The Barris Institute

Ever since I was a child all I wanted to do was to help people. I wanted to aid those who were lost in this jungle of a world. We all feel lost and alone in our lives and sometimes all we need is a guiding light. I wanted to be that light for people. So when I graduated high school there was no other choice for a career other than a psychologist. I was accepted to the university of psychology in Tampa and I was giddy to begin helping people. That was until I learned the depth of which madness can pierce. Before I learned the truth hidden underneath.

It all began as I started to feel the financial burden of student life. I was deep in the hole and a simple after school job at the local store was not going to cover it. Then one of my professors recommended that I apply at the Barris Institute of mental health. He said it was a local mental hospital run by the government. They paid extremely well and were often looking for employees. I was ecstatic at the idea as it would let me start my career early.

The application process was much deeper than I expected for a simple orderly assistant position. I had to undergo a full background check and several mental health examinations. They asked me many questions, some of which made me question the nature of the place. They wanted to know if I was prone to nightmares and if so what about. If I had ever had murderous thoughts or a desire to harm others. I assumed at the time that they were simply making sure that you could handle stress. It was an intense couple of weeks but I was hired on the spot once the tests were done.

The Barris Institute did not look like a standard mental health facility but more like a lavish retirement home. There were tennis courts, a fully functional recreational facility with a pool and even its own pond. I was taken around to patient rooms and they were all nicer than my apartment. Every resident had a queen sized bed and their own big screen TV in their room. The people within were happy and friendly. Most suffered from standard mental ailments such as anxiety, depression, bi polarism. The staff were all also nice as can be as well. I was honored to be one of them.

My boss, Dr. Adams took me back to the elevator and that was when I noticed the levels for the first time. Above the surface there were three floors for patient rooms and the lobby. Then there were also 3 basement levels and to get to them you needed different levels of access cards. I asked my boss what was down there and he told me the lower levels were for more serious mental health issues and that I wouldn’t need to worry about that as a base level employee.

Over the next couple of months I began my work there and I truly fell in love with it all. I had a strong rapport with my patients and truly felt like I was making a difference. The first oddity occurred one night when one of the elderly patients Mrs. Fisk woke up screaming for us to save her daughter, that she was hurt badly. I told her it was just a dream and to go back to sleep. The next day she was gone and when I asked why they said that her daughter had been in a car accident in the middle of the night.

I never told anyone about her outburst the night before. I assumed that simply a mother knows certain things about their children. Still something about that night unsettled me and it would be a couple of months before I found out what.

About a week after the incident, Mr. Adams came to me and told me that he was very pleased with my work and offered me a position in sub level 1. The pay was a whole 10 dollars higher than my current rate for pretty much the same type of work. I accepted immediately and I started to wonder if a career in this place was possible.

I soon found that sub level 1 was a very different feel than the upper levels. The base levels felt like a fancy retirement home but this felt like an asylum. The patients’ rooms were locked with padded walls. They had lots of time in the common room that had a few tables with decks of cards and board games. There was only a single TV with several channels blocked.

The patients were a mixed bag. Some patients were deranged and had to be locked up at all times. There were many calmer and more coherent ones but that does not mean they were less scary. One of the patients was a serial killer who murdered believing some dark god was guiding his hand. One night during a poker game with some of the others, he talked about his murders like he was talking about the weather or what was on TV. I often avoided his gaze.

It didn’t take long for everything to feel normal to me, until one night one of the calmer patients began screaming in terror and I was reminded of Mrs. Fisk’s panic attack. The man began thrashing around his padded room and screaming to “make the beating stop.” We tried to tell him that no one was hurting him but it did no good. He rushed at the door and managed to knock it down. I feared for my safety but the guards managed to subdue him and took him to the elevator. I asked my boss where he was taken and was given a single word answer. “Below.” I wondered what he meant by that but fate decided to curse me with an answer.

Another couple of weeks later Dr. Adams approached me. He told me that he needed my help for a special assignment. Their stenographer had called out and they needed someone to take notes for a patient interview on sub level 2. He told me it would only take an hour and he would adjust my pay rate for that time. I agreed, wanting both to help and to make a good impression for a career boost.

On the elevator ride down he gave me strict instructions to simply type out the meeting but not to speak. He advised me to keep my eyes forward as we walked to the interview room. I wondered what would bring about such a request but as the doors opened I understood. If sublevel 1 was an asylum then level 2 was a prison.

Strong locked doors lined the hallways. Several guards were armed with machine guns everywhere. Inside the cells the sounds of screaming were almost deafening. Yet there was another sound underneath it all. I couldn’t tell what it was, only that it was rhythmic in nature. Though I know I was told not to, I risked a glance into one of the viewing windows. I wished I hadn’t.

