Short Story Of The Charles Radley Asylum For The Criminally Insane

Partially obscured by fog, the Charles Radley Asylum for the Criminally Insane always stood as still as death among the chaotic hive of activity that was central London at morning rush hour. The red brick building was over a hundred years old and looked it, with rusted wrought iron gates, crumbling bricks and a thick coating of ivy that clung to the cracked bricks. Despite it still being in operation, the locals hadn't seen a soul exit or enter the building in as long as they could remember. The gates remained shut, the gardens deserted and no hint of patient or staff member alike could be ever be glimpsed from the street. No one really knew what went on behind the perpetually locked gates but there were whispers of electric shock therapy,
restraints and insane men with demons in their heads. The asylum seemed frozen in time, that was until a crisp morning in 1973 when the locals, who were giving the place a wide berth as per usual, were astounded by the sound of the creaky gates slowly being pushed open.