Chapter One: Static on the Line
Rowan tightened the straps on his backpack and checked the equipment for the third time. The streetlights flickered over the cracked asphalt of the abandoned Willow Creek Hospital, and the wind carried a low, almost mournful hum through the empty corridors.
“Do we really have to split up again?” Buddy’s voice was barely above a whisper. He shifted the thermal camera in his hands nervously. “Last time, we barely made it out without—”
“You’ll be fine,” Rowan cut him off, though the words felt hollow even to him. “Stick to the plan, and keep the walkie on channel three. If anything happens…” His voice trailed off.
Elizabeth, or Beth as everyone called her, knelt by the portable spirit detector, her laptop open. The screen glowed with pulsing green dots, a map overlay of the hospital floor. “The readings are spiking already. I’ve never seen energy this dense in a building that’s been condemned for thirty years.” Her fingers danced over the keyboard, sending signals to the drone hovering outside, cameras streaming live to her monitor.
Luna, the newest member of the team, leaned against the wall, headphones in, listening to EVP playback through her tablet. “I don’t know about you guys,” she murmured, “but I’m getting voices in here. Faint… like whispers calling my name.” Her eyes were wide, alert, almost afraid.
Rowan swallowed hard. He’d led the team on dozens of hunts before, but something about this place gnawed at him. The hospital wasn’t just abandoned—it was cursed. There were stories of patients disappearing, doctors going insane, and nurses who vanished in the middle of their shifts. But no one had dared document it in years. That was their edge—they could capture evidence before the next team could even set up.
He stepped through the double doors, flashlight cutting through the darkness. The air inside was thick, musty, and almost electric. The sound of water dripping somewhere in the distance echoed like a clock counting down.
“Rowan… over here.” Beth’s voice pulled him toward the main ward. The spirit detector went wild, the green dots spinning in chaotic patterns. Luna’s tablet let out a shrill beep, recording a faint, garbled whisper: “Leave… now…”
Rowan glanced at Buddy, whose hands were trembling. He nodded, a silent signal. They moved deeper, cameras rolling, lights swinging over broken beds and rusted medical carts.
Then, without warning, the temperature dropped. Their breath formed clouds in front of them. The lights flickered. And a shadow darted across the far hallway—too fast for any human.
“Did you see that?” Luna whispered, pulling her headphones off.
Rowan raised his flashlight, heart hammering. “Stay calm… whatever it is, it’s aware of us.”
Beth’s laptop pinged suddenly. An alert: Motion detected — Hallway B. She froze. “It’s… following us.”
Before anyone could react, a loud crash reverberated from upstairs. Dust fell from the ceiling. Buddy jumped, nearly dropping the camera. Rowan’s hand tightened on the flashlight. “Split or stick together?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.
“Together,” Luna said firmly. “We’re stronger as a unit.”
Rowan nodded, then glanced around. Something unseen shifted the air, cold and heavy. A whisper threaded through the shadows, clear now: “You shouldn’t be here…”
And in that moment, Rowan realized—they weren’t just ghost hunters anymore. They were prey.
Chapter Two: The Dead Floor
The crash upstairs still echoed in their ears when Rowan made the call. “We move. Slowly. No one lags behind.”
Buddy adjusted the thermal camera, his knuckles white on the grip. “If something’s up there waiting—”
“Then we face it together,” Rowan cut in. He kept his flashlight trained ahead, but he could feel the weight of the dark pressing down from above, as if the whole hospital was listening.
Beth packed up her laptop and spirit detector, keeping the tablet open to monitor motion sensors. “Hallway B readings just spiked. Energy signature is… off the charts.”
“Define off the charts,” Rowan said, though he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer.
“Like—power grid overload levels,” Beth replied, her voice tight. “But there’s no grid here. This place has been without electricity for decades.”
The stairwell door creaked open with a groan. Luna’s hand brushed the cold metal rail as they began to climb. Each step echoed like a drumbeat in the silence. Halfway up, her headphones buzzed. Static hissed in her ear—then a low voice, almost mournful, slipped through the distortion.
“Don’t… follow…”
She froze, gripping the rail. “It’s warning us.”
Rowan turned, the beam of his flashlight catching the fear on her face. “Or it’s luring us.”
At the landing, the door to the second floor hung half-open, rust staining the hinges like dried blood. The air was colder here, sharp and biting. Their breath fogged in the beam of the lights.
They stepped inside.
The corridor stretched on, lined with old patient rooms. Doors sagged from broken frames, IV poles rusted into the floor. A child’s wheelchair sat abandoned against the wall, one wheel still slowly turning as though pushed.
Buddy aimed the thermal camera down the hallway. His voice shook. “Rowan… you’re gonna want to see this.”
On the monitor, a glowing blue figure flickered in and out—a humanoid shape, standing at the end of the hall.
Luna raised her EVP recorder, pressing record. “Is someone here with us?”
