Ghosting

7

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!"