[Full disclosure: I had to look up historical fiction.]
Group 10
Genre: Historical Fiction
Location: A psychiatric hospital
Object: A ship in a bottle
1000 words
Synopsis: Fisher Poleman has spent two years in the Danvers State Hospital. Like the screaming in his head, his wants his treatments to stop.
The screaming got Fisher Poleman out of bed. He went to the window, slid his chafed red wrists through the bars and lifted. The New England air was crisp and he could smell the wet leaves returning to the soil. It reminded him of walking to school as a boy and the gray cat he once found. He remembered the way its whiskers tickled the back of his hands as he stopped its breathing.
To the east, the sun would soon pop up like a golden coin. To the west, he could make out the tower. The lights were on and he saw a horned figure standing in the window. Fisher rubbed his eyes and looked to the tower again. There was no figure and no light. Fisher sat down and stared at the palms of his hands. They were the bellies of spiders.
After today, there would be no more treatments.
The speaker crackled at his door.
“Mister Poleman, the orderlies will be up to receive you shortly.”
Fisher put on his uniform. It was still stiff and he was careful around his chest where the hair had been burned away from therapy. The uniform was white and resembled the gray staff uniform, except in the back where it said DANVERS, it said PATIENT.
Throughout his two-year stay at the facility, Fisher liked seeing the uniform on his fellow residents. He imagined them all as solitary figures quietly waiting for help. But he’d only been in a month when the Archduke Ferdinand and his wife were assassinated. Droves of young men his age started to show up soon after that. They joked and laughed and talked about how Danvers was like a wellness center and by the time they got out the war would be over. But to the staff and the doctors they spoke of visions and paranoia. For Fisher the visions were real, the paranoia at hand.
The knock at the door startled Fisher. He listened to the click clack of locks and the bolt sliding through the slats. The door opened. Two orderlies stood next to a wheel chair.
“Good morning, Mister Poleman. How are you feeling?”
“Spry,” said Fisher. “In fact-“
“You can tell Doctor Axelrod when you see him,” interrupted the other orderly motioning toward the chair.
Fisher turned and sat down. The wood groaned beneath him, the wicker stretched against his back.
“Your wrists, please” said the first orderly.
“Of course.”
Fisher placed his arms along the rests. Each orderly took a side and pulled the straps tight. Fisher winced slightly, but not that anyone could see.
As Fisher glided along the South corridor, he looked out the tall windows onto the great lawn. Patients sat on benches in the sunlight, and waited quietly. Staff hovered nearby. A flight a sparrows swooped and dove among the trees.
The elevator took them to the fifth floor of the tower. The first orderly knocked on the door, which opened immediately. Doctor Axelrod was a tall man with a barrel chest and a thick black beard.
“You’re four minutes late,” said Axelrod staring down the orderlies before tucking away his pocket watch. “Bring him in.”
Axelrod walked behind his desk and motioned the orderlies where to place Fisher. Behind Axelrod were shelves containing books, plaques and framed pictures of family. The top shelf held a large bottle with a ship inside. Axelrod looked himself squarely in the mirror across from him on the far wall and cracked his knuckles. He stole a quick look at his profile before taking his chair.
“And you can dispense with those,” he said waving his hands toward Fisher’s wrists.
Fisher rubbed his wrists and politely nodded at Axelrod who retuned the gesture.
“That will be all,” said Axelrod dismissing the orderlies.
“I know it’s been hard for you, Fisher,” continued Axelrod as the door closed, his hand firmly on the file in front of him. “Your family has paid a lot of money to keep you here. You’re not like those pacifist cowards.”
Fisher shook his head.
Axelrod pulled on his beard.
“Any visions lately?” he asked.
“No.”
“How about screaming? Do you still hear screaming?”
“No.”
Axelrod nodded, pulled his beard.
“I think another month of treatments,” he said. “And we’ll meet again, alright?”
Fisher was staring up at the top shelf.
“May I?”
Axelrod looked behind him.
“The ship? Sure. Just be careful.”
Axelrod stood so Fisher could reach up and take it down. It was heavier than he thought.
“Must be twenty-five pounds,” said Fisher.
“Got it in Crowhurst. Ever been there?”
“No.”
“It’s lovely.”
Fisher stared into the bottle.
“Well,” he said. “It’s exquisite.”
“Sometimes I can hear waves,” Axelrod chuckled.
Fisher started to put the bottle back on the shelf.
“I can never figure how they get the masts up inside,” he said. “It seems impossible.”
“They do that last. After it’s all built, they reach in and pull the masts up.”
“Oh, right,” said Fisher as he gently rocked the bottle back in its place. “I forgot.”
Fisher turned to see Axelrod staring at him in the mirror.
“You held that bottle right over my head. You could have crushed my skull like a grape, but not even a hesitation.”
Fisher shook his head.
The two men smiled at each other in the mirror. Axelrod put his hand on the back of Fisher’s neck. Fisher sheepishly put his hand on the back of Axelrod’s neck. They beamed at their reflections.
“Well,” said Axelrod, “I think we’ve had a breakth-“
Fisher’s other hand flew up into Axelrod’s throat. The sound of cartilage snapping and the sputtering of breath filled the room. Axelrod tried to pull Fisher’s hands away, but the spiders held fast. Fisher noticed the curious way Axelrod’s beard felt on the back of his hands. As Axelrod’s body went limp, Fisher looked into the mirror at the ship in the bottle with its full white masts. There was no more screaming, only waves.
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