The car rolled to a stop, pausing in front of a place that haunted the town for decades. Opening the door, a chilling breeze swept across, causing the detective to shiver. Robert Jones was a detective for the Whitefalls police department coming on ten years. At six foot four he was hard to miss in a town where the average man peaked at six foot. He prided himself in being clean cut, short hair with a scruffy goatee, and never leaving his home without a suit on. In a town with a little over two thousand people he blended well and enjoyed the feeling of a family community.
“Damn wind,” he remarked. “It’s the middle of the summer, you would think it would be warmer.” Jones glanced about, looking down the street and back up, taking in a long, deep breath. He then turned to look across his car to see the building he had come to visit. Dirt covered the outside walls while vines were making their way up, stretching towards the cloud peppered sky. All the windows were broken and boarded up, shards of glass that were still in placed reflected the suns rays. After closing the car door, the detective made his way around his car, his hand tracing its outline, while his eyes were transfixed on the abandoned structure. Metal creaked in pain as Jones opened the gate that long ago represented the entrance to a better life. A stone walkway led to double doors and the detective took his time approaching them. Dead grass covered both sides of the path, dried bushes lined the bottom of the walls, their branches shaking as the breeze continued. He mounted the short stairs to reach the doors, each step slower than the last. When he reached the top he paused for a second. “Here goes,” he whispered to himself. Closing his eyes, he reached out and gently pushed them open.

“I don’t understand your interest in this case Robert. It was open and shut, very self explanatory.”

“There is more, I just know it.” The chief sighed and continued.

“Doctor Zambar was an excellent doctor. He was curious, no doubt, but what happened at the hospital has already been revealed.”

“I believe differently chief, no disrespect,” replied Jones. Taking a seat at his desk, the chief glanced up at the detective.

“If there is one person I’ll tolerate disrespect from its you.” He paused, then added, “And my wife too, but that’s another story.” Robert let out a soft chuckle and the chief smiled. “You truly want to chase this ghost?”

“I want to help this town. If the reports are true something more is going on.”

“This is the last time I will try to convince you otherwise. I personally worked this case, thirty years ago. Zambar went crazy, locked all the doors and windows then proceeded to brutally slaughter every nurse he employed. After that he took his own life, nothing else to it.”

“There is a history of patients disappearing chief, how do you explain that,” questioned Jones.

“They were kooks, nut bugs, whatever happened to them is less than important. I no longer wish to discuss this so please, just consider what I have told you.” The chief leaned back in his chair, resting his arms in lap. Taking the case file, Jones replied with a simple “I will”, then exited the room.

