I have discovered another room which bothers me.
It was tucked away behind a hidden door in a small parlor. Had the door not been damaged, I never would have discovered this miniature room of horrors.
This room is filled with skulls. Many of which show signs of obvious tampering. From what I have been able to gather, these skulls belonged to patients upon whom the doctors of St. Ann’s conducted experimental brain surgery.
Some of the injuries were inflicted so the doctors could document the ill-effects to various parts of the brain. Others were a result of birth or accident. Many of the victims were injured early in childhood, with the doctors watching and documenting the course of the injuries over decades.
One poor boy was operated on at the age of four, but he didn’t die until he was thirty-three.
There are no ghosts in this room, and for that, I am thankful. The suffering of these victims hangs heavy in the air, and once more, I am filled with a hatred that threatens to burn out my heart.
For the first time, I have discovered the names of doctors and nurses. They are all identified for they evidently believed that what they were doing was of great importance. They wished for their names to be recorded for posterity.
The last dozen or so entries took place a matter of months before the fire, and I wonder if they survived the blaze.
I have taken the ledger which records these names, and when I return to my home, I will begin the long process of tracking these people down.
I believe that when I find them, I shall visit upon them the same injuries they visited upon the children.
My justice is rough, and my guns are quick.
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