Chapter 1
The sharp song of crickets slowly brought Willow Viviers from yet another hollow, dreamless night. It had been weeks since she had dreamt of anything. The reason this was so despairing was because all through a decade of living with a crippling illness, her dreams had been her way of escaping.
Since a young age, even before her illness struck, Willow’s dreams had always been so vivid, colorful, and meaningful. She not only felt them but believed her dreamscape was where she truly lived. In a reality where her world involved being in and out of hospital so many times she’d lost count, sometimes living there months on end, her dreams offered her an alternative to a world where hope often failed her. So for Willow to spend nights on end without a single dream was like a crack in her soul had allowed the darkness in.
As she was torn from what she thought was a very deep sleep, Willow’s eyes slowly fluttered open to a cool, damp and dimly lit room. The chill air sliced through her thin layer of clothing, leaving her breathless. Sitting up straight, her hair wet at the tips and dripping down the front of her light blue dress, shivers exploded through her body. Her top-half had been resting in a small pool of water, in which shimmered a ghostly reflection of her gaunt face. Willow stared down at her muddy feet, which extended before her. Her dirty knees and filthy hands quivered with terror.
“What the hell?” she whispered, returning her eyes back to the puddle and staring harder at the almost unrecognizably filthy face reflecting back at her. She wracked her brain for answers as to how and why she found herself in a dark, dank room, but she had no recollection of how she had gotten there.
Looking up, her eyes focused on the strange distant light, which looked more like a large full moon cut into the wall, its glow half-hidden behind a thick metal pipe. With shallow breath, she got up onto her shaky legs to inspect her creepy surroundings. Terror washed over her, but it didn’t quite belong to her.
The crickets were overbearingly loud, reverberating off the dark concrete walls from all around her. Her teeth chattered as she hugged herself for warmth. Above her, a series of metal pipes ran along the length of the concrete ceiling. Slowly, she moved towards the light coming from the passageway beyond the concrete box, her bare feet moving faster and faster, with a desperate gait against the numbness that had settled in her limbs.
The shuffle of feet coming her way caused her to call out, “Hello!” Her sweet voice echoed around her, making her realize just how small she was - lost in the yawning vastness of the empty space.
“Hallo,” a deep, commanding male voice replied.
“Help me!” she cried out, unsure if it was the right thing to do. He could be anybody. He could be a deranged murderer, but she didn’t sense that from his voice. He sounded honest.
“Who’s there?” he asked.
“I’m lost,” Willow said, pulling herself tighter into a hug and feeling a rush of relief at the sight of flashlight beams and the sound of jingling keys coming her way.
“No one is allowed down here,” he said, sternly.
The beam of light grