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  Asylum Daughter

  NATASHA SINCLAIR

  © 2022 Natasha Sinclair.

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof including all images, may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author and publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Any unauthorised use will constitute as an infringement of copyright.

  Contact: https://clanwitch.com

  [email protected]

  Contents are works of fiction. Names, characters, and events are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Foreword and cover blurb by Ruthann Jagge.

  Cover image by Rooster Republic Press.

  https://roosterrepublicpress.com

  First published 2022.

  ISBN: 979-8-2017-7751-7

  Other formats available.

  Dedication

  This one is for the women out there. Every single one; daughters, sisters, cousins, nieces, mothers, grandmothers, aunts, wives, friends. We are each connected through forces and experiences far deeper than biology, sex or gender.

  You deserve to be who you are without compromise.

  You deserve respect.

  You deserve love.

  You deserve passion.

  You deserve freedom.

  You have divine strength within you.

  You are strong.

  You are a goddess.

  Your voice matters.

  You matter.

  This is dedicated to you.

  Contents

  Dedication

  Foreword

  Preface

  Acknowledgments

  1 Haunted

  2 Bishoploch

  3 Mother

  4 Esotericism

  5 Ouija

  6 Daughter of Mine

  7 Silk Swinging

  8 Quelling Voices

  9 Headlines

  10 Phoenix and Little Bird

  11 Questions

  12 Grown Up

  13 Letters

  14 Cassette

  15 Dreaming Water

  16 Managing House

  17 Child Surprise

  18 Soulmates

  19 Father and Son

  20 Of Girls and Men

  21 Welcome Home

  22 Revelations

  23 Disposal

  24 Hollow

  25 His Recreation

  26 Chattering Cherubs

  27 Forever Lost

  What Did You Think?

  About Ruthann Jagge

  About Natasha Sinclair

  Discover other titles

  Trigger Warning

  This book contains dark themes that some readers may find upsetting/triggering. These include (but are not limited to) depictions of ill-mental health, suicide, abuse (including sexual), and graphic violence. These are integral components to the plot and characterisation within this adult horror novella.

  Foreword

  “Life as a woman merits a content warning.” When Natasha asked me to write a foreword for her debut novella, I knew the unique manuscript she was working on would be remarkable. I’ve published with this beautiful, bold, and talented author in several anthologies, and her works never fail to delight and sometimes shock me, only for a smile, however.

  She defines the many facets and complexities of a woman, especially one who’s not afraid to bare her soul to the world through her words.

  I met Natasha a couple of years ago and was immediately drawn to her ability to craft stories that go beyond the boundaries of polite conventions at times, but always with grace, style, and her brand of lyrical humor. She’s an intriguing woman, dedicated to her family, with a seemingly insatiable thirst for knowledge in her research and skills. Natasha builds characters we relate to, even when they are the most deplorable souls.

  As a dark speculative and horror author who writes and reads a full spectrum of work, her talent never fails to shine in a sea of literature. The genre tends to be male-dominated, so when one discovers another writer who not only dares to color outside the lines but is also capable of including her emotions, sometimes pulling from personal experiences as a woman, it’s like a moth to a flame.

  I’m fortunate to call Natasha a friend. We may be on different sides of an ocean, she is in Scotland, and I live in Texas, but the connection we share through our shared appreciation of all things brooding and mysterious results in a magical friendship.

  She’s published in numerous best-selling and successful anthologies, released “Murmur”, an atmospheric collection of short stories, and is also a respected and confident voice in the community regarding her skills as a gifted editor. Natasha’s body of work is impressive, and as a sister author, I hold her in the highest regard. She’s only getting better, and if “Asylum Daughter” is any indication, she’s on track to be an unstoppable presence in the genre.

  I stopped reading several times while getting lost in the messages and story of “Asylum Daughter.” From Natasha’s initial descriptions of the early morning sirens wailing, inspired by a nearby facility in her hometown of Scotland, there’s a sense of foreboding and insidious energy. Her use of descriptive imagery regarding the structure sets the pace for an original novella that left me considering her words long after reading it.

  Her story of a young woman, Bella Mills, borrows from Natasha’s memories, experiences, and of course, fictional events. It also suggests how the historical treatment of women who don’t conform or who society perceives as a threat receives less than favorable treatment.

  Every family has secrets. In “Asylum Daughter,” Natasha introduces us to her brand of shock-inducing reality from the start, then proceeds to weave a web of complex relationships within a family born under the banner of dysfunction, abuse, and madness. She spares no feelings regarding the brutalities in life that can result in psychological horrors more profoundly affecting than the sharpest knife to the throat.

  Readers may appreciate Natasha’s warnings, they are issued from the heart and with intention, but the events leading up to the actions that shape Bella Mills’ life are an integral part of her story. Growth as a woman can involve a bit of controversy, and if we’re lucky, it serves to shape us into remarkable creatures rather than destroying everything we are.

