Home Sweet Home

The old red brick building still beset the ambiance of the institution it once was 99 years ago. Over the years, the Harlem Valley Psychiatric Center located close to New York State Route 22, in Dover, New York, had practiced numerous experimental methods for treating patients who were classified as mentally insane; methods such as insulin shock therapy and electro-shock therapy. It was the place where neuropsychiatrist Walter Freeman created a technique for treating a widely divergent group of psychological conditions. This newly developed method became known as a lobotomy,  Except for the overseeing eyes of the night watchmen, the doors of the institution were closed in 1994. After 70 years of questionable and often deplorable practices, the barbaric treatments silently became obsolete. Ezzie, born in 1904, had spent many years of her life there after she was forcefully admitted at the age of 30, 10 years after the institute first opened it doors. Under intense protest, she was brought to the insane asylum by the local New York police force after her mother could no longer take care of her. Her behaviour had become too bizarre and she was quite a force to deal with. The police picked her up off the street one day while she was standing on the busy roadway directing traffic, totally naked.

Ezzie was one of those experimental patients, although which procedure or procedures she received back then isn't clear. Like the elusive medical practices in that time period, medical record-keeping also lacked details and was often written in illegible handwriting that resembled chicken scratch. Most of the patients were now dead and gone. Or were they? Ezzie never considered them patients, however. They were all her beloved neighbors who had helped her through times of life crises before they all moved away. She couldn't remember ever not living here; her mind didn't allow her to, and she also didn't know when most of the others left. Or did they leave, she wondered? The building was enormous so they could easily be in another wing and she wouldn't know. Maybe they were busy doing other things but she rarely saw them anymore so she assumed they had left.

To this day she doesn't recall how she came to live here, but deep inside herself she blames her mother, who thankfully, was also long since deceased; that witch was a hateful snag. The miserable old cow couldn't even bother to spell her name correctly. Ezmaraldo Jene Dorchester, for fuck sake, doesn't she even know how to spell Esmeralda? Or Jean?  Ezzie was sure this was an intentional joke her mother labeled her with for her own selfish entertainment, a cruel and humiliating spite to little Ezzie.  Intended as a diminutive jab of poison for her new baby girl, it was no secret that mother had despised her right from birth.

Nevertheless, the place was now home to Ezzie and just being there shrouded great comfort in her. She loved the familiar cool feeling of the highly polished granite floors under her bare feet as she wisped through the long corridors. The accumulation of dust and cobwebs garnishing the hanging chandeliers eluded her attention. The eerie creepy moaning noises of an old building long ago forsaken didn't grasp her attention either. Some wings of the building accommodated old oak doorways into dormitories, one after another, each secured by heavy brass locks that hadn't been unbolted recently. It was lonely though, she missed her friends; friends who, unbeknown to her, were actually psychiatric patients from all backgrounds, and although the medical records were obscure, they indicated that most of them had passed away. 

She drifted airlessly into the vast banquet room to sit and stare out into the courtyard through the huge glass windows making up the east wall of the room. This was her favorite spot where she spent hours gazing outside onto acres of land, overgrown with tall noxious weeds, out-of-control bushes, and looming old trees, knotted and unkempt. The overrun area harbored ominous mysterious creatures peering back at her, giving her a sense of comfort and company, making her feel less alone.

A little mouse skittered past her feet, stopping briefly to glance up at her, his white whiskers twitching back and forth, his tail stiff and sticking straight out behind him like a radar gadget. Satisfied that she wasn't a threat to him, he scurried on his way to fetch food stored in the pantry. Inside the old storeroom, the contents from chewed boxes of macaroni and huge bags of flour, sugar, and other dried-out ingredients were spewed over the counters and floors, little footprints trodden through it all by plentiful rodents helping themselves to the wealth. The place was a haven for the little creatures that began inhabiting the building many years before. Ezzie smiled down at him, watching him scuttle away, peculiarly grateful for his company.

She bolted upright at the sound of keys resisting the stiff lock that secured the double front doors. She recognized the creaking sound as slowly the old glass doors screeched open and voices penetrated the silence of the building. Footsteps echoed in the hallway coming towards the banquet room.

