1988
Last job.
You’re sick of this.
Thirty fucking years later, and your’re still playing this shit. And it hurts. It hurts a lot.
With a damn limp that renders you useless at running, the ghosts and spirits taunt you with their cackles and jeers. You’re no longer a respected man. You’re a coward. A pure goddamn coward that ran. Ran from your wife, ran from your responsibilities and most of all, your dignity.
You don’t have anything left. Hannah is gone, your hopes for family are gone and you’re the only one standing in the middle of the minefield. In this harrowing desert, there is only the sand of time, the remnants of memories that are slowly fading away. Perhaps madness had gotten to you, perhaps it hasn’t but that’s only a question of waiting. You know it’s time to retire, to leave behind your tainted past. But you had hoped it would be beside Hannah. Who knows, maybe it will be, maybe it won’t.
You stand in front of the school, its broken windows and smashed bricks scream of escape and freedom, yet, you know that the building is nothing but a prison. It’s a brick monolith, a penitentiary for the damned souls that reside in limbo. The school was known to be involved in scandals of all kinds, but when it finally shut down, only then did so much come to light.The catacombs underneath, once a burial ground for old soldiers, were discovered by the students, resulting in many going missing. They played a game called “Messenger Mole”. The children would run through the tunnels, leaving small notes for others to collect, almost like a bread-crumb trail. Nearly thirty two students had gone missing, causing panic amongst parents, teachers and authorities alike.
You knew that the school was abandoned completely. Files, furniture, everything was left behind, leaving the old building to the mercy of nature and vandals alike. But now, with rumours of a ghost haunting its halls, you’re not so sure anymore.
You take a step up the stony stairs that lead to the entrance. The bricks radiate a sheer cold that makes your skin crawl and muscles tense under your patchy skin. You look up to the sign above, its wooden boards and paint visibly rotting away but it still faintly reads “Bounty State Highschool”. The wind howls like a choir of ghostly wolves, whipping your thinning hair in wild directions and chilling you to the bone, pushing you towards the broken entrance of the building.
You step inside, and almost immediately, the troubling sense of dread settles in your mind, fogging your brain and teasing that tiny, terrified voice inside your head. It moans and whimpers, begging you to leave, but you can’t. You won’t. Not this time.
You stride confidently into the domestic halls of the school, passing busted lockers and piles of rubbish that reek of rotting food. The sound of your wooden soles clack against the checkered linoleum floor, only interrupted by the soft rustle of a discarded paper being trodden on.
The halls seem to stretch on forever, their backgrounds clouded by a musty fog that reeks of dust and bone. The doors of the limited untouched classrooms have been left slightly ajar, spilling a black mist that freezes the air around you. The lockers creak in protest, the chipping blue metal indents itself as the fog caresses its frozen surface.
A chilling voice rings in your ears, erecting the hairs that stand on the back of your neck.
“Leave the premises, student.”
The voice is cold and distinctly elderly, with an almost otherworldly echo that reaches every single one of your senses. The voice feels like a snake that slithers around your throat, it smells like a clogged drain just as you pour acid down its pipes. You open your mouth to breathe, but the thick taste of smoke lingers on your tongue, settling like a viscous slime that swirls with your saliva. You spit out the unknown force that creeps into your orifice, gagging and choking on the acrid liquid that gathers like blood. You step away from the fog, looking back to the exit of the building…
But it isn’t there.
Well, of course it’s there. It’s just a spirit veil that prevents you from seeing the exit. Just another fucking ghost trick you know exists but can’t get rid of. Great.
The thick fog reigns in your mind and body, spreading an itchiness that crawls just under your skin. One step, two step, you break into a run, dashing down the halls to whatever place of ‘safety’ this haunted shitshow can provide.
You hide behind a row of lockers, pulling them aside to provide you a small crack. Once hidden the cold surface of the wall and back of the lockers, you shove your fingers down your throat. You can feel the faint rumble of your stomach, the horrible yet familiar pull of your throat as you gag. You pull your fingers out just in time as the thick, acidic bile erupts from your gullet, spilling in a dark puddle on the floor. Your eyes overflow with tears as the acid settles on your raw skin, burning and blistering your insides. Shutting your eyes, you inhale deeply (albeit, raggedly) as you try to come to your senses. Either this is an entity that is incredibly skilled in illusions, or a very strange anomaly. But one thing is for certain, the entity is not to be underestimated.
You don’t have many options. Not with half of the rooms sunken in on themselves or with the limited visibility. You glance at the rotten doors, the rubble and overturned furniture that scatters from the gap. Perhaps an open classroom would be the best course of action… However, the possibilities are endless.
To your right, there’s an open broom closet. Perhaps you can supply yourself, maybe hide until the fog passes.
To your left, there’s an open classroom, but the entrance is tight. You may not fit at all.
Of course, you can always stay. But only time will tell if it truly is a safe place to wait.