Page 49 of Into the Dark

He made it onto the fourth floor and ran down the ward, heading to the north wing. Footsteps came behind him; he glanced over his shoulder and saw Chris, camera on their shoulder, racing after. Coughing from the stairwell signaled Nigel was making his way up as well.

Concern for Nigel’s health joined the worry for Adrienne and Zeek. His footsteps echoed wildly in the deserted ward, until it sounded like a dozen other people had joined in and were racing him. He stopped to open the security door into the central area holding the staff quarters—and the echoes kept going.

No time to wonder about their origin. He hurried through the door, into the spartan hall where most of the nurses, orderlies, cooks, and other staff had once lived. The doors to either side were wooden rather than steel, and hung rotting from their hinges. Bits of plaster had fallen from the ceiling and littered the ground; it crunched into powder under his boots.

Through the next set of security doors and into the first of the fourth floor men’s wards. There was no sign of Adrienne and Zeek—probably they’d been in the northernmost ward, where they’d contacted the doctor and the creeper. Paint chips fell from the walls, and the lower tiles cracked almost before his eyes, but again there was no time to wonder what was causing it.

Finally, he reached the end of the long ward, sending the last security door crashing open as he ran through it. Out of the corner of his eye, something moved inside the abandoned nurse’s station, but he was past before its shape could truly register.

Shadows fled from the bobbing light on his headlamp, giving the illusion of figures slipping into the seclusion cells to eitherside. Near the end of the hall, one of the doors was shut—and the shadow in front of it didn’t disappear when the beam from his headlamp fell on it.

Oscar stumbled to a halt, heart pounding and abused lungs heaving. The shadow formed the shape of person, on their knees with their hands pressed against the door. From the inside came shouts and frantic pounding against the steel.

“Stop!” Oscar yelled.

The shadow figure’s featureless head whipped around, and he felt the touch of its malevolent gaze on him. Even though his eyes showed him nothing but blackness, he nevertheless sensed a face: cruel eyes, mouth wide in a grin at the fear it was causing.

He yanked the pouch of salt free of his pocket. “Spirit!” he shouted. “Begone! Leave this place, and trouble the living no more!”

The salt left his hand in a glittering arc. Most of it fell short, but the crystals that struck the shadow figure tore holes through its darkness, like hot coals through snow. It reeled back, and his nerves vibrated with its silent scream.

It shot across the floor on all fours—then up the wall, as if it were a spider rather than something that had once been human. Between one breath and the next, it seemed to vanish into the corner where the wall and ceiling met.

The door to the seclusion cell flew open, and Zeek and Adrienne tumbled out into the hall. “Shit!” Chris exclaimed—Oscar hadn’t even been aware of them coming up behind him—and ran to help Adrienne up. Oscar did the same with Zeek.

“Thanks, big guy,” Zeek said shakily, his skin gone the sickly white of cottage cheese. “That was really fucked up.”

“What happened?” Nigel wheezed as he joined them. As soon as he spoke, a coughing fit overtook him, and he bent over with his hands braced on his knees.

“Babe?” Oscar hurried over and thumped him on the back.

“I’m—okay—” Nigel said between bouts of coughing.

This was getting serious. Oscar made up his mind to do everything he could to make Nigel go to the damn urgent care tomorrow.

“The creeper attacked us,” Adrienne said, looking every bit as shaken as Zeek. “We tried to reach out to the doctor with our spirit box. Then the creeper was just…there. It went after Zeek.”

Zeek pulled up his shirt. Across his admittedly nice abs were scored five shallow scratches. “Damn, I didn’t think it drew blood,” he said, peering down.

“All of the doors that were closed flew open,” Adrienne went on. “We tried to run, but the creeper got between us and the stairway. We ran into one of the rooms—I guess we weren’t thinking straight. The door slammed behind us and we couldn’t get out.”

“I saw the creeper—it was keeping you inside,” Oscar said, rubbing Nigel’s back. At least the coughs had subsided.

“I don’t understand.” Zeek looked around helplessly. “We got rid of the nurse. Things were supposed to get better, not…whatever this is.”

“A ghost tried to drown Oscar in a tub,” Chris said. “So yeah, things are pretty fucked up right now.”

Adrienne folded her arms around herself. “Let’s…let’s get out of here, okay?”

“Agreed.” Chris shifted their camera back onto their shoulder. “If we even can.”

Nigel found himself jumping at every shadow and sound as they descended the steps from the fourth floor, to the third, the second, and finally the first. Distant bangs sounded, muffled bythe stone walls: doors slamming, floors creaking, wheelchairs rolling. Despite the disturbances, they made it to the first floor, down the damnably long wards, and at last into the free night air.

Dr. Lawson stood at the bottom of the steps, a heavy-duty flashlight in one hand and a canister of salt in the other. When she saw them, she lifted a walkie-talkie to her lips. “They’re out, Cabeza. All in one piece by the looks of them.”

Of course—Tina had seen everything over her monitors, and Dr. Lawson had been right beside her.

“Coming to our rescue?” he asked, managing not to cough as he did so.

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