Prisoner of Despair: A Dark Historical Mystery by Chad Miller

Author:Chad Miller [Miller, Chad]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Existential Publishing
Published: 2023-10-26T04:00:00+00:00

From the Diary of John Doyle

June 16th- After rigorous research, Thomas identified a Dr. Kyle Monroe who specialized in the neurologic field. However, his medical license had been revoked. The reasons for his dismissal from the profession lacked detail, but owing to Thomas’ connections, he found that Dr. Monroe’s reputation was one of a fanatic. He routinely put his patients’ health at risk in order to further his research. The fruits of his labor bore a spoiled harvest, as his work was largely mocked for the extremism of his views and the unorthodoxy of his practices. Dr. Monroe was aptly nicknamed, “The Butcher of the Brain”. This was all the pertinent information that Thomas could find, other than his current location, which was Johnstown, New York. And so, we were off.

It was a gloomy, rainy day when we arrived in the crumbling city. The thoroughfare was scarce, but the few people who flocked and stumbled around appeared gangly and unbecoming. I prided myself on withholding my judgment when appearances were my only source of information, but these residents tested my limits. I was glad to give my complete attention to investigating this matter of Dr. Monroe and forgo testing my intuition with the townspeople. We headed directly to the former doctor’s residence.

Thomas’ mood didn’t lighten this past week, as he hadn’t yet heard from Scarlett. Even though any correspondence with her was a near impossibility due to her ignorance of our ever-changing whereabouts, still his worry got the best of him. To make matters worse, he was under the weather. Thomas’ throat was scratchy, and he had a nagging cough. He didn’t go for five minutes without sneezing. Thomas was a horrible wretch, but his dedication to this case overcame his temporary ailment.

Number 359 State Rd. was nestled on the corner of the main street. Half of the buildings were unoccupied, and the few stores that remained in business appeared as though they were struggling, if not failing. Number 359 was no exception. The building looked just as depressing and abandoned as the rest of its neighbors, but still, it seemed like an odd fit. Most of the businesses had glass storefronts or doors with peeling painted signs. Number 359 was unmarked and unadvertised. It lacked the appeal of a Main Street store and seemed eerily Gothic with its dark-stoned front and looming eaves. The front door was guarded by a steel grate, and I tested its fortitude as I banged on it rather loudly.

Thomas coughed. “There is nothing here.” His lack of patience broke through his fevered cold.

Thankfully, I didn’t suffer any of these ailments. I banged on the grate several more times and even resorted to shaking it with both hands.

Poor Thomas had to clear his throat to squeak out his dismay. “John, give it up, man. The building is clearly abandoned. This place is so pathetic—“, and then a coughing fit interrupted his tirade and ended his rant.

“Oh no, someone lives in this building. I won’t give up easily.

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