For a long, tense silence, nothing answered. Then the tablet crackled violently, the waveform spiking. A voice, distorted and broken, hissed:
“Trapped… stay… with… me.”
Beth nearly dropped her gear. “That wasn’t residual. That was direct communication.”
The figure on Buddy’s screen twitched, jerking closer—then vanished.
The next second, every door in the hallway slammed shut at once. The sound thundered like gunfire, rattling the very floor.
Rowan shoved them into the nearest room, slamming the broken door behind them. Dust swirled through the beam of his light. His heart hammered.
“This is escalating fast,” Beth whispered, clutching the laptop to her chest.
From the corner of the room came the sound of metal scraping. Slowly, they turned their flashlights toward the noise.
On the wall, carved deep into the peeling plaster, were fresh words:
“WELCOME BACK.”
Rowan’s blood ran cold. None of them had ever been here before.
Or at least—that’s what they thought.
Chapter Three: The Forgotten Ward
The word on the wall glared back at them, etched with precision into the plaster: WELCOME BACK.
Rowan’s stomach churned. The flashlight trembled slightly in his hand, though he forced his grip tighter. “None of you did this, right?” he asked, though the answer was obvious.
Buddy shook his head so hard his baseball cap nearly flew off. “No way. And even if I did—I don’t carve messages mid-haunting.”
Beth’s face had gone pale. “Rowan… what if it wasn’t a message to all of us?”
Her implication hung heavy in the silence.
Rowan exhaled slowly. He’d hunted enough spirits to know when something was fixated—and this one wasn’t just aware of them. It knew him.
Before he could reply, Luna staggered back, one hand to her headphones. “Wait. Wait, I’ve got something.” She pressed her recorder to her ear, her eyes going glassy. “It’s… it’s saying your name, Rowan.”
Rowan’s pulse thundered in his ears. “Play it back.”
She pressed the button. Static filled the air, jagged and sharp, then a broken voice crawled through:
“…Rowan… you came back… you never left us…”
Beth’s laptop beeped wildly, the spirit detector screaming. “Energy spike! Massive one. It’s circling the building.”
A loud bang shook the hallway outside, then another. The sound of something—or someone—pacing, slamming doors open and shut.
Rowan raised his voice, steady but firm. “We’re not here to hurt you. We just want to understand.”
The EVP recorder crackled again, the voice harsher now: “Understand? You… abandoned us.”
Buddy cursed under his breath. “What the hell does that mean? Rowan, what’s it talking about?”
“I don’t know,” Rowan snapped, though the words felt like a lie. Deep down, something tugged at his memory—something buried too far back.
The room’s temperature dropped another ten degrees. Their breath came out in plumes of fog. A flicker of movement flashed across Buddy’s thermal camera—a swarm of heat signatures, dozens of them, moving in unison down the hall.
Beth’s eyes widened. “That’s not one ghost. That’s… a ward full of them.”
The lights sputtered, buzzing like angry hornets. And then they saw them—shapes in the doorway, tall and skeletal, their outlines flickering like static. Dozens of eyes gleamed faintly in the dark.
Luna clutched her recorder tight, her voice trembling. “These aren’t random spirits. They’re patients. All of them.”
As if on cue, the whispering grew, layered voices rising until they became a distorted chorus. “Stay… stay with us… Rowan… don’t leave us again…”
The sound grew deafening, rattling the glass in the windows. The door slammed shut behind them, sealing them inside.
Buddy backed against the wall, his camera shaking. “We’re trapped, man! What do we do?!”
Rowan’s mind raced. Every instinct screamed to run, but there was nowhere to go. He forced himself to step forward, the beam of his flashlight cutting through the crowd of spectral figures.
“Why me?” he demanded, voice cracking against the noise. “What do you think I did?”
For the briefest moment, the voices hushed. Then, in unison, they answered:
“You promised.”
The lights went out.
Chapter Four: The Promise
The darkness was absolute.
Rowan’s heart pounded so loud it felt like the spirits could hear it. He clicked his flashlight, but the beam stuttered weakly, flickering like a dying candle. Around them, the whispers surged again—louder, closer, as though the shadows themselves were breathing.
“Rowan!” Buddy hissed, fumbling with his thermal cam. The screen sputtered static. “I’m blind. They’re jamming the feed.”
Beth’s laptop glowed faint green in the dark. Lines of code blurred across the screen as her sensors spasmed. “It’s like they’re overriding the system—every signal I’m getting is… repeating.” She swallowed hard. “The same word. Over and over.”
Luna’s recorder picked up the sound first. A single word, replayed endlessly through the static:
“Promise. Promise. Promise. Promise.”
Rowan clenched his jaw. The word clawed at his skull, tugging at something he couldn’t quite reach. A memory, buried deep. The longer he stared into the dark, the more it teased at the edges of his mind.
A hospital bed. A child’s voice. A hand gripping his.
“You’ll stay, right? You promise?”