  We’re female authors in a genre sometimes misunderstood. Speculative fiction is complex and can wreak havoc on a reader’s emotions. By nature, we are often able to go deeper and further into areas of the mind, heart, and soul of a character, especially when it includes wandering through the darkest corridors of Lochwood Asylum, or life in general, to write a memorable story.

  I have no doubt “Asylum Daughter” will tap into recesses and corners of this often-ignored darkness. None of us wants to admit we’re haunted by the ghosts of our past, whether real or imagined.

  Natasha’s unflinching invitation to discover what lurks behind the red brick walls of a forbidding mental institution will force the faint voices “buzzing” at the back of your mind to consider our private dances with devils and whether or not the madness remains when the questions stop.

  I’m honored for my inclusion in Natasha’s debut novella.

  I have no doubt her story of Bella Mills, the “Asylum Daughter”, will not only tug at your heartstrings but will also ignite an ember that will remain smoldering long after you visit Lochwood Asylum.

  Here’s to the secrets we share, but more importantly, the ones we bury to survive.

  Ruthann Jagge

  February 2022

  Author of "The New Girls' Patient."

  Preface

  Now that you have made
it here, it may seem a little off flavour to dedicate a book that contains such triggering themes to anyone, let alone an entire gender. But life as a woman merits a content warning. Our experience in life can often be, yes, triggering. We attempt to pacify the monsters, manage their fragile egos for our own safety. For the record, that is not a statement towards all (or indeed) only men.

  There are many shared experiences amongst women worldwide that connects us all in great, deep fault lines. We are bound together with greater things, yet the persecutions and shame hammered down from simply being a woman is unavoidable in our societies — both historically and in modern times. Isn’t it deplorable — in this day and age?

  Sure, we are sat here (in some parts of the world) with more rights than we may have ever had, at least more than we’ve had for many generations. We can choose education, we can vote, we can choose whether to bear a child or not. We can work, we can decide if and who we marry, we can say ‘No!’. We have choices that sisters before us did not have. Does this make us equal? Should this make us grateful? Is it enough?

  Rights should not be considered a privilege; those should be standard. And although my comments have come from my pondering on my fellow women and feminism, they are not restricted to just us. It applies to how any group of humans persecute another.

  And yet... women are still so very far from equal in the eyes of many male counterparts and even some other women who continue to pigeonhole and restrain their sisters’ freedom to be whatever and whoever she is and wants to be.

  Now, I love men as much as I love women and as much as I love non-binary persons in humankind. But I cannot close my eyes to how off balance many of us remain. Fighting for our voices to be heard, to matter... it's absurd.

  There’s a gendered gulf through the human experience, and while some of that is nothing to do with social, political — patriarchal tyranny — some are natural, biological. It cannot be denied there still exists a chasm created by the patriarchal landscape. Every woman has a story, many hidden, unspoken, absorbed into our ever-thickening skin.

  Patriarchal paradigms have muted women, nullified our voices, dismissed us, cursed; ‘witch’, ‘bitch', ‘mad’, ‘psycho’, ‘silly’, ‘stupid’. Slut shamed, gender shamed, body shamed, period shamed, victim shamed, virgin shamed, blamed, used every tool possible to push her worth down both in society and self.

  Will it ever stop?

  Who of our daughters will truly be free to just be without wading through so much intergenerational, societal, political, PATRIARCHAL and even, sadly, matriarchal sexism?

  Perhaps I went a little off-book with this — I promise you my storytelling is more disciplined.

  We all have our stories, and here in this fiction, these characters have theirs. This work converges many influences, some personal, some entirely fictional. All woven together to create a dark, provoking, horror tale. One I hope conveys vulnerability, strength and, of course, true horror.

  When I dipped into the recesses of my mind to consider the true origins of this piece and why I had to write it. It became undeniable that I’ve needed to purge the asylum from my creative cloud for years. Perhaps my entire life. She has appeared in the backdrop of several of my shorter works, never the main feature but ever-present, my foreboding, gothic stalker. The asylum has become somewhat sentient in her quiet dominance; slipping in and adding a ripple of something that crawls up the back of the neck and sets that fear centre alight. Irrationality or a reflex of primal instinct, I’m not sure.

  I grew up in Glasgow, Scotland, and the primary setting is very much inspired by my childhood home. Yes, even the asylum with its early morning air raid style wail emanating from the nearby woodland; its intrigue embedded itself deep into my psyche. In fact, one of the very first short fiction pieces I ever wrote, as a child, used that base to tell a spooky little tale about kids experimenting with a forbidden Ouija Board.

  This piece has been swimming in my subconscious for longer than I realised in various forms, and it wasn't until I finished writing ‘Asylum Daughter’ in 2022 that this fact dawned.

  The story takes the reader on the characters' journey spanning through the mid-eighties to the noughties. It’s a piece shimmering light on the complexities of relationships, family secrets and the profound impact of protecting image over substance and putting faith in ‘authority’. The arrogance of that depletes an individual's sense of security, self-worth and character.

