Page 3 of Revenant

The constant, nonstop whispering at all hours.

An unhinged few ramble around the empty hallways, following inmates and staff with creepy smiles, like they are thinking about the many ways to dismember a body.

Shudder.

If they could interact with the living, they would slaughter anyone they encounter and enjoy painting the walls red with their victim’s blood.

Thankfully, the ghosts leave me alone for the most part, many fearing that if they mess with me, I’ll mess with them back. After three different hospitals in as many months, I’ve learned through trial and error how to hunt them as much as they hunt me.

Banish a few ghosts, and they keep their distance.

Go figure.

Surprisingly, a small few have begged to be laid to rest, desperate to leave this hellhole. In return, they are willing to do anything I ask…like haunting the living so the other inmates and staff leave me the fuck alone.

It’s a devilishly fun side effect that I exploit to my maximum benefit.

After the first few hauntings, the staff often quit en masse, and I would eventually be transferred when everyone refused to have anything to do with me.

The same pattern followed in quick succession at the second and third locations.

You’d think the fuckers would learn to leave me alone, but the people hired at these places aren’t always the most balanced. Truthfully, they are sadistic assholes who take pleasure in torturing the inhabitants, because who’s going to complain, right?

If you make a fuss, the mistreatment becomes worse.

Verbal abuse.

Frequent beatings.

Thankfully, besides a few inappropriate touches, leering eyes, and lewd comments, the staff and residents mostly leave me alone.

For now.

I suspect my reputation precedes me.

Another favorite pastime of the orderlies is pumping me full of enough drugs to keep me comatose. Ironically, the ghosts become stronger when I’m not there to hold them back. They take it upon themselves to haunt the living, using me as a conduit.

Just being near me grants them power.

The orderlies and nurses quickly learn that nothing they do can break me. I’m not sure if that infuriates them or scares them more. Dear old Dad taught me well, and my tolerance for fuckery outlasts theirs when the ghosts take their dues.

I can’t even pretend to be remorseful.

Even the good orderlies are little better than Nurse Ratched in places like these…especially when my father pays them handsomely to be extra “gentle” with me.

The sound of metal on metal screeches in the small space as the heavy bar across my door is wrenched off. This place isn’t exactly state of the art, the old building exuding murderous vibes, even during daylight hours, reminiscent of that creepy hotel in the middle of nowhere where everyone died and their ghosts remained trapped.

Light pierces the room as the door creaks open, and I cringe when it threatens to sear my corneas. I lift an arm to cover my sensitive eyes and narrow my gaze, trying to distinguish the shadowy figure waiting for me. Dallas fills the doorway, his hulking form blocking most of the glare. “You ready, dollface?”

Dallas is nearly seven feet tall, four hundred pounds of purebred Southern boy. He is assigned to the rowdier occupants of the sanitarium where I’m currently residing. We came to a truce on the first week of my stay—he doesn’t fuck with me, and I won’t fuck with him.

He is the only one willing to have anything to do with me. The rest of the orderlies refuse to enter my ward, much less look in my direction.

Not that I can blame them.

Much, anyway.

The ghosts haunting the sanitarium take protecting me seriously, and not only during working hours. They are relentless when given a target.

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