He staggered, hand against the wall, gasping. “No,” he whispered to himself. “That… that can’t be real.”
Luna caught his arm, her eyes wide. “Rowan. What did you remember?”
“I—” His throat closed. “I don’t know. Just… fragments.”
The whispering chorus swelled, pressing in until their ears rang. The shapes in the doorway twitched, their outlines jerking forward. One of them stepped closer, and the weak flashlight beam caught its face—sunken eyes, mouth sewn shut with jagged black threads.
Beth’s breath hitched. “That… that isn’t just a patient. That’s… an experiment.”
The figure lunged. Rowan shoved Luna back as the door blew open with a violent force, the sound like gunfire. The hall beyond was lit by an unnatural glow—pale blue light spilling from cracks in the walls, pulsing like a heartbeat.
Buddy swore. “What the hell is that?!”
Rowan didn’t answer. He knew. Deep down, he knew. The glow wasn’t natural—it was a memory. His memory. This was where he had stood once before.
“Rowan,” Luna said urgently, “they think you broke a promise. If you don’t remember it—”
“I’ll remember,” Rowan said hoarsely, forcing himself into the hallway. “I have to.”
The glow spread, searing the walls until they shimmered with afterimages of patients—children in gowns, nurses with hollow eyes, doctors frozen mid-scream. They weren’t just haunting the hospital. They were replaying it.
And at the center of the ward, bathed in that unholy light, stood a single bed. Empty. Waiting.
Rowan’s knees weakened as the memory struck like lightning. A child in that bed, frail and sick, clutching his hand.
“Promise me you won’t leave. Promise me you’ll come back.”
Rowan had promised. And then he’d run.
Now, the hospital wanted payment.
The whispering reached a fever pitch, rising into a single unified scream that shook the very floor:
“KEEP YOUR PROMISE.”
Chapter Five – The Basement
The air was thick and soured the deeper they went. Each step down the concrete stairs seemed to peel back layers of warmth and safety, until all that was left was breath frosting in front of them and the groan of their boots echoing in a space that didn’t want them there. The psychic, Avery, pressed a hand to the wall to steady themselves, their palm trembling like it was pressed against something alive rather than stone.
“Basement readings are off the charts,” Mason, the audio tech, whispered, his equipment buzzing with static. The recorder whined high-pitched, almost as if something were screaming through the frequency. “This isn’t interference. It’s—” He cut himself off when the psychic stumbled forward, gasping like someone had punched the air out of their lungs.
Roman caught Avery under the arm. “Hey—eyes on me. What do you see?”
“Not see,” Avery wheezed. Their voice was strained, thin as glass. “Feel. They’re here. Too many. Too angry.”
The medium, Lila, closed her eyes and inhaled slowly, trying to center herself. “They’re layered. Like… years of violence stacked on top of each other. It’s not just one haunting—it’s an infestation.” Her throat constricted as though invisible hands pressed against it, and she coughed hard, shaking her head. “Something doesn’t want us knowing that.”
From behind the cameras, Devon muttered, “I don’t like how that sounded.” He adjusted the lens to capture the descent, but his focus drifted from the viewfinder to the black doorway yawning ahead. “Tell me we’re not going in there blind.”
“Blind is the only way we’ll see,” Avery said faintly. Their eyes had rolled half-white, pupils blown wide.
The empath, Kai, had been quiet until now, hands clenched against his chest like he was trying to hold his ribs together. His voice cracked: “They’re not just angry. They’re starving. And they’ve noticed me.” He flinched violently, as though struck. “Something touched me—no, through me—like it was rifling my soul. Oh god…”
Roman’s jaw set, his flashlight beam cutting through the dark like a knife. “We stick to the plan. Grid the basement. Cameras on every corner. Avery, Lila, Kai—you stay central. Don’t spread out too far. No hero moves.”
But as soon as his words echoed off the concrete, the first bang came. A violent crash in the far corner. A rusted shelf toppled, metal screaming against stone. The cameramen swung toward it, but the shadows already swallowed the wreckage.
Then came the whisper. Not soft, not subtle—loud enough that every single one of them heard it over the static and their pounding hearts.
“Leave.”
The word slid through bone marrow, vibrating skulls like tuning forks. Mason’s recorder spiked, all lights flaring red, the machine shrieking until he ripped the battery out.
“Too late for that,” Lila whispered, clutching her crucifix. “They know we’re staying.”
Something unseen brushed past Kai again, harder this time, knocking him into a camera tripod. The lens cracked against the ground. He scrambled upright, eyes wide. “It’s picking us off. It’s testing us.”
Roman didn’t argue, but his voice was flint as he lifted the EVP mic. “Then let’s give it something to answer.”
Static hissed—and then a voice growled through the white noise, a guttural rasp that made their stomachs flip:
“Yours.”
The basement groaned as though the entire house was exhaling.
