Page 64 of Their Little Ghost

Fuck. I gingerly slip out of my heels and climb onto the chair.

“Hush, hush!” Bea urges. “Faster!”

Two loose screws barely secure the vent. After undoing them, I carefully remove the cover, trying not to make a noise.

“Give it to me,” Bea demands. “Up, up!”

“Where do I go?” I ask, peering into the black shaft with nothingness stretching ahead. “There’s no light.”

“Listen and follow,” she says. “Now, hurry. Move!”

I push my shoes into the vent first. It’s now or never. I extend my arms, hooking my elbows, and haul myself up. My muscles ache from the exertion, but I wiggle my way inside. I slither on my stomach and start to crawl. The space is bigger than it first appears but still cramped. A clang from behind sends a shiver down my spine as Bea replaces the vent cover.

“Shit,” I curse.

What have I got myself into?

I move forward on my front. The silver tin creaks beneath me as if it will collapse under my weight at any second.

I strain to listen.

Nothing…

And then it comes.

“Little Ghost.” One’s faint voice floats through the void. “Oh, Little Ghost.”

I push through the darkness toward him.

The vent network must be how they get around the asylum. I reach a fork in the road, listening again. One’s calls reverberatethrough the tunnels, everywhere and nowhere at the same time, beckoning me closer.

“Warmer,” One says. “Very warm now…”

I take a left and shimmy on.

“Little Ghost!”

They’re louder now.

A crack of light from around the next corner glints off the metal. As I approach, another vent cover is removed to reveal a pair of staring eyes through slits in a black mask.

“You came,” Eli says, the warmness to his voice is almost inviting. “We didn’t know if you’d dare.”

“Do you remember what you said to us before, Little Ghost?” One asks, hidden from view. “Who is the rat in the walls now?”

I scowl as I reach Eli. He hauls me out of the vent, throwing my body effortlessly over his shoulder, then gently puts me down onto my feet.

It takes a few seconds to adjust to the stark clinical lighting. The walls and floors are painted in a blinding white, giving the impression that the room stretches on forever. Glass doors line the walls, leading to smaller adjoining rooms. I’ve toured the asylum before, but never seen this place. It’s like a futuristic movie set. In front of me, three masked men stand together, arms crossed.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“This is what your father is hiding,” One says.

“Go on.” Lex gestures around. “Look.”

I explore, peering into the different rooms. Some have single beds, a toilet, and faucet, like prison cells. Others, along the opposing wall, are less cozy. One resembles a dentist’s office with a reclining chair and trays of medical equipment. Another has an electroshock machine that looks about fifty years old, juxtaposing its modern surroundings. The next is empty, but heating components cover the walls, and another has a giantcopper tub that would look luxurious in a home, but seems ominous here.

“This is your father’s favorite,” Lex says, tapping on the door of the final room.