Name- Damien Deshu
Date of birth- May seventeenth, 1921
Age admitted- Thirteen
Age released- N/A
Admitted after; the murder of Curtis Lepore, a milkman, and possible arson which resulted in the death of his parents.
Diagnosis- Mental retardation and refusal to speak.
Treatment method- Raising temperature through the use of sulfur, electroshock therapy, cold showers
Died- age fifteen, from the malfunction of electroshock therapy equipment. Buried in grave 39.

-

//Damien Deshu loved horses.

He was sitting up in the hayloft of his families barn, bare feet swinging as he watched a newborn foal fumble through her first steps. His father, Royce, put out a gentle hand to steady her, and she started forward again, slowly growing more certain of herself. Damien climbed down from the loft, nudging his hat-covered head against his father's arm.

"What'd'ya think, Day?" Royce grinned down at his son. "What should we name her?"

"Storm," he wasn't sure where the idea came from, but it seemed to fit the foal perfectly.

"Storm it is, then. C'mon, it's almost dinner time," he put a light hand on Damien's shoulder, leading his easily distracted son back to the house. Just as he'd promised, Damien's mother was setting dinner on the table, smiling when she saw them.

"Boy or girl?"

"Girl. Day named her Storm."

"Storm?" Aya, Damien's mother, bent down a pressed a light kiss to the top of Damien's head. "What a beautiful name." She turned back to Royce, her face falling slightly, "Those boys from town stopped by while you two were in the barn."

Royce made a sour face, "What'd they want this time?"

"Didn't figure out," she shrugged, "I might've set the bull on the little rodents."

"Aya..." Royce shook his head, "Let's not insult rodents, love."

Damien snorted, pressing his face into his hands to keep from bursting out laughing and kicking his feet rapidly. All of the trouble those boys had given him and his family, setting the ancient black bull on them was the least they deserved. Brooklyn wouldn't hurt a fly, really, but he was taller than Royce and muscled like a strongman at the circus Day had once been to. 

Oh, he wished he could've seen the looks on their faces.

"Hurry up and eat, Day. It's almost time for bed." 

-

He woke up so suddenly he almost kicked himself out of bed, heart pounding. Orange light flickered in through his window, casting dancing shadows on the floor-

Screaming. Someone was screaming.

He scrambled to his feet, rushing over to his window.

The barn was on fire.

The barn was on fire-

The horses!

Before he quite knew what he was doing, he was out of his room and running across the grass to the blazing barn. He stumbled slightly as the heat hit him, but kept running, unlocking the doors into the horse's pens even as the red-hot metal burned and blistered his hands. The horses thundered into the field, shaking their heads and rearing up onto their hind legs.

Midnight, Storm, Apple, Dove- all twelve were in the field.

So why could he still hear screaming?

He turned back to the barn, eyes widening, mind rejecting the conclusion he kept coming to. "Mama? Papa?"

"Damien!" 

That came from the hayloft-

No no no no no no-

"Mama!!" He tried running into the barn, but it was too hot- "Mama!!"

"Stay out of the barn!" His father ordered, his voice also coming from the hayloft, "Day, stay out of the barn!"

He shifted his weight from foot to foot nervously but obeyed Royce. But what could he do? It was too far to run to town for help and no one would help him anyway- 

There was a loud CRASH, and Damien froze in horror-

The roof of the barn collapsed, sending a huge fireball into the sky-

And no matter how loudly he screamed or called their names, his mom and dad never answered him.

-

The milkman found him the next day, shivering by the smouldering remains with his head in his hands. Nervously, he nudged Damien with the tip of his shoe, "Hey, kid?"

Day stayed silent, tears starting to run down his pale face again.

"Kid? What happened?"

He pulled angrily at his hair, then forced out, "Don't. Know."

"What do you mean you don't know?!" The milkman snapped, pushing Damien with his foot, hard. Damien snarled, baring his teeth. He wanted to be left alone, couldn't this fool see that?! The people of the town didn't like him, and he didn't like them either! They turned away when he was being chased by that stupid gang of boys from the school, why couldn't they just turn away now?! That was all they were good for!

"I'm talking to you, freak!" That time he sent a full-on kick, nailing Damien in the side and knocking him down.

And Damien snapped.

He didn't quite remember what happened after that. He remembered screaming, a lot of screaming, and then two men from town pulling him off of the bloodied mess that was the milkman, throwing him into a truck with padded walls while Damien screamed and howled like a demon, beyond words-

Then the asylum.

Two more men, these two that he didn't realize, grabbed him again and carried him inside, dragging him, kicking and screaming, up the stairs and throwing him into some kind of pitiful bedroom and slamming the door. No matter how much he screamed or beat against the door, they didn't open it until the next day.

A doctor in a clean white coat walked in, spectacles perched low on his this nose.

