something slipped out. A photo. Just a photo. Gathering herself, she picked it up and inspected it. It was sepia toned and blurry, but a young woman could still be seen. She was pretty, dark haired and a smiling face.

Setting the photo aside, Yolanda put the files up closer to the light so that she might be able to read what had been written. Next to the small written word of 'name' were three words. Josephine Ann White. She glanced away from the pages and to her friend.

"I found a patient."