The Vertigo Ring
Sam Rakestraw
From the time since his late fifties to his death, Dr. Riley Sheridan was known for his work in mental rehabilitation at the asylum in his home town of colonial New York during the sixteen hundreds. He was also known for the two rings he always wore when out in public. A wedding band on his left finger and a particular blue one with a silver lining on his right. By now, you can already see that I’m broaching the urban legend of “Dr. Sheridan and the Vertigo Ring’ or “The Vertigo Ring” for short. Since it’s time, the credibility of the accounting has been questioned several times, making it one of the most debate history subjects in the state of New York.
My uncle is the assistant curator at the natural history museum in Albany. Every now and then, he’ll let me pop in during the after hours to satisfy my hunger for historical knowledge, being a history major and all. It was on Saturday when the archives of the museum received a new shipment. Inventory included some civil war correspondence letters, author’s notes on Thoreau’s Walden, a few newspaper clippings detailing the fall of the stock market at the end of the twenties, among several other documents needing preservation.
My uncle soon found a yellow shoebox at the bottom of the shipping crate. Inside, was the complete diary of Riley Sheridan during his years at the asylum. My uncle was reluctant to put it on display since, again, it was historically unclear. I asked him for it, just to read and to maybe determine whether or not it may be eligible for display.
Based off what I found and the number of pages that were illeligible, it’s best to start with the first entry.
27th of August, 1692
Poor Agatha lost her battle with insanity today, lynched herself with bed sheets from her own cell. I’ve begged Warden Porter to instill sandpaper rather than sheets, but he has a deaf ear turned towards me.
It was such a shame because I was so close with Agatha! Her mind was almost repaired and completely free of the madness that clouded it. Granted, her husband and infant child are dead because of her, but I believe that even the minds of the most corrupted can be remedied.
Even now the Warden is displeased with my performance as this is the fourth patient of mine who has committed suicide this quarter. However, he sees my struggle and has granted me with a temporary leave in coming of next month. I believe this would be a better time than ever to take my wife, Martha, around the colonies and see new sights. I’ve already reserved a carriage bound to Salem. Some time in the country would do me good away from this hub of madness. Work related entries will resume upon my return.
2nd of October, 1692
I return from my break with a clear mind and conscience. It was the perfect break, sometime with a loved one can heal a troubled mind. The colonies were beautiful, the people were welcoming, and unknown faces became acquaintances.
However, it is at this joyful time where I must recollect a rather...grave experience. It was on a night during the return trip through Salem. They’re a rather superstitious lot, in that town, pointing fingers at everyone with accusations of practicing witchcraft. For someone like me, it was best to steer clear of them. I’m better than that.
It was during the late hours when my wife asked me to run an errand at the general store in town, open from dusk till down. The moon and path lights guided me from the hut we rented to the town. The route included a small stone bridge crossing over a river. The water flowed rather fast, even the pebbles at the bottom moved along with it.
I was halfway across when I suddenly heard a loud gasp for air, followed by rapid splashing and a scream. It came from directly under the bridge. Beneath the stone arch was an elderly woman, stripped of all articles of clothing and struggling to stay afloat. One of her hands gripped a nearby rock at the bank while the other clumsily thrashed around besides her. I rushed over to her, grabbed her hand and tried to pull her ashore but she went nowhere. The poor hag was anchored down with a ball and chain around one of her ankles. Her purpose in the river was clear; she was said to be a witch.
The woman’s struggling suddenly ceased when her gaze met mine for the first and only time. Then she spoke to me in a calm, hushed tone.
“I’ve been waiting for someone like you,” she told me. I was confused, what did she mean?
Her hand suddenly shot open and seized mine by the wrist. The other which she had been using to tread water placed something in my open hand. I didn’t get a look at once, she closed my fist around it with hers. Her dying eyes pierced my own as she said her final words.
“Keep it safe and whatever you do...don’t fight it.” A grin spread across her face as she let go and was dragged into the depths.