Damien hated him. He hated the milkman, he hated the townspeople, he hated this place, and he hated that stupid pretentious doctor in his stupid pretentious white coat and his stupid pretentious little rectangle glasses-

He just wanted to go home.

"So, this is the new arrival?" Damien wrinkled his nose. Even the doctor's voice was pretentious. "Doesn't really look like a murderer, does he? But such is the case of this sort, I suppose." He stared down his long nose at Damien, looking as if Damien were a crippled racehorse and he the bearer of a fine, pearl-handled pistol. Tears pricked the backs of his eyes and he turned his face away, biting his lips together. The doctor examined him for a few moments more, wrote something on a notebook, then left.

A few hours later, the two men came back and grabbed him again. Begrudgingly he walked with them, not in the mood to be carried. They led his down the hall to a tiled room, then made him stand near a metal pipe protruding from the ceiling. He stared up at it, frowning. What was it?

His question was, unfortunately, answered by icy water pouring right into his face. He tried to scramble away, but one of the men forced him to stay still under the torrent of freezing water until he was shivering and the tips of his fingers turned blue. 

And that was only the beginning of a very, very long two years.

-

Damien barely reacted when the nurse started tying him to the chair, not even wincing when she tied the strap over his stomach too tight.  Once she was done with that, she went over to the console, grabbed the headset, and placed it carefully so that the wet sponges were resting on Damien's temples. He closed his eyes as she went back over to the board, gripping the wooden armrests as tightly as he could, heart racing-

He bit his tongue for the millionth time as electricity coursed through his body, searing agony lighting up every muscle, every vein- he screamed, thrashing against the restraints, and the nurse turned the machine off so that he collapsed back into the chair, breathing heavily.

"Hm... Turn up the voltage."

The nurse nodded, turning one of the dials and glancing at Damien for a moment before turning the machine on again. His head slammed jarringly back against the wood of the chair, leather straps creaking in protest as he struggled, thrashing-

And it didn't stop.

He could vaguely hear her shouting something as the pain began to get worse, as darkness began to close in on his vision-

Then, there was nothing.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, staring up at the ceiling. He tested his limbs and, to his surprise, there was no pain, he could move freely. He stood up, looking at the nurse. She and the doctor were by the board, her looking horrified and hi with his stupid calm expression.

"Oh God..." She buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking, "Oh God oh God oh God-"

"Call for a new machine and have the undertaker bury the body," The doctor ordered. "We can't afford any delays."

Body? What body?

He glanced back at the chair, and his heart dropped.

In the chair, limp as a ragdoll, was him.

-

Recently, Damien had taken up an interest in a new patient; a bespectacled man by the name of Logan. Not having much to do as the only spirit in the hospital, he normally followed Logan around. He'd been the one to 'whisper' the idea of picking the lock to escape, but that had unfortunately caused Logan more troubles than it had solved. Currently, he was following Logan down to the parlour, where he was probably going to stare at one of the books. He read too fast for Damien to keep up, but Day still tried.

Logan started down the stairs, humming quietly.

Suddenly, someone shoved Logan from behind. Damien spun around just in time to see another patient duck into a room. He tried to grab Logan before the man could fall, but Logan's hand slipped through his and he tumbled down the stairs, landing at the bottom with a sickening crack.

And didn't move.

Slowly, Logan's spirit rose, flickering for a few moments before seeming to solidify. His eyes widened and he spun to face Damien, who still stood at the top of the stairs.

"You pushed me." No, I didn't- It wasn't me- "You killed me!" Logan took a deep breath, trying to collect himself. "... Why?... Just. Tell. Me. Why."

I didn't kill you. I would never kill anyone-

"Speak, damn you!" Logan stomped up the stairs, oblivious to the small crowd forming around his body. "Tell me why!!"

Damien shook his head, unsure what he would say even if he could speak.

"NO?! What do you mean, 'no?!'" Logan was shouting now, "You've killed me and can't even give an explanation?! What is wrong with you?!"

Damien moved suddenly, shoving Logan away from him and running past,  down to the safety of his basement, to his corner...

Almost far enough that he couldn't hear Logan still shouting at him.

He curled up in a ball, trembling so hard he was almost convulsing. Everything he enjoyed always got ruined... it was selfish of him to have this little almost-friendship with Logan... he'd cursed Logan, he was sure, cursed him merely by staying around him so much. Cursed him by trying to help...

Maybe he should stop trying to help, seeing as all he caused was harm... maybe he should just over in the background and watch...

-

He watched the depressed man jump from the top of the hospital...

-

He watched as the man who hallucinated slipped on the tile floor and slammed his head off of the sink...

-

He watched as the hallucinating man's brother died of a blood infection...

-

He watched the self-harming man run away into the woods, never to return...

-

He hovered in the background, and just watched.//