Laying on a bed was a young woman. Her eyes were covered with a thick blindfold. All of her limbs and joints were securely strapped down with metal rods holding the straps in place. Even her mouth and neck were subdued. This woman could not so much as wiggle her toes. She was bound so tightly. There was an iv in her arm and a catheter under her gown. What the hell could someone do to require something like that?

I didn’t have time to dwell on it as we immediately entered the interview room. It was extremely bare with only a table with two chairs on either side. There was a chair in the corner where I was to sit with a small Chromebook and write down everything said no matter how minor. I asked him what was the point if we had access to security cameras and digital recorders. He told me that with matters such as this they needed as many different recording methods as possible, should one technology fail.

He gave me one final instruction. “Do not make a sound. Do not not speak, do not react. Remain perfectly silent.” With that the prisoner (I could not think of anyone on this level any other way) was brought in. He was escorted by two guards holding large stun sticks. The man was in his 30’s and like the woman in the bed he was blindfolded. I have a very good memory so here are the notes as I took them along with my own observations:

Adams: Interview 45 with patient 2817. Good afternoon, how are you feeling today?

2817: Oh good as I can be, doctor. How are the children?

Adams: Oh they are doing very well. Thank you for asking.

2817: That’s wonderful but don’t forget the holidays are coming. Remember Bill wants the blue power ranger morpher and Kelly wants the bluey playhouse that comes with the beach house attachment.

(Adams wrote this down as if he didn’t know himself.)

Adams: Thanks for the tips now, how are you sleeping?

2817: How would you sleep if you were shackled so tightly that even to blink is a chore?

Adams: We have powerful sedatives, if yours are not working please let us know and we will adjust your dose.

2817: Relax doctor, I’m just joking with you. Besides, you don’t care about how I’m sleeping. You care about what I’m dreaming.

Adams: Well if you wish to be direct then fine. Tell me about your dreams.

2817: Same as the last 44 interviews I’m afraid. Fire, pain, screaming. A leprechaun asks me directions to the beach, I still have no idea what the fuck that’s about. Then more pain and more screaming.

Adams: You must know more than that. What are the screaming people saying? Do they say why they are screaming?

2817: Sorry they are not exactly conversational while they scream in absolute pain and terror.

Adams: What are they afraid of?

2817: I don’t know, maybe being asked the same questions day in and day out. Where did you get your PHD? Costco?

(It was at this moment that I let out the tiniest exhale of a laugh. I could barely hear it myself but the prisoner heard it perfectly. His head jolted up and he began sniffing around the room)

2817: We have a new piece of meat joining us. Hello little lady, working your way down the ladder? Don’t go too far down now. Have you heard the beat yet?

Adams: They are not your concern.

2817: Well they seemed very concerned about me. It seems we have a natural bleeding heart among us. Just a little girl trying to help everyone to make up for the fact that she couldn’t stomach visiting her cancer ridden mother before she died. She blamed you by the way. She resented you and your cowardly nature. She held on to that hatred all the way down to hell.

Before he could continue the guard jammed the stun rod into him, knocking him out. For the first time in years I felt no sympathy for someone. I hope it hurt him. Adams led me back to the elevator saying I did well. He said I would be paid for the whole hour. I didn’t know why he was so focused on it until I got my paycheck. The prorated rate for that mere hour down there was $700. Who the hell is funding this place?

I tried not to think about that incident. I tried not to think about how a man who I had never met knew so much about my past. I tried not to think about whether he was telling the truth about my mother. I tried to push the whole thing to the back of my mind and not dwell upon the mystery of those lower levels. However it seems that they were not done with me.

One day Adams came rushing towards me. I knew with one look that he needed help with something on those sub levels but this time was much different. Before he looked calm and normal. Today he looked pale and utterly terrified. “I need you to come with me. We have a guest joining us that we were completely unprepared for. You will join me on sublevel 3. You will be paid accordingly.” There was no argument in his voice, no request. This was only a command.

I simply nodded and followed him to the elevator. There was a man in a full military uniform waiting for us. Based on the stars on his lapel I could see that he was a four star general. We were completely silent on our strangely long descent. I have been on elevator rides to the top of massive towers that took less time.

The doors opened and the breath nearly left me. Sublevel 3 was a bunker. Strong metal walls adorned the hallway. There was only 1 door at the very end of the hall. The whole area felt like it was generating pressure. I was led to a small booth where there was only a chair in front of a red button and a digital countdown clock. I sat down in front of the button and Adams looked at me sternly. The words he told me next will forever be burned on my memory.

“I am only going to tell you this once. Our guest and I are going into that door at the end of the hall. When the door closes a 10 minute timer will begin. If we do not exit the room by the time the 10 minutes are up then I want you to hit the red button. You will then calmly make your way to the elevator, take it to the surface and exit the building. One final thing, no matter what you hear or feel, do NOT exit the booth before the time is up. Do you understand?”

