On the Day I Died by Candace Fleming Read Free Book Online Page A

neighborhood knew them. Stories of flickering lights; of crazed, disembodied laughter and shrieking; of the occasional trespasser seeing moving shadows and floating orbs.
    “It’s all crap, Aidan,” I said. “Come with me and I’ll prove it to you.”
    “No way am I going poking around in there. And you shouldn’t either. Annabelle might get you.”
    “Annabelle?”
    “You mean to tell me you haven’t heard about
Annabelle
?” He leaned forward, pushing aside a half-empty carton of mu shu pork. “A few years ago some guys were in there, drinking beer and goofing around, when they hear this giggling sound coming from the third floor. So they go upstairs and they see this little girl sitting next to the barred window in this old-fashioned-type wheelchair. Her hands and legs are all bound up with leather straps, you know? And when she turns to face them they realize … she doesn’t have any eyes! ‘My name is Annabelle,’ the little girl says, all whispery. ‘Want to play a game? I know some fun games.’ And she smiles this crazy warped smile. But no way are those guys sticking around to play Ring Around the Rosy with a dead kid. They race for the door. ‘Don’t leave me!’ the little girl cries after them. ‘Don’t leave me!’ Later, those guys swore they felt Annabelle holding them back with, like, some kind of supernatural power or something.” He paused. “I’m telling you, Scott, those dudes were lucky to escape.”
    “Those dudes were dipsticks,” I said.
    “Whatever,” said Aidan. He burped. Changed over to the sci-fi channel.
    Aidan’s bogus story didn’t stop me, of course. I was already on fire with the idea’s possibilities, already basking in the glory I knew I’d earn.
    I raised the viewfinder of my Canon EOS 30D, framed and snapped. As I did, a spiral of dust and dead leaves whirled up the ruined circular driveway toward me. Black clouds darkened the already gloomy building. Lightning forked and thunder rumbled. Time to go inside.
    Ignoring a NO TRESPASSING sign that had been up so long its post was almost completely rotted through, I shouldered my camera bag and squeezed under the buckling chain-link fence. I raced up the driveway, taking the asylum’s crumbling stone stairs two at a time. But before diving for cover inside, I paused for a closer look at the arch above the front door. Carved into the lichen-spotted granite were the words ABANDON ALL HOPE YE WHO ENTER HERE .
    I recognized the quote. It was the inscription at the entrance to Hell from Dante’s
Divine Comedy
. I had to grin. Who would have thought I’d actually use something I learned in AP English?
    Stoked, I snapped a couple of pictures, then glanced farther upward. Something was there, watching me. A face. Peeking out from beneath the eaves. I froze, thenrelaxed. It was just a gargoyle, the icy, unsettling face of a gargoyle. Its fanged mouth gaped open in a malevolent grin, its wicked eyes bulging with rage.
    Awesome.
    Mindless of the strengthening wind that tugged at me, I clicked off some shots. I could almost hear Mr. Adair saying, “That’s one for your college portfolio, Scott. The admissions officers at the Art Institute are going to love it.”
    After I left Aidan’s that night, I went home and did a little online research. And let me tell you, Chicago State Asylum had a crazy history—no pun intended:
    Fact #1: In 1851, Cook County thought the still-rural northwest side of the city would be the perfect place for an insane asylum. So the county bought forty acres of farmland, built a creepy hospital that looked like a castle and started packing in the crazies. It was easy to do. Back in the day, lots of people—especially women and children—were declared insane when the county didn’t know what else to do with them. Eventually the place became a dump for orphans, unwed mothers, kids with Down syndrome or autism, sick war vets, old folks and lots of other people society cast off.
    Fact #2: By