Wednesday, January 10th, 1912

Journal of Dr. Arthur Corman. January 10th, 1912

Wednesday, January 10th, 1912

I dreamt of donuts. Actually I dreamt of donuts and cupcakes and cookies.

My dreams should not have surprised  me considering I had been sitting on a train for over thirty hours listening to the elderly gentleman next to me describe every kind of pastry known to man.

The man’s name was Jonathon Wright, a baker by trade and possibly one of the most talkative people I have ever met.

Jonathon and I both boarded the Grand Rapids and Indiana railroad in Cincinnati on our way to a small town in northern Michigan

The trip was slow and uneventful until we reached Michigan and encountered one of the worst blizzards in history. The view out my window was nothing but blinding snow as the train continued to track northward. 


Jonathon was moving to Reed City in hopes of starting his own bakery while I was moving north to accept a position with a private mental hospital.

Jonathon was following his dream to become a baker and I was following my dream to escape my former life.

Both good dreams, just different.

Jonathon travelled with a large box filled with a variety of his homemade pastries.

He liked to share.

During the thirty hour trip I must have sampled over a dozen of his sugary masterpieces; apple fritters, fried cinnamon rolls, glazed donuts, fruit Danish, raisin breads and chewy cookies.

Maybe it was the sugar or the apprehension of a new adventure but my dreams on the train were strange. The rhythmic click clack of the train easily lulled me into a very deep sleep.

My dreams had me wandering endless corridors in search of something although I can’t remember exactly what I was looking for.

The corridors were dark and built from heavy stone, locked doors were on both sides and the floor littered with scraps of paper.

I picked up a piece of paper and tried to look at it but my eyes refused to focus.

As hard as I tried I could not make out the details so I would pick up another and another and another. Hour after hour of wandering and attempting to see what was on the paper.

Thankfully the dream came to an abrupt end as I was awakened by Jonathon informing me that we had arrived at the Reed City depot. 

A quick glance at my watch showed that we had arrived almost eight hours behind schedule.

I hoped there was still someone here to meet me.

Stepping off the train I was greeted with the howl of freezing winds and even though it was only four o’clock in the afternoon the storm made it feel like midnight.

Jonathon stepped off the train behind me and we exchanged our good byes, I thanked him for his company.

I watched as he disappeared into the swirling darkness.

A tall man approached me and introduced himself as Adam Berg, assistant to Dr. Stuart Reardon. I shook his hand we proceeded to load my luggage into the awaiting truck.

The trip to the hospital was treacherous as we made our way over ice covered roads and massive snow drifts.

Adam was quiet as he concentrated on driving and I was exhausted from the trip wanting only to take a hot bath and curl up in a warm bed.

The road we were on led us straight to Reardon Institute.

As I looked through the frost covered windshield I saw the asylum for the first time.

When I first saw the building my first impression was that of darkness.

The building seemed to absorb the light much the way a sponge absorbs water.

As we drew nearer a feeling of dread filled my stomach, this was my future.

The next five years I would call this place home.

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