“There’s no birds!” he said at last. “When we were here last time, they were all over the place, chirping like a jazz band. Look around—there’s not a one anywhere.”
Theta glowered. “Are you saying that to give me the heebie-jeebies? Because if you are, it’s working.”
“We’re almost there.” Mr. Smith’s voice echoed through the soupy air. Up ahead, he was a ghostly silhouette.
By the time they’d reached the asylum and settled into a gracious visiting room near the back of the main building, the rain, which had started gently, had become a fierce pounding that danced off the roof in angry syncopation. Henry watched it soaking the ground into puddles. “We’re certainly stuck here until that lets up,” Memphis said.
“Swell. I can’t wait to try the tapioca,” Sam said.
“Say, it’s not so bad,” Theta said, shaking the damp from her cloche as she took in the room’s homey decor—several fat chairs, a thick carpet, and a coatrack. Two hissing radiators kept the cold at bay. An upright piano occupied the far wall. “I expected worse.”
“‘Expect the worst’ is my motto,” Evie said, hanging her coat on the rack. “Saves on disappointment.”
“When did you become a cynic?” Sam asked.
Evie smiled. “When I found out I was a little girl.”
Sam and Memphis set up the Metaphysickometer on a side table. Sam flipped the switch and thumped at the dials with a flick of his finger, but nothing happened. “Terrific. It doesn’t seem to be working. I think the damp got to it.”
Henry sat at the piano, plinking out a tune on the tinny keys. “There’s things in the night, out of infernal dreaming,” he sang. “Can you hear it now—my internal screaming?”
Isaiah made a face. “What song is that?”
Henry kept his fingers tripping along the keys. “It’s from a new show I’m working on, called I’ve Been Eaten by Ghosts with Big Teeth and I’m Very Upset About It.”
“Nobody’s getting eaten by ghosts,” Sam promised Isaiah, because he looked worried.
“I told you, all we have to do is interview a few of the patients and poke around a bit, make it look on the level. Once we’ve talked to Luther, we can leave,” Evie assured everyone.
“Well, let’s get this show on the road, then,” Theta said, peering out at the gloomy, wet skies. “The sooner we can get outta here, the better.”
They started with the patients first.
“What is your name, please?” Sam asked a nervous woman about his mother’s age. She had graying hair done up in braids across the top of her head.
“Mrs. Evelyn Langford,” she said. “I’m only here because my husband wanted to be with another woman. He didn’t want me anymore. So I stopped eating. And then I couldn’t start. It frightened me to eat. The doctors say I have to eat or I won’t get any better. I’m trying.”
Sam flashed Evie a what do I do look over his shoulder.
“Just talk to her,” Evie urged.
“You, uh, seen any ghosts, Mrs. Langford?” Sam asked.
“Oh, yes!” She leaned forward. “It was eight nights ago. I was playing Spite and Malice—that’s a card game, dear—with Mrs. Lowell, who cheats at cards, but beggars can’t be choosers. The lights winked on and off. And I saw a host of spirits standing outside the room, watching us. It got very cold. There were things that happened on this land. Savage, sinister things,” she said in ominous tones. “Murder and worse. The land runs with blood. Its heart beats with violence. I can feel it. The spirits rise up from that land. They want us to know! They don’t want us to forget!”
“I’ll be sure to send a card at Christmas,” Sam joked.
Mrs. Langford’s face went stony with wounded dignity. “Everybody needs a little help now and then, young man.”
“You shouldn’t’ve been so mean,” Isaiah said after the nurse had escorted Mrs. Langford back to her room.
“Aw, come on. I was just making a little joke,” Sam scoffed. The others stared at him.
“It wasn’t funny,” Henry said.
“Gee, this is fun,” Sam grumbled. “Anybody else having a swell time here at the old asylum?”
“Just call in the next person,” Theta said. “I want to get out of here as soon as we can.”
They interviewed a nurse named Molly next.
“I was here the night Mrs. Bennett…” Molly looked away. “The night she killed Miss Headley and herself.”
“Gee, I’m sorry. That musta been awful,” Theta said, patting Molly’s hand.
“That’s how you behave like a human,” Evie whispered to Sam. “Take notes so you can remember.”
“Did you know the nurses very well?” Theta asked.
“Oh, yes. Neither one of them would’ve hurt a fly! We’re all terrified now. We won’t go anywhere alone. That fog comes around most nights—you can’t even see your own hand in front of your face. The patients say there’s ghosts inside it. I’ve heard noises late at night when I’m trying to sleep. The lights blink on and off and the warden says it’s the blasting, but who can say?”
“Have the patients said or done anything out of the ordinary?” Ling asked.
“The drawings,” Molly said. “They all draw the same thing.”
“Could we see those drawings?”
Molly led the Diviners to the art therapy room and opened a drawer, taking out a batch of patients’ sketches. The scenes were eerily similar: They all showed the man in the stovepipe hat leading an army of the dead. Above him, the sky crackled with lightning.
“Okay. Now I’m really scared,” Theta said.
“There is one patient…” Molly stopped. “Oh. I don’t know if I should say.”
“Oh, you should say! You should pos-i-tute-ly say,” Sam cooed. “I mean, a girl as pretty as you? If I can do anything to keep worry from your door.” He grinned and took Molly’s hand.
“Charming,” Ling muttered.
Molly blushed. “There’s a patient. A very disturbed young man, but he’s quite a talented artist. Conor Flynn.”
“Conor Flynn,” Isaiah said. At Memphis’s silent urging, he lowered his voice. “Memphis, that’s who Mama said we had to protect.”
“Tell us about Conor,” Evie said to Molly.
“Conor was there in the room when Mr. Roland killed Big Mike and Mary—drew the whole thing even though he said he never turned around once. And he drew what happened with Mrs. Bennett and Miss Headley, too, even though he was upstairs when the murders took place. He’s always drawing frightening things. I put some of them away for the doctors to see,” the nurse whispered.