Ezzie jumped up from her chair and instinctively darted into a back corridor, a daunting concealed corridor she was too familiar with from past macabre experiences, trying to elude her intruders. Back in the day, the residents referred to this horrific passageway as the torture chamber where all sorts of unexplained treatments happened to naive long-suffering specimens. Who the hell could this be, she wondered, panic gripping hold of her. The only people who ever came in here anymore were the night watchmen and they hadn't bothered to look inside for months now, maybe even years, as far as she could recall. Her heart was pulsing loudly in her ears, as she quietly tucked herself into a cubby hole.

Ursula's shrill voice permeated the hallway, "Oh my gosh this is overwhelming Dexter. Do you really think we can do this?" she yelped. "I mean, really, look around. What were we thinking Dexter? There's so much work to do here," she rambled on.  "Some of the walls are literally crumbling. Broken windows. Dust and cobwebs everywhere. The place looks haunted. Who the hell would want to rent a room in this derelict place? How are we ever gonna turn this place around?"

"Calm down Ursula, we'll get it done", Dexter assured her. "No need to jump off a cliff honey, we'll take it one step at a time. It's our dream, remember Ursie? We got this," he reassured her again.

The clean-up and reconstruction began. Day after day, scrubbing, hammering, scraping, polishing, dusting, and vacuuming. People were coming and going, cleaning services, construction men, lawyers, and inspectors. For the next four months, the place was a beehive of activity, swiftly transforming the old edifice into a reformed pristine fortress. Ursula watched it all happening with amazement, her trepidation gradually easing into excitement while she visualized her dreams coming true, with the formation of a five-star hotel in the works. This was really happening.

"This is so exciting isn't it Dexter?"

"It is Ursie. Imagine, it won't be long before our first customer walks through the front doors", Dexter countered. "We're getting it done Ursula." He smiled confidently at her.

Ezzie was restless. This was getting downright annoying. In fact, it infuriated her. Who are these people to just walk in here and invade her space like this? Over the next few weeks, she festered and pondered her situation, contemplating how to gain her control back, all the while remaining in hiding, feeling overtaken by atrocious intruders. She was irate. The constant hammering and pounding scraped on her last nerve. That bitch's high-pitched cheerful squeals of delight relentlessly exasperated her.

From somewhere obscure, a familiar voice whispered to her, offering some advice. "Dial the age back a bit Ezzie and upgrade your fashion sense to this era dear".

She recognized the voice; it was old Freddie from Room 666 just down the hall from her room. Freddie always watched out for Ezzie, he was a good friend to her. The soft sound of his voice resonated in her satiating fond memories, a warmth she realized she had pined for lately.  It was so good to hear from Freddie. "What do you mean Freddie?" she asked curiously. 

"You're not from this century my dear. These people will never take you seriously; they'll think you're dressed for Halloween Ezzie. Get with the times, this is the 21st century. You need to dress for this occasion." Freddie continued to bestow his knowledge on her. After a great deal of contemplation, that's what she did, she formulated a plan.

I'll just walk right in the front doors. Get a nice room like I used to have. Get treated nicely like I used to, she convinced herself. Ezzie's mind was racing with ideas. She began setting in motion strategies and tricks to play out her devious plan; all this scheming and conniving fabricated immense amusement for her. Her days were busy again and she had a sense of purpose once more. She truly belonged here. When she was completely satisfied that she had appropriately updated herself suitable to this era, wardrobe and makeup in entirety, she gleefully began executing the rest of her ideas. She looked absolutely fabulous. Stunning.

The sound of the front doors opening was exciting for Ursula. Her heart was fluttering with anticipation. With any luck this will be their very first customer, she thought to herself. All their hard work tirelessly reconstructing these ancient ruins and breathing life back into this old abandoned structure was about to start paying off. "Welcome, please come in," she said to the lady entering the hotel. 

"Hi, do you have any rooms available?" the stranger asked Ursula.

"Yes, we do. Single? Double? A suite perhaps? Here are the room prices. Hi. I'm Ursula."

"Single. Just me," she replied sheepishly. She smiled and extended a gnarly hand out to shake hands with Ursula. "Hi. I'm Ezzie," she beamed radiantly. She was so happy to be home and have company again.