  Nancy’s and Bella’s stories deal with power abuses through society and a family riddled with patriarchal and religious ideals, which only serve to reduce women to mere utensils or servants of men and ‘God’ — humanity and ethics aside. Power and authority are a corruptive force throughout the piece, which is as relevant today as it’s ever been. Woven through are the complexities of relationships, primarily those of mothers and daughters.

  Ultimately the fiction and fusion of these elements has birthed a horrifying and provoking story of poetic intrigue, nostalgia with a sprinkling of the supernatural — or are those delusions and hysteria as a symptom of mental illness?

  The interpretation is in the eye of the reader’s perspective, which is as unique as that of the writer.

  —Natasha Sinclair )O(

  January 2022

  Acknowledgments

  First, I must acknowledge and thank my partner, Paul, who has put up with me dipping in and out of the creation of this piece for far longer than it should have taken. Nothing ever follows a ‘straight’ path. Though, if it did, it would be wildly void of adventure! My eternal love and gratitude to him for his immense support. Without Paul and his unwavering encouragement, this may not have made it out into the world, and the characters would be trapped forever yammering in my mad little noggin!

  My thanks also to my fellow creative, witchy woman, the darkly delightful Ruthann Jagge, for taking the time to read this novella and writing a profoundly thoughtful and considerately crafted foreword to present this piece. I am fortunate and humbled to have her words opening my debut novella.

  Also, thank you to my early readers, who agreed to read my work and took time to provide their helpful insights and feedback, which helped further better ‘Asylum Daughter’.

  And to you, reading this now — thank you for picking up my little contribution to horror literature. With an abundance of titles to choose from, it can be tough to pick something up to feed your appetite. Sometimes we go on the hunt knowing what we want a taste of. Other times, it’s a wild stab in the dark with hope that what we feed our eyes with will hit the spot. I hope my ‘Asylum Daughter’ gives you a taste of something you didn’t know you were craving, makes you think, makes you shiver, makes you feel something.

  I extend my thanks through history toward my childhood friends with whom I walked in the woods, who infused love and adventure in my dark little heart.

  And finally, thanks to my aunt Liz, who walks with me. Her eternal love, support and encouragement are profoundly appreciated. She is one of the strongest, most loving and authentic women that I’ve ever known.

  “Being born a woman is my awful tragedy. From the moment I was conceived I was doomed to sprout breasts and ovaries rather than penis and scrotum; to have my whole circle of action, thought and feeling rigidly circumscribed by my inescapable feminity. Yes, my consuming desire to mingle with road crews, sailors and soldiers, bar room regulars—to be a part of a scene, anonymous, listening, recording—all is spoiled by the fact that I am a girl, a female always in danger of assault and battery. My consuming interest in men and their lives is often misconstrued as a desire to seduce them, or as an invitation to intimacy. Yet, God, I want to talk to everybody I can as deeply as I can. I want to be able to sleep in an open field, to travel west, to walk freely at night...”

  —Sylvia Plath,

  The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

  1 Haunted

  Bella Mills lived a haunted life. Viewing her childhood as vivid picture cuttings; photographs in
a brutalised mind. Her Aunt Trisha’s upper body crunched over her lily-white cotton nighty, turned deep crimson. Legs splayed in different directions — twisted and broken, pink fuzzy slippers thick with coagulating blood, pooling all around the monochrome chequered tiled bathroom floor. Her vivacious aunt reduced to a discarded, grotesque, bloody, broken doll. Flames let loose in vast burning ripples, consuming the scene of her preadolescence. This was one of the final mind-snapshots taken in that place. The last place she bore her real name with blood kin.

  He’s not picture stills. She feels him, the disgust and shame rising in her scarred belly as the nightmare consumes.

  Memories feel her naked 11-year-old cleft pressed against the coarseness of his thick, itchy, wiry hair and dangerous hardening member. Dirty, vile violation from his tool of her destruction. Bella had replaced memories of her sweet dead uncle Mike, the man who acted as her father with the brute who ruined them all. Callum Fraser was the very definition of a ‘bad man.’ He obliterated her spirit with his deep, dark gravelly voice and filthy, ferocious touch molesting her innocent body; “You feel like your mother,” he had growled, breathless, biting her earlobe.

  With eyes closed tight, she feels him between her legs — brutally hard as the rigid blade that slaughtered her family, the same one he punched into her gut. Unwanted muscle memories invade her as the vomit rises, burning her throat. Coffee-stained teeth biting down on her budding child nipple. She was laid out, captive, spread on her aunt’s bed as the sun trickled in between the slats of the blinds and the asylum siren screeched. If only the sun burned her away then, crumbling cinders beneath the heaving beast.

  Annabelle, as she was known then, wished to die over and over again, with every thrust of him inside — praying for her heart to give out — in the bathtub, on the bed. Maybe then he would stop, she had thought. Her heart never did; it was her tortured death wish fantasy. Memories make the blood run ice cold, lungs void of air, faint with disgust and anxiety. Such a small word; anxiety, what’s in her was so much more than that little appellation.