I backed away from the river, breathing heavily. The haunting image of her grin clawed its way into my mind. My hand slowly opened, revealing what she had given to me.
A ring, a blue band with silver lining on it’s edges. My fear turned to sympathy. I’m not an investor in the supernatural and I certainly don’t believe in witches. What that old woman had said made sense now. She wanted me to take care of this family heirloom in her time of passing. I couldn’t deny someone their dying wish.
I slipped the ring around my finger and went about my night. Upon returning to the hut, my wife asked me about the ring. I told her I found it in the streets and didn’t want it to go to waste. It was a necessary fib, she would’ve had me get rid of it had she known the truth.
Tomorrow I make my return to the asylum. Patient related entries will resume regularly then.
10th of October, 1692
This is truly a joyous day! In all my years here, I’ve finally had a breakthrough! With the passing of Agatha, I was able to focus more on another patient of mine; Connor Fitzpatrick. Mr. Fitzpatrick was admitted two years ago, a child was murdered by his hands, you see. He claimed that “a man in a black robe with a human skull for a face” forced him against his will. He seemed incurable upon his arrival, this figment of his imagination plagued him night and day. Over the course of the last few days, I found a way to suppress his insanity. It won’t be long now until I can entirely exorcise it. Now, Mr. Fitzpatrick is more stable, his vision of the robed figure seemed to have come to an end. He works in the laundry room, he’s even been permitted to leave his cell and allowed in the courtyard. Because of the nature of his crime, release from the asylum isn’t an option. But at least he isn’t tortured anymore.
It seems like a miracle, I return with a golden touch. My wife has joked that the new ring I acquired in Salem is a good luck charm of sorts. I humored her with this theory. Only someone desperate would believe in superstitions like that. I was just a tired man in need of a rest period, I leave it at that. I must now return home to Martha, an accomplishment of this gravity requires a dinner outing.
14th of October, 1692
The last few days have decreased in speed, I must’ve caught something. Headaches run rampant and my cranium lightens in weight. Even know as I write my non dominant hand clutches my forehead. I experience no cold or rise in temperature. Before I go to rest my head, I must take a moment to reflect on...a burden on my mind.
I was enroute home from the Asylum, given an early dismissal. As I passed through the market district, sharp odor suddenly presented itself. It smelled as if a wolf’s pelt had reached the later forms of decomposition; rotting and foul. The source soon became clear when I spotted the girl. She stood in one of the alleys, no older than the age of ten. Black, ragged clothes adorned her tiny frame and her tangled mess of dark hair covered her face. Her image akin to a beggar, quite common in the market district on busy days.
I have a weakness for children, since Martha wasn’t capable of producing such. To see someone so young in such a poor condition stirred my concern. I also wanted to know who she was. I live in a rather small community, so naturally everyone is acquainted with each other, this girl was unknown to me. For a while, I followed her down the alley. The bystanders rummaging through the dust bins seemed to take no notice in our small chase. They seemed to be aware of my presence, but not the girl’s. It was a matter of seconds before she turned a corner. I slowly followed, not wanting to scare her. But when I came around the same corner, there was nothing but the blankness of a brick wall.
I have some unanswered questions, so much inquires. Who was she? Where was her family? How did she lose me so easily and quickly? Was someone of her size able to climb a wall composed of bricks that stretched that high in such a short instance?
That wasn’t the last time I saw her though. Throughout my entire walk home, I could swear that I could see small glimpses of her in the corner of my eye. I kept a mental list of the times I saw her; inside store windows with her head pressed against the glass, behind light posts, and even camouflaged in groups of patrons who oddly seemed to take no notice in her at all. She never moved or took steps, she just stood still with her hands at her sides and head facing the ground. She gave occasional heaves, silent heaves; mimicking movements that a child would make when laughing but completely devoid of anything audible. All the while, the smell of rotting wolf pelt accompanied her.