Chapter Six – First Blood
The basement floor was colder than the winter night outside. Frost crept over the cement in jagged veins, like the ground itself was freezing from the inside out. The team had formed a rough circle, cameras pointed outward, but the shadows pressed in thick as tar, shifting against the edges of the light.
Lila gripped her rosary tight enough to leave indents in her palm. “It wants to claim someone. It isn’t just noise—it’s hunting.”
“Then we don’t let it,” Roman shot back. He tried to sound steady, but his voice cracked under the strain.
Avery swayed in place, their eyes glassy and unfocused. “It already marked us.” They lifted a trembling finger and pointed—at Kai.
The empath staggered back, panic flickering across his face. “No, no, no. I can feel it—like hooks—inside me—” His chest arched suddenly, mouth opening in a choked cry. His feet lifted from the floor by several inches, his body jerking like a marionette on strings.
“Get him down!” Roman lunged, but the second he touched Kai’s arm, he was flung back into a wall. His flashlight spun across the ground and rolled, beam scattering over the cracked stone ceiling.
Devon’s camera caught everything—the impossible levitation, the way Kai’s veins bulged black under his skin. But even through the lens, the footage glitched, static chewing holes in the image.
Lila screamed a prayer, thrusting her cross forward. The air rippled, a pressure wave slamming into them like a blast furnace. The crucifix sparked, the chain snapping from her hand, flung deep into the dark.
Kai dropped, hitting the floor hard. His chest heaved, ragged, as he clawed at his throat. “It tried—” He gagged. “—tried to get inside.”
Mason shoved his mic toward Kai, desperate for clarity, but the recorder burst with a shriek so piercing everyone doubled over, clutching their ears. The lights on every camera flickered, some cutting out entirely.
Then, from the black corner where the crucifix had vanished, a figure began to step forward.
Not a shadow. Not an outline. But something solid, dripping wet as though pulled fresh from the grave, its face stretched into a mockery of human skin.
Avery dropped to their knees, hands clamped over their head, screaming. “Don’t look at it—don’t look—”
But it was too late. The thing had already chosen its next target.
Chapter Seven – The Children’s Wing
The next day, the team sat in the van, sunlight streaming through the dirty windows, yet no one felt safe. The hospital loomed only a few yards away, its broken windows catching the light like dead eyes.
Buddy drummed his fingers on the wheel. “We shouldn’t go back in.”
Rowan stared at the recorder in his lap. It hadn’t stopped humming since last night. A faint voice whispered between bursts of static, too low to make out, but always repeating. Always calling. His name.
“We don’t get to choose,” Rowan said finally. His voice was steady, but his hands trembled. “If we leave, it’ll follow us. It’s not bound to the hospital anymore.”
Beth frowned, flipping through a thick folder of medical records she’d managed to pull from the county archives. “You’re right. I found something. Willow Creek had a sealed wing… a children’s wing. Closed before the hospital shut down. There were—” she hesitated, her voice lowering. “—reports of experiments. The kids were… tested.”
Luna’s face paled. “That explains why I kept hearing laughter in the halls. I thought it was just residual noise.”
The silence in the van stretched until Rowan finally unbuckled his seat belt. “We go in together. We finish this.”
The children’s wing was worse than the rest of the hospital. The walls were painted with faded murals—cartoon animals with wide, cracked eyes and peeling smiles. The smell of mildew clung to the air, thick enough to taste.
Elizabeth lifted her camera. “Every horror movie cliché is screaming at me to turn back right now.”
Rowan didn’t answer. His attention was fixed on the end of the hall, where a door stood half-open, light flickering beyond it. A toy tricycle sat in the doorway, wheels rusted but angled as though it had just been pushed into place.
Luna flinched. “That wasn’t there before.”
They moved cautiously, cameras rolling. As they entered, the temperature dropped ten degrees in an instant. The room had once been a playroom. Toys lay scattered across the floor, some snapped in half, others covered in dust. A chalkboard leaned against the wall, its surface smeared black.
Then the recorder in Rowan’s pocket shrieked, loud enough to make Beth yelp. He pulled it free, and through the static came the sound of children singing. The melody was warped, broken, but unmistakable: Ring around the rosie…
Luna’s knees buckled. “They’re here.”
The chalkboard squealed as if scratched by invisible nails. Words began to scrawl themselves across the surface in jagged white chalk:
“KEEP YOUR PROMISE.”
Buddy swore under his breath. “What promise? What the hell does that mean?”
Rowan froze. His throat closed as a memory slammed into him—an image of a hospital bed, a small hand gripping his, a child’s weak voice whispering something he’d buried for years.
He staggered back, bile rising. The chalkboard words shifted, letters scraping into a new command:
“OR WE TAKE THEM.”
Before anyone could react, the tricycle in the doorway rolled forward on its own, metal wheels screeching. The playroom door slammed shut.
And the children began to laugh.