Robert turned to his right and flicked a power switch, instantly lighting the long hallway that lay before him. Frozen, he looked around at the horrors that surrounded him. Blood stained the ground along with slashes on the walls, papers were scattered about, ruined by all the red substance. The ceiling held evidence of deep gashes in flesh, projecting vital fluid at sickening distances. Jones’s eyes circled about but stopped at the back wall of the hallway where a message was written:
LEAVE BEFO
Whomever was writing it was unable to finish, and the detective could only guess why. The lights flickered and a figure wearing a white coat appeared in front of the message. It raised its arm and pointed at Jones who was taken aback, struggling to process what was happening. Suddenly all the lights died, leaving the heavily breathing detective in utter darkness. He scrambled to find his flashlight, his fingers trembling and palms sweating. When he finally pulled his flashlight out, he shined it where the figure once stood, but nothing was there. Shaking his head, Robert continued his investigation.
The first couple rooms Jones came to were locked, but peering through the small window on the door he was able to see inside. There were hospital beds lining the far wall while needles, tools, and bandages littered the floor, all rusted and dirtied. Doing a double take, the detective thought he was going crazy. Were those beds white? They all looked as if their sheets and pillows had been replaced that very morning. He found himself staring in astonishment, mesmerized by the sight. It was only until a scream, from what sounded like a woman, thundering through the hospital was he able to focus. Springing into action, Jones ran to the room where he suspected the noise had come from and flung to door open. His eyes met those of a young woman dressed in a nurse’s uniform. Blood was splattered across her face and dress while her hands were completely covered. Gashes enveloped her legs and arms, giving the impression that she walked through barbed wiring. No expression of pain was evident on her face as she stared back at the detective. Just as he was about to speak the woman turned and walked through the wall adjacent to the next room, leaving only a small cloud of dust behind. Dumbfounded, Jones surveyed the rest of the room, seeing only papers scattered on the ground. Tiny rays of sunlight filtered through the boards on the windows, landing on a select few pieces of writing. Almost without thought, he went to pick them up and began to read.
They were journal entries from a nurse that had worked there all those years ago. In the entries the woman expressed concern about the missing patients and feared the Doctor Zambar was doing something with them. ‘He is watching me,’ she wrote. ‘He is watching all of us.’ Jones wondered if the woman that he had seen was the author of the entries. He quickly left the room to investigate the next. When he entered he noticed it was an office, a desk sat in the far corner with a couple chairs over-turned in front of it. The detective walked over and rifled through the desk, shining his light into each of the empty drawers. He looked around the rest of the room but it revealed nothing, so Jones decided to go elsewhere. Entering the hallway once more, he noticed a flight of stairs. Flashlight in hand, he ascended them, each step wailing and groaning from lack of use. Crossing the small hallway at the top, he came to another long corridor swallowed in darkness. Again he searched each room but the story was all the same. Scattered objects on the floor, pools of dried blood, over-turned chairs, and those same perfectly clean, white beds. Once more, Jones journeyed up a flight of stairs. At the top a sign read “Employees Only”. Suddenly the sound of footsteps could be heard, but they died off just as quickly as they had come.
“Hello?” Nothing. Cautiously Robert moved on. He read each room label, noticing that Zambar’s office could be found on that floor. Moving swiftly, he searched for the office, which he found only a few doors down. He thought his mind was playing tricks on him when he began to hear muffled voices coming from the other side. The detective flung the door open to find what looked to be Doctor Zambar. He had a knife in his hand and blood covered his body. The doctor was facing a nurse, who Jones recognized from before. Zambar slowly turned his head towards Robert and let a wicked smile cross his mouth. Then, in one swift motion, the doctor turned back to the nurse, slicing her neck, her body instantly bursting into dust. Jones stood in shock, not knowing what to do, wondering if he truly witnessed what had just happened. The doctor turned back to Jones, let out a horrifying roar and began to advance towards him.
Reacting, Jones fled, dropping his flashlight in the process. Leaping down the stairs and streaking through the hallways he sped towards an escape. When jumping down the last stair case he suddenly collapsed. His ankled had rolled and letting out a cry for pain he grasped onto it. A wicked laugh echoed through the building and Jones knew he had to continue. Limping, he made his way through the darkness, panicking while desperately praying for help. Breathing heavily with his ankle pulsing in pain, Jones could only guess at where he was headed. After making several turns he knew he was lost but continued on. Suddenly Robert found himself falling down, slamming into the ground after a second of air time. His whole left side stung as he used the nearest wall to help him up, feeling a light switch when he was finally standing. Flipping it, light bulbs flickered to life, each one hanging by a wire that ran across the ceiling. Robert began walking forward, almost in a trance, his eyes fixed on the walls around him. Pictures, drawings, and notes were hanging, lining each surface. Torture machines, patient’s face, nurses, all with small notations of the doctor’s thoughts and plans. Jones continued on aimlessly, turning left and then right, occasionally hitting and dead end and having to retrace his steps. He turned one corner and came face to face with what looked to be a bloody hand print, as if someone placed their hand against the wall and continued to run it across in a falling motion.
“I’m not the first to run,” Jones said aloud. Another fiendish laugh echoed through, causing the detective to jump and quickly move on. Again he rolled his ankle, but this time an audible crack could be heard. The pain was so intense it blurred his vision, but with the danger so close he knew he had to keep going.
All the walls began to ooze blood, like a sweating arm, and the stench of rotting flesh became prevalent while the grasp of death could be felt as surely as a physical touch from another being. He took a look up and watched as the lights continued to flicker, as if the reaper was playing some sick joke, teasing him with moments of sight but quickly encasing his being in utter darkness. Hugging the wall, he stumbled on, almost in a haze, not knowing which way to go, only that he needed to move. He could feel the figure behind him, sneering at all his attempts to escape capture. As the end of the corridor became closer, a doorway began to be visible, flooding the detective’s heart with hope. That door could be the salvation he so longed for and as he turned the handle his mind was filled with relief, but it was to be short lived, for what he saw on the other side instantly sapped all feeling of elation for what he saw was the doctor’s torture room. Huge cabinets lined the sides creating small walkways, tables covered with tools were spread throughout, the table in the very middle sat underneath the only light, a single light bulb. As if the hands of the doctor’s victims were erupting from the ground and taking hold of Roberts legs, he was unable to move. Try as he might, not even all the will power in his body could get him to keep moving. An angry roar came from the opposite side of the door, which in response the invisible hands relinquished their grasp and Jones instantly moved forward, limping to the far end of the room, finding sanctuary behind a small dresser. With his heart pounding and heavy breathing, wild thoughts raced through his head. Adrenaline coursed throughout the detective’s body with vigor, replacing all his blood. He knew he had to calm down as to not give himself away so he began to slow his breathing. Deep inhale, equally deep exhale. The pounding of his heart slowed and he remained still. He took one more deep breath but held it in. The detective sat, squeezing his eyes shut, listening for any sound, but only the sound of the flickering light could be heard. Finally, with much caution, Jones pursed his lips and ever so slowly released one last breath.