Upon arriving to my house, the smell subsided but the headaches worsened. I think it would be best for me to lay in bed for know until dinner is served. I’ll abandon my probing of the girl, her parents (if she has any) will have to take care of her. They also better give her a rub down, that scent can choke the strongest of colts.
21st of October, 1692
Today, Silas Marl; the thief who had been charged with manslaughter walked out as a free man. He was kept in the asylum in fear that his first taste of human blood would evolve into an insatiable hunger. Methods that I tried on him in the past, that proved to be futile, now work all of a sudden. He’s no longer resistant to better himself. In fact, he learned to value human life rather than disregard. He was deemed sane and released. He now works as a land baron’s houseboy.
Warden Porter is immensely pleased with me, raising my pay and promoting me to the head of psychiatric evaluations. The community have also caught on to my work. They praise me for it! Two lives repaired in one month’s time! I must hold a record!
Despite my slow rise to fame, I still find myself...troubled by this mysterious illness. The headaches work in unpredictable patterns, disappearing early in the day but resuming within the setting of the sun. They are not the only thing that comes and goes, sadly. The mysterious girl still follows me when I pass through town. The sightings of her slowly become far more unsettling with each passing encounter. However, after the previous day, she presents her intentions as slightly...sinister.
The girl stood upon my homefront, back turned towards my front door. She had seemingly followed me home from the marketplace. Her presence was announced by the scent of decaying fur, so powerful that I was able to detect it from my bedroom on the second floor. Again, she stood just beyond the front of my house...for a passing of ten minutes. The entire time she was silently heaving like she had during our first encounter. I was about to go outside and offer her some food and drink, but she was revealed to be elsewhere when I opened the door.
What’s more is that my wife was home with me at the time. I asked her about the smell and if she had seen the girl. Her eyebrows rose as she looked up from her reading at me. She stated that the only scent she could smell was the embers of the fire pit. As for a girl, well she simply had never seen one around.
I know she’s there. It is extremely unsettling to think that I can be the only one who sees her. More to think about is her motives; why follow me? What does she want?...Am I going insane?
*The next several entries are mostly illegible, the ink experiencing intense decay from the aging process. However, upon further inspection the entries are all detailing numerous asylum patients’ rehabilitation and in some cases; release. As for the little girl in rags, she doesn’t seem to make appearances anymore*
27th of December, 1692
The relocation to the mansion went mighty smoothly. Martha and myself are settled in nicely. The pay I earned from the asylum, along with the earnings from the editorial I wrote last week added up to a hefty sum. So much as I was able to to present the property deed to Martha on Christmas Day, the timing could not have been better. The property wasn’t terribly far from the town as the community requested that I must stay near since I am too precious to them.
Everything has changed for the better. My wife and I have never been happier and I’ve never felt better since my illness has been cured. I didn’t choose to investigate any further into the case of the mysterious girl since it doesn’t seem that I’ll be seeing her anymore. As absurd as it sounds, I feel like she was all a figment of my mind. Perhaps a mental projection of my sorrow of never becoming a father. No one else noticed her but myself. Whatever the reason, it’s far in the past. I’ve reached a peak in my life and the road ahead is paved with gold.
2nd of January, 1693
She’s returned! She’s returned to me! Now, I know what it feels like to be alone and afraid! I’m becoming insane! I just know it!
She’s appeared at the asylum, no doubt she knew that’s where I was! The girl! Only now I don’t think I can call her that. No longer did she appear as a small child, she was a woman! In her mid twenties! I tried thinking of it as someone else, but I know it’s her! How is that possible!?! It’s only been a couple of months since I last saw her! No human being can age at that pace!
It was in the hallway of the medical wing. A member of the janitorial staff was at my side, scrubbing the floor as I passed. It was at that point when my foot slammed down as my head shot up. I smelled something I imagined, hoped, would never return. It was the decaying pelt odor once again, only this time it was much, much sharper. It was as if someone had set the decaying wolf pelt aflame and let it burn. The ozone had even gone the extra distance to nauseate me.