Chapter Eight – Divided by Shadows
The door slammed with a force that rattled the ceiling tiles. Buddy threw his shoulder into it, but it didn’t budge. “It’s sealed!” he shouted, panic edging into his voice.
“Something’s in here with us,” Luna whispered. She gripped her pendant tightly, her face pale under the flashlight beam. Her breath fogged in the freezing air.
The recorder in Rowan’s pocket hissed, and a child’s voice bled through the static: “You promised. You promised you’d stay.”
Rowan’s throat constricted. He backed away from the chalkboard, the words still glowing faintly white in the dim light. KEEP YOUR PROMISE.
Elizabeth’s camera light sputtered, then died. “No, no, no, don’t do this to me now—” She smacked it, but nothing came. Suddenly, the emergency lights along the hall flickered to life, bathing the playroom in a hellish red glow.
Then the laughter started again.
High-pitched. Giggling. From everywhere at once.
The tricycle in the corner tipped over. A doll slumped on a shelf twisted its head until the porcelain cracked. The air vibrated, rattling the metal beds in the adjoining rooms.
And then, just as suddenly, the team was no longer together.
Rowan blinked—and Beth, Buddy, and Luna were gone. The playroom stretched long and empty, shadows swallowing the corners.
“Beth?!” His voice echoed back at him, hollow and wrong.
Somewhere down the hall, he heard Buddy shouting, muffled. Then Luna’s scream tore through the building.
Elizabeth spun around, camera up. “We’re not together anymore, Rowan—we’ve been split!” Her voice trembled. “This isn’t real. It’s—it’s some kind of psychic manipulation.”
But the walls said otherwise. The murals of painted animals peeled back further, their painted mouths opening into dark holes. A dozen eyes blinked from the cracks.
Rowan staggered into the hall, trying to follow Luna’s scream. The corridor bent at impossible angles, turning corners that shouldn’t exist. The voices of children whispered around him, overlapping, chanting. “Stay… stay… don’t leave us again…”
A door to his left slammed open, and Buddy stumbled out. His shirt was ripped, blood streaking his arm. “Something grabbed me. I couldn’t see it, but it—” He broke off, staring past Rowan. His face went sheet-white. “Behind you.”
Rowan turned.
A small figure stood in the hallway. A little girl in a hospital gown, barefoot, head bowed so her hair curtained her face. She raised one trembling hand, pointing straight at him.
“You broke your promise.”
The lights exploded in a burst of sparks, plunging them back into darkness.
Chapter Nine – The Experiment Files
When the lights finally flickered back, Rowan was alone again. Buddy was gone, the little girl vanished, and the hallway had twisted into a new shape—one he didn’t recognize. His chest heaved as he forced himself to move, the recorder in his pocket vibrating with static whispers.
Beth’s voice crackled faintly through the team’s comms. “Rowan? Rowan, can you hear me? I found something.”
He pressed his earpiece tighter. “Beth! Where are you?”
“Records room… or what’s left of it. You need to see this.”
The room Beth had found was buried behind a half-collapsed stairwell, a space choked with dust and fallen ceiling panels. File cabinets lay overturned, their drawers bent open like broken ribs. But what remained on the floor was enough—hundreds of patient records scattered across the tiles.
Beth knelt in the debris, her camera light trembling as she held up a manila folder. Her face was pale, lips pressed into a thin line. “They weren’t treating the kids.”
Rowan crouched beside her, his stomach knotting as he scanned the papers. Black-and-white photos of children stared back at him, their eyes hollow, their heads shaved. Charts listed “treatment dosages,” “response to frequency testing,” and “termination notes.”
“Frequency?” Rowan muttered, flipping through. His eyes froze on one page: Subject 12—Rowan Gray. Response: Exceptional. Memory redaction recommended.
The paper slipped from his hand.
Beth’s head snapped toward him. “Rowan…”
But Rowan was already backing away, shaking his head. His mind reeled with images he didn’t remember but felt in his bones—sterile white rooms, wires against his temples, a girl’s voice whispering, “Promise me you won’t leave.”
He doubled over, nausea clawing through him. “No. No, I got out. I was just—I was a visitor, I—”
The room itself groaned. Cabinets rattled, drawers slamming shut one after another, as if the hospital rejected the truth being spoken. The lights overhead popped, plunging them into near-darkness.
Beth grabbed Rowan’s wrist. “Listen to me—we need to document this. If they experimented on kids—on you—we have to get it out.”
But Rowan barely heard her. The recorder in his pocket roared with static, then cleared, just for a moment. A child’s voice came through, raw and pleading.
“You promised you’d save us. You didn’t.”
And then every scattered folder in the room lifted into the air, paper spiraling into a cyclone around them. In the blur of pages, Rowan glimpsed dozens of faces—children’s faces—staring at him, mouths open in silent screams.
The files slammed to the ground all at once.
Beth’s flashlight went out.
And from the dark, the children began to crawl.
