"Madness. It only takes a second to kick in. And when it does; you can't escape it."
Harry Miller

It all began on a cold, dark night in the middle of Winter. It was the 3rd of December 1954, in a small town, not too far from the city of London, called Hepswick. The town was quite small, having very few shops, a bank, a school, and a hospital. All the things you'd expect in a regular town like that. There was a large hill that led up to an institute for the insane called Hepswick Institution, also known as hell on earth. People would die every day and would be buried in a small graveyard north from the institution.

In cell No. 15, a man in his late thirties was leaning against the padded wall. This man was Harry Miller. He had been in the asylum for as long as he could remember, which was about fourteen years. Harry was convicted of burning down a farm on the edge of town; he claimed the Devil told him to do it. After this, he was taken to Hepswick Institution.

Harry was all alone in that cell. Day and night, he lay there or stood there, saying nothing, waiting for his death. He would rather die than experience the horrors that went on in the institute. At this time, people did not now how to deal with "crazy people", so they did all sorts of horrific experiments on the victims.

Harry Miller had experienced nearly everything the institution had to offer. He was put in ice cold water for several minutes, he was injected with liquids, he was cut, and even brutally electrocuted. Every day, he was alone. The only company he had during the day, was an orderly, who would regularly come into Harry's cell to give him meals or change his bed. But apart from that, it was just him, the wall, and a small bed.

Many times during the day and night, no doubt he would see things moving around the cell. These would range from hideous creatures that would give him a horrible deathly smile while he was in bed. Others would look like normal human beings, but posed in sadistic positions. One night, he even saw blood on the floor and a burnt farmer. He was mad, and he accepted that many years ago. It was just him in that cell, no one else. Up until the day Harry Miller died; he had to face the madness by himself, and the great horrors, that came with it.