Rhiannon's Coming Home-genre creative challenge May NGCC

It wasn't the usual dark and stormy night, far from it as Rhiannon lay on the cool grass looking up into a clear, star studded sky. Just days before, she had returned to her home town, Ararat, after being away for over six years. Looking forward to seeing old friends, she was mystified when none of them remembered her and her old boyfriend, Graham, seemed to have stared through her when she came across him in the main street. How could he not remember her? He had been her first lover, the one she felt she would spend her life with until she went away to the city and university.

Then there was Rose. Friends for over ten years, they had gone everywhere together, horse riding every weekend, the camping trip to Perth W.A. and the Easter long weekend in Adelaide. What fun they used to have. How could Rose have forgotten her so soon? Even her old boss that she worked nearly eight years for didn't know her; had she changed that much? She didn't think so. One of her old neighbours, seventy nine year old Mr Hackett had recognised her instantly as she had stopped to say hello. He had seemed nervous and hissed at her "Leave town! Get out now while you can!"  His eyes had darted around as he had spoken. Rhiannon thought he was losing his mind. After all he was old, so she had politely smiled and walked away. 

 
Rising from her position she decided to go for a walk. It was still early enough and the lake wasn't far. It had always been one of her favourite spots. Many times she walked her red setter Kelly there, so he could swim and frolic. He was gone now, but she smiled at the thought of him. A wonderful companion she would never forget. She also knew she would never forget her friends either, so why had they forgotten her? Something wasn't right. Yes their appearance had changed but so had hers. There was a little more weight on her hips and in her face, but not enough to make any dramatic changes. The more she thought about it, the more she realised her friends had changed a lot. Graham had lost a lot of weight. He used to be solid built but was now slim, which made him look a lot taller than he had been. Rose was the opposite. Once rake thin, she was now well proportioned. It suited her, but she wasn't the Rose that Rhiannon remembered.

She walked with her hands in her pocket and entered the lake area. She found the tree she once climbed and remembered the day she found a possum nesting in the fork of its branches. She laughed, wondering who had gotten the biggest surprise, her or the possum. Further along and behind a stone wall was J Ward. It had always been a creepy, cold, bluestone building.  Built as a gaol in the eighteen hundreds it was taken over by the Lunacy dept and housed the criminally insane. Closed in nineteen ninety one, it was turned into a museum. The building was in darkness and she made a mental note to visit it the next day as she turned away, heading towards the waters edge.

Movement among the trees behind her caught her attention and she turned around. Shadows were cast along the grass, jumping from one place to the other and she heard her name being called. 'Rhiannon, Rhiannon, Rhiannon!'

Out of the shadows, figures appeared and something bounded towards her. Her breath stuck in her throat as the dog leapt at her, its entrails dragging on the ground. It was Kelly and he looked the same as the day she had found him years before, dead on the road. She felt she was in a living nightmare as more figures approached, twenty or more of them and leading them where her friends.

They surrounded her and she saw they were all pretty well covered from head to foot. Not an inch of skin was left uncovered, except their faces. She glanced around, recognizing most of them and their faces were solemn as they inched closer. They gathered around her and led her towards J Ward.

Built against the outer wall was the Governor's residence made of the same bluestone. They steered her away from it and towards the main building. She tried to make her way to the front of the group but they kept her closed in and she felt panic rising through her body as they silently walked towards the entrance. She tried making conversation with Rose but she never said a word.
Graham produced a key, unlocked the door and led her inside. Moonlight shone through the barred windows of the rooms, shedding little light as their footsteps echoed through the empty corridor past the museum area. The long corridor of the west wing was to her left, but they guided her to the right towards the kitchen, then down some stairs that led underground.

The walls and floor were barren dirt and Rhiannon felt claustrophobic in the narrow passageway as they led her into the old kitchen.  The group was silent.

She heard a shuffling sound from across the room and she strained her eyes, trying to focus on the direction it was coming from. Suddenly a single light bulb was switched on and she saw a man beckoning her forward. He was stooped slightly and dressed in tattered clothing like that which was worn by prisoners many years ago. His hair was long and scraggy and his eyes were wild, crazily darting around the room, yet they never seemed to leave her. Urged forward by the group, she could see a mark around the man's neck, the mark of a noose.
She knew the history of the place and that no one had been hung since the gaol was turned into an asylum well over a hundred years ago. She also knew they were buried in unconsecrated ground within the buildings perimeter.
She was led to a small, well hidden doorway barely four foot high and pushed through. The door closed.

She had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The bile rose in her throat as she tried to stay conscious. In the centre of the small room was an old gurney with straps attached, but that wasn't what had taken her complete attention. She recognised the headless bodies hanging from hooks in the ceiling. Graham's solid but well toned frame and Rose's boney, skinny body, hung lifelessly among others.
She passed out, only to waken the following morning, looking at her own body hanging next to the others. She would never leave her home town again.

postnote:

Although this is fiction,J ward does exist. It was still an asylum when I lived and worked in Ararat, Victoria many years ago in the '70's.  My ex husband did some work there padding the cells with vinyl. He was so scared while in there that he used to ask the wardens to lock him in the cells while he was working. I hope to go back soon and have a look around. I think it would be fascinating as the ward itself was closed to the public for over 100 years.