Chapter Ten – Attachments
Buddy’s screams echoed through the corridors of Willow Creek, cutting through the constant hum of static and whispers. He had been dragged down one of the twisted hallways, the team powerless to stop it. When Rowan, Beth, and Luna finally caught up, Buddy was pressed against the wall, his back marked with dark, burning lines that pulsed like veins under his skin.
“Buddy!” Rowan shouted, rushing to him.
Buddy’s eyes were wild, pupils dilated, sweat streaming down his face. “It… it’s inside me! I can feel them crawling—like they’re rooting in my blood!”
Luna pressed her hand against his chest. The chill hit her like a physical blow, and her fingers went numb instantly. “It’s feeding off your fear. You have to fight it—mentally, emotionally, together.”
But Buddy shook his head violently. “I can’t. It’s—” He collapsed forward, screaming, as shadows spilled over his body like a living shroud. The black lines on his skin writhed, and tiny whispers slipped from his mouth, voices that weren’t his own:
“He promised… you left us… stay…”
Rowan slammed his hand against the wall, forcing himself to focus. “No. You’re stronger than this. We’re all stronger. Focus on us. On your friends. Don’t let them inside.”
The shadows recoiled slightly, shrieking as if in pain, then surged again. Luna and Beth joined Rowan, placing hands on Buddy, forming a circle. The three of them murmured encouragement, grounding him.
Rowan’s heart thumped painfully. Memories clawed at the edges of his mind—faces of the children, hollow eyes pleading, tiny hands reaching for him. He had promised once. He had left. And now… it was coming for them all.
The shadows writhed faster, pulsing along Buddy’s arms, latching to his veins like black tendrils. Luna hissed through clenched teeth. “I can’t hold it! It’s too strong!”
Beth gritted her jaw. “Then we all fight together!” She pressed the spirit detector to Buddy’s chest. The device screamed, the digital readouts spiking violently. “Rowan! Remember your promise—call their names!”
Rowan closed his eyes, his voice trembling but growing louder: “I promise! I will stay! I will not leave you! Elizabeth… Luna… Buddy… I will protect you!”
The shadows shrieked, twisting in on themselves like writhing smoke. Buddy’s body convulsed violently once more, then went limp.
For a heartbeat, Rowan panicked—he thought they’d lost him.
Then Buddy gasped, eyes flicking open. The black lines had faded slightly, though faint pulsing veins remained. He shivered violently, sobbing. “It… it’s still there. But… I think—” He swallowed hard, tears streaming down his face. “I think I can push it back.”
The whispers were still around them, lingering, but quieter. Not gone. Not defeated.
Rowan’s knees shook. He understood now: the spirits weren’t just haunting the building. They were attached—hungry for the promises he had broken, seeking repayment. And the closer they got to him, the more dangerous they became to everyone around him.
He exhaled, steadying his hands. “We’re not done yet. Not by a long shot.”
And from the darkened hallway beyond, the faint sound of children’s laughter swirled, taunting.
Chapter Eleven – The Bargain
The children’s wing seemed to pulse with a life of its own, the walls breathing in rhythm with Rowan’s own panicked heartbeat. Every hallway bent, twisted, and stretched in impossible angles. Faint giggles echoed from the corners, then grew into wails that made the floor vibrate beneath their feet.
Buddy leaned against a wall, exhausted and trembling, dark lines still etched across his arms. Luna clutched Rowan’s sleeve like a lifeline. Beth’s camera light flickered weakly, revealing shadows that moved just beyond the beam.
Rowan’s eyes were locked on the end of the hall, where the little girl from before floated in midair, her hospital gown fluttering like it was underwater. Her face was obscured by her hair, but her small hand pointed directly at him.
“You,” she whispered, her voice breaking the static, “you promised.”
Rowan’s knees went weak. He closed his eyes, the memory crashing back: a hospital bed, a tiny hand in his own, a whisper of hope and trust. He had been a child then, but he remembered the words now. “Promise me you won’t leave. Promise me you’ll come back.”
He swallowed hard, voice trembling. “I… I remember. I… I’m here. I will come back. I promise.”
The hallway shook violently, tiles cracking underfoot. The voices of the children rose into a chorus, chanting his name, echoing from every direction:
“Promise… promise… keep it…”
Rowan forced himself forward, each step heavy as if the air itself was resisting him. “I will help you! I’ll make this right!” His hands shook, trembling toward the little girl.
A dozen more children appeared, spectral and half-formed, their eyes hollow and accusing. They reached for him, fingers clawing, voices pleading.
“You left us!” one shrieked. “We trusted you!”
“I… I’m sorry!” Rowan cried. “I was scared! I didn’t know how!”
The little girl floated closer, her voice softening, almost human again. “Then prove it. Stay. Help them. Don’t leave again.”
Rowan’s chest heaved. He realized this was the bargain: he couldn’t just say the words. He had to act, to acknowledge each child, to honor them—not just with promises, but with presence, protection, and recognition.