There she was, standing in the middle of the hall as plain as the blue in the sky. Her tangled nest of hair had grown to her stomach as it hung over her face, her ragged, black apparel dangled from her limbs in strips of varying length. She started heaving again, this time...I heard it. Though the slow, demented laughter seemed to come from behind me rather than from her. The woman slowly raised a hand from her side to the level of her head, her fist slowly opened and her fingers spread apart. I leaned to the side against the wall, both hands on my head as the aches returned with a vengeance. Tiny fists pounded on my cranium as I struggled to regain myself from the state of vertigo I fell in. I gazed back at the woman. That’s when a glint of light from her middle finger forced my irises upon it. Around the base of her grey finger was a ring, blue with a silver lining at its borders just as mine did. I threw my head back in a scream, fingers digging in my temples. The janitor quickly sprung from his feet and faced me. Confusion in his eyes, he inquired me what the matter was. I roughly seized his shoulders and forcefully turned him to face the woman. I yelled at him, screamed at him to look at her.
I stopped shaking him after I heard him whimper. He turned to face me. Fear was in his gaze and tears pooled in the corners of his eyes. I thought he had seen her, but I soon found out that the dread he felt at that moment wasn’t towards her...it was towards me.
The woman had disappeared by the time I took my sights off the janitor. The terrified little men took his bucket and slowly left the room, not wanting anything to do with me anymore. The Warden came in shortly after. He explained that the janitor had told him that I attacked him, he inquired why. I couldn’t tell him the true reason. I tried to direct it towards the woman though, explaining that a woman dressed in rags had broken into the asylum. A survey of the perimeter was conducted by the constables, but nothing came of it. No signs of forced entry could be found at all. The Warden, sensing I was troubled, gave me an early leave for the day.
I now know that I am truly alone in this. No one can see the woman but myself it seems. There’s nothing I can make sense of; the woman, her scent, her ring...her ring! The blue ring! It never occurred to me until this very instant! I’m running out of logical theories...it must have something to do with this ring! These strange events began after I received it, did they not?
The smell of burning pelt is everywhere now. It follows me home, it’s in my clothes and my meals. I have reason to believe that the woman is watching me eat, sleep, and go about my life. My wife is oblivious, the comfort I find in her is wearing thin. I’ve been thinking, but I think that the old woman under the bridge in Salem was put there for a reason. Most people of my status say that the practice of witchcraft and prosecution of it was purely fanatics of religious zealots...but who's to say it’s not.
12th of January, 1693
She...spoke to me. I’m beyond the point of no return, my sanity is breaking. Is this real? Is this a horrible nightmare I can’t wake from? Am...am I even alive anymore? I threw the ring in my firepit, I watched it burn into a molten puddle of blue liquid littered with ash...but I still see her. She’s even begun to plague my dreams. I’ve lost track of the times in one night I’ve woken up screaming and squirming in the arms of my wife.
The account of the woman breaking her silence was mere hours ago. I fear it will only bring me more pain retelling it. Martha was spending the night with her friends outside of town, leaving me alone in the mansion. She summoned me outside through her scent, the smell of burning animal flesh beckoned me. She stood outside beneath the waxing crescent, head turned towards the soil. Her hand wearing the ring opened and closed slowly above her head. I could call it a hunch, but I knew she was smiling beneath the hair that fell over her face. She was taking joy in tormenting me.
Understand that I was never a man of violence. but I needed answers and I needed them now. I grabbed my shaving razor and confronted her after plowing through my own front door. She didn’t move or fight back when I pressed the blade against her neck. I shouted at her, “What is it that motivates you to drive me mad!?! How is it that no one else sees you!?! What are you!?! Tell me at once!”
The woman heaved roughly, a sinister giggle emitted. Her head slowly raised towards mine. The razor fell out of my hand as I wretched and backed away.