I didn’t know what to say so I merely nodded. This was enough for Adams. He and the general went down the hall to the lone door. After Adams entered a length door code it swung open and my head was assaulted by intense pressure. I clutched at my head and closed my eyes, willing the pain and pressure to stop. As the door closed the pressure went away but I could still feel some sort of change in the chamber.

The countdown began and there was nothing to do but wait. Minute after minute crawled by in agonizing slowness. It was quiet in the chamber but not silent. I could hear a rhythmic beat under the surface of everything and it was getting louder. I was reminded of the 2817 speaking of a beat and now I understand what it was talking about.

The sound of that beat increased in repetition and speed. The sound was not alone; I could hear whispers in the air. I tried to block them out but I heard a single word that sent my blood cold. “Mary.” Hearing my name whispered in a mysterious bunker was one thing, but the voice whispering it was on another level. It was my mother’s voice.

“Mary….come to me…all is forgiven..just come to me.” My mother whispered. The voice was coming from down the hall where the lone door stood. I jammed my hands on my ears and blocked out the voices. I focused on the countdown clock. Less than a minute remained and I felt a wave of unexplainable terror envelope me.

Where were they? What happens if I press the button? What if they don’t make it back? Every second slipping by was an eternity. Every second increased my terror. The clock had less than 10 seconds left and I placed my hand over the button. I don’t know what would happen when I pressed it but something told me I would need to get away quickly.

With seconds left the door burst open and once again my senses were assaulted but this time something new happened. My head pounded not just with pressure but knowledge. I knew things I had no way of knowing. I was given information and instructions. The door closed and the pressure faded but the knowledge remained. I looked at the pair of men and the general was as white as a ghost. What could have spooked a man such as that?

We rode back up in equal silence as our descent. When we reached the lobby Adams told me to go home and rest. He said I did a good job and he would send my pay in a couple of hours. I did not hesitate a moment to get the hell out of there.

I lay in my bed for hours. The events of the day playing over and over in my mind. My focus kept going back to that information that slammed in my brain. At those specific instructions forced inside me. I refused to follow them on principle. That was until my paycheck came in. It was then that I knew that I needed answers. There was only one way I was going to get them.

I went back to work after it got dark. The front desk was empty just as I knew it would. I went to Adam’s office which thanks to the chaos of the day’s events he had forgotten to lock. I opened his desk and there were his key cards. Just as the visions said they would be. I took that elevator down to the lowest level. It was a shift change time for the security guards so no one saw me. The visions and voices had prepared me for everything.

Soon I stood before that armored door in the bunker. Every instinct in me told me I was a fool. This would cost me my job and even worse if my suspicions were true. But I had to do this. I had to know the truth. I punched in a recently learned code and the door slipped open.

The pressure returned ten fold but I could not let it stop me. I pushed forward and into the dark chamber. There was a set of stairs leading down barely lit by safety lights. I followed them down into the blackness of the chamber. That beating sound was louder than ever, seeming to come from the walls itself. I reached the bottom of the stairs and stood in the oppressive darkness. Then the lights came on and I wanted nothing more than the ignorance of the darkness to return. For I stood in the middle of the nightmare.

The room was one of unrelenting carnage. The mystery of the beating was instantly solved. Hoisted several feet above me was a massive beating heart. It was the size of a mini man and beat on its own. The entirety of the ceiling was a massive brain. Hanging from chains were other organs, all impossibly large and all still functioning on their own. The walls were some sort of fleshy wings. The final thing I noticed was a massive human-like eyeball suspended from a chain.

I let out a whimper and it seems like this being that made up this room heard me. The lone eyeball began to move and it focused right on me. The iris was bright gold and I don’t know how I knew but I could tell it was looking at me with hate. I looked deep into its pitch black pupil and that was when it happened.

When the door opened before I was gifted with knowledge. The information I got was a mere drop of water compared to the ocean of knowledge that poured into me as I stared at that eye. I do not have the time or desire to tell you all that I saw. I could tell you the color of the sky on the day of creation. I could tell you how many Grey hairs Jesus had as he was nailed to the cross. I could also tell you the hour of mankind’s fall. And I promise you this, it is much closer than you think.

I don’t know how long I was down there. But after what felt like a literal eternity I was able to break the gaze. I wasted no time in rushing up the stairs and slamming the door shut. I made it back to the lobby and threw my ID card to the floor as a way of resignation.

I know they will know I entered that chamber and I don’t care. They will see it on the cameras in 7 hours and 23 minutes. However I shall be long gone by then. Thanks to the generous paycheck I can be on the run for sometime. The rate of pay for sublevel 3 was 20 grand a minute. I don’t know what the rest of my life will look like, that knowledge was not shared with me. I will tell you that I won’t waste a moment of it. For there is not much time left to waste.

Credit: Tenac