He knelt, extending his hands, and began naming them as best as he could, recalling their records, the few faces that had been saved in photographs, the lives that had been erased. “I see you. I won’t leave you again. I will fight for you.”
The spectral forms hesitated, floating closer, circling him. The oppressive pressure in the air began to lift slightly, though the shadows still pulsed at the edges of the room.
Buddy gasped, rubbing his arms where the dark lines pulsed. “I… I think it’s letting go… at least a little.”
Luna blinked, voice trembling. “They’re listening. He’s doing it—he’s really doing it.”
Rowan straightened, his face streaked with sweat and tears. “We’re not done,” he said quietly. “But this… this is the first step.”
The little girl hovered above him, nodding slowly, the shadows around her softening. “Then we wait,” she whispered, fading slightly, “and you remember.”
The hallway calmed. The whispers dimmed, leaving only the echo of promises yet to be fully kept.
Rowan’s voice barely carried over the static hum. “I’ll keep every single one of you in my mind. I swear it.”
And though the room was quiet for the first time in hours, Rowan knew the bargain was far from over. The frequency had been heard, the debt acknowledged—but the spirits were patient, and the haunting was just beginning.
Chapter Twelve – The Dead Floor Awakens
The hospital groaned as if it were alive, every wall trembling and tiles cracking beneath their feet. Rowan, Buddy, Beth, and Luna moved as one, flashlights cutting through the thick darkness. Every step sent shivers down their spines—the temperature had dropped so low their breaths came out in icy clouds.
“We can’t let them separate us again,” Rowan said, gripping his EVP mic like a weapon. The children’s whispers were back, louder than ever, echoing through the corridors:
“You promised… you promised… stay with us… stay with us…”
The walls pulsed, and shadows began to peel away from the corners, thick and black, moving independently of any light source. They writhed like liquid, crawling along the floors and ceilings, reaching for the team.
Buddy shouted as one tendril shot across the floor and wrapped around his ankle, yanking him backward. He fell hard, scraping his shoulder against the concrete. The dark veins on his arms pulsed violently. “It’s stronger than last time!”
Luna fired off a flare gun, the red light slicing through the darkness, revealing dozens of half-formed figures crawling along the walls—children, nurses, doctors, all twisted, screaming silently with hollow eyes.
Beth’s laptop blinked furiously, detecting hundreds of energy signatures concentrated in the hallway. “It’s like the entire floor has… woken up!”
Rowan forced himself to focus. “We stick together. No one fights alone!”
The shadows surged, slamming into them with bone-crushing force. Mason’s camera was knocked from his hands, shattering, and the microphone went silent as the static screamed in agony. Rowan reached out to pull Buddy up, only to feel invisible hands clawing at his chest, pushing him toward the wall.
The little girl from before appeared again, hovering above them, her gaze fixed on Rowan. “Keep your promise!” she whispered, voice cutting through the chaos like a blade.
Rowan’s memories hit him in full—the hospital bed, the children’s faces, the whispers, the fear, and the betrayal. He fell to his knees, calling out names of every child he could remember. “I see you! I will protect you! You’re not forgotten!”
The shadows paused for a heartbeat, then the figures began retreating slightly, reacting to his acknowledgment. But the calm was temporary—the floor trembled violently as a massive figure emerged from the darkness. A grotesque amalgamation of patients and staff, towering over them, eyes glowing with rage.
Buddy staggered back, gasping. “That… that’s the one controlling them!”
Rowan stood, fists clenched. “Then we end this. Together!”
They formed a circle, hands joined where they could reach, chanting, calling out the children’s names, refusing to let fear take them. The giant wraith lunged, and the team braced for impact. Shadows collided with light, screams filled the halls, and the hospital shook as if the building itself was screaming in pain.
Rowan felt the little girl’s presence beside him, faint but steady. “Remember,” she whispered, “your promise.”
Rowan nodded, voice raw. “I remember. I remember all of you.”
The giant paused, then with a guttural scream, dissolved into smaller forms, the shadows retracting and scattering back into corners. The whispers softened to murmurs, fading but still present.
The Dead Floor had been awakened… and it had acknowledged him.
But Rowan knew—this was only a temporary victory. The hospital still held its secrets, and the spirits were patient. They waited.
Chapter Thirteen – The Choice
The hospital shook violently, like the building itself was exhaling centuries of pain. Rowan’s flashlight flickered, casting long, quivering shadows across the peeling walls. The whispers were deafening now, hundreds of voices overlapping, crying, pleading, and demanding.
“I can’t hold them back much longer!” Buddy shouted, clutching his arms where the black veins still pulsed faintly.
Luna gritted her teeth, voice shaking but determined. “Then we face them. Together. We don’t leave anyone behind.”
Rowan’s heart pounded as he moved toward the center of the hallway, where the little girl floated, her hospital gown swirling as if underwater. Around her, dozens of spectral children hovered, their hollow eyes fixed on him.