Her eyes...her tainted eyes; black voids of pure madness. I shook as she reached out and laid a dark hand upon my cheek. Her touch, cold as the iron bars at the asylum during the dead of winter. Her laughter died down as she spoke, a monotonous monstrosity of a voice that seemed to carry with the winds of the night.
“I am that which you seek to rid the world of, little man,” she told me, “You think insanity is a state of mind? It’s so much more...an entity, an ethereal presence which breathes down your neck constantly. Can’t you see? You created me. I’m the collective madness of the minds which you have ‘remedied’. The voices in their heads, the twisted senses of morality, and their insanity must go somewhere once you’ve expelled it, no? With every patient you tend to, their vertigo feeds me.”
“Why are you doing this to me?” I asked her, my legs are still recovering from the amount of times they buckled.
“You’re the new bearer of the vertigo ring. The previous one passed it on to you. It’s your place to take the insanity upon yourself. You accepted it the moment you slipped it on your finger.”
“I refuse it!” I whipped her hand away, the taunting giggles resumed.
“Don’t fight it,” she said. And in that instant she was gone, faded away before my eyes.
I fell to my knees, hands balling into fists so tight my nails dug into my palms. I sat there, crying under the dim light of the crescent above.
Upon returning to the confines of my mansion, the ring awaited me on the very chair where I had watched it burn. I won’t put it on again, not even in a century.
Now as I write I weigh my options. I could give the ring to someone else, but they would also receive a life of maddening torture. I’ll do no such thing, I am not an evil man. I know one thing for sure, I can never return to the asylum. I’d simply would be feeding the fire.
I shall spend the night sleepless in my bed, razor clutched in my hand.
*The next thirty entries are only composed of their proper dates and the words “Leave me be!” hastily scrawled vertically across the paper. The ink bleeds through the pages with each stroke being forcefully applied.*
10th of March, 1693
I wanted it to end. I tried to fight it...but I lost. This will be my last entry and hopefully my last day on Earth. Everything I ever knew and love has ended.
The woman of madness had to die! It was the only way I could be set free! It was the fullest of moons when my wife fell asleep next to me. I laid awake, razor hidden under my pillow. The ozone of burning wolf pelt filled my nostrils for the hundredth time that day. I left the bedroom, razor in hand, and went outside to the front yard.
I stood beneath the fading light of the moon, awaiting the arrival. Moments later, the smell became sharp and she had come. She appeared behind me, exhaling breaths of ice down my neck. The attack was immediate, I screamed and tackled her to the grass. Razor at the ready, I assaulted her all the while she goaded me on. “Do it! Do it!” she chanted, over and over again.
I thought I’d slain her. I thought I dragged the blade across her neck and watched the cascade of crimson red pour out. I thought I jammed the razor in her black void of an eye until it couldn’t go any further. I thought I watched her head twitch before falling still.
A rogue spray of blood landed in my eyes, I furiously wiped it away. When my blinking eyelids opened and my vision cleared the woman under me was gone...in her place...my beloved...my wife...Martha!
I cradled her corpse, her blood seeped into my mouth and teary eyes as I drew her in close. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I must’ve spent an hour moaning those two words nonstop for perhaps an hour.
The authorities are coming for me. I can already hear what the town cries will shout at sunrise, ‘miracle doctor murders his own wife’. The asylum will take me, hopefully the justice system will show me mercy and put me to death. No doubt, this diary will be taken in as evidence.
The woman will follow me wherever I go. I don’t see her anymore, but the scent never leaves me. It seems to be all that I breathe now. Her laughs of taunt, I can hear. Oh yes, she’ll be watching me now and forever.
The ring which can never be destroyed will remain with me for always. It’s dark secret will die with me...so no one may discover it. The witch who bestowed it upon me was right about one thing, I shouldn’t have fought it. I can only leave with this one warning; to whomever has the displeasure of coming across this ring, do not put it on! It could drive you insane! Make you do things you never thought yourself capable of! Show you a monstrosity beyond any logical explanations.
I am Riley Sheridan. I waged a war against insanity…
insanity won.
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