“You broke your promise,” she whispered, voice sharp as glass. “And now they suffer because of you.”
Rowan swallowed hard. His memories hit in full force: the fear, the shame, the silence he had left behind, the children reaching out for him. “I… I didn’t know how. I was scared, and I ran. But I—” His voice cracked. “I’ll make this right. I will protect you, every one of you. I swear it.”
The children’s whispers rose into a cacophony, the shadows writhing like living smoke. One of the larger wraiths surged forward, screaming silently, black tendrils lashing toward the team.
“Move!” Beth yelled, grabbing Buddy and Luna, dragging them backward as Rowan stepped forward, placing himself directly between the wraith and his friends.
“I’m not leaving you!” Rowan shouted, raising his EVP mic like a shield. He spoke each child’s name aloud, recalling faces and moments, giving them recognition and acknowledgment, naming each one as if it would anchor their spirits.
The shadows lashed out, but the children’s forms flickered. Some recoiled at the sound of their own names, recognition sparking a fragile calm. Rowan’s voice trembled but grew stronger. “I remember! I remember all of you! You’re not forgotten. You won’t be hurt again!”
The little girl floated closer, her eyes now fully visible. Hollow and sad, but calm. “Then choose,” she whispered. “Keep your promise—or leave. One choice, and it will decide everything.”
Rowan’s chest tightened. He looked at his friends, their terrified, exhausted faces. The room was collapsing around them, shadows writhing, tiles cracking, debris falling.
“I stay,” he said firmly. “I keep my promise. All of you are safe. I will fight for you.”
The children’s wails softened into murmurs. The shadows pulled back slowly, receding into walls, floors, and ceilings. The massive wraith from before dissolved into hundreds of tiny, flickering forms. The air grew warmer, lighter, though still tinged with sorrow.
Buddy staggered forward, weak but alive. “Is… is it over?”
Rowan exhaled, tears streaking his face. “For now. They’re… at peace. But they’ll remember. And so will I.”
The little girl hovered above him one last time. “You chose correctly. Remember, always. Keep your promise.”
Then she faded, followed by the children, leaving only silence—and the faint, lingering hum of the haunted frequency in the walls.
Rowan sank to his knees, exhausted, but resolute. The hospital was still dangerous, still broken, but for the first time, he felt that he had done the right thing. They had survived the Dead Floor—but the promise was now a living memory he could never ignore.
Chapter Fourteen – Echoes
The sun rose weakly over the abandoned hospital, its light barely piercing the broken windows. Rowan, Buddy, Beth, and Luna sat on the cracked steps outside, bodies aching, clothes torn, but alive. The air smelled of dust and damp concrete, tinged with the faint, electric hum that refused to leave completely.
Rowan held the EVP mic in his hand, staring at it as though it were a lifeline. “They’re gone… for now,” he whispered. But the memory of their hollow eyes lingered, a constant reminder of the promise he had made—and the one he would never be able to break.
Buddy flexed his arms, the black lines faint but still visible. “I… I’ll survive. We’ll survive. But I don’t think I’ll ever forget that sound—their voices, the way they screamed.”
Luna shivered, hugging herself. “Even if the frequency is quiet now, it’s still here. I can feel it in the walls… like it’s waiting.”
Beth adjusted her camera, reviewing footage. The screen showed shadows, shapes flickering just out of the clear frame, whispering in the static. “We have evidence,” she said, voice low. “People need to know. But… this isn’t just a story. These kids… these spirits… they’re real. And they won’t rest until someone remembers them.”
Rowan exhaled, leaning back against the cold steps. The little girl’s words echoed through his mind: “Keep your promise. Remember, always.”
He clenched his fists. “I will. Every day. I’ll keep their memory alive. I’ll make sure no one forgets them.”
A soft breeze stirred the broken leaves around them, carrying with it a faint, almost melodic whisper. Rowan froze. It was quiet, almost gentle—but unmistakable.
“Thank you… but don’t forget…”
The team exchanged tense glances. Even with the immediate danger gone, the haunted frequency lingered, a constant hum beneath the world they thought they knew.
Rowan looked at his friends, determination hardening his features. “We’ve survived this. But the promise doesn’t end here. If they call again… we answer. No matter what it takes.”
Buddy nodded, voice firm despite exhaustion. “We’ll face it together. Always.”
The four of them rose slowly, moving toward the van, the hospital looming behind them like a sleeping giant. The wind whispered through the broken windows, carrying the faint echo of children’s laughter. Not cruel, not malicious, but patient—watching, waiting.
Rowan glanced back one last time. “We’ll be ready.”
And somewhere deep inside the walls, the faint hum of the haunted frequency pulsed once more—a reminder that some promises are never truly finished, and some voices never truly die.
The sun broke fully over Willow Creek, and the team drove away, bound by trauma, by survival, and by a promise that would shape the rest of their lives.
The echoes of the dead had been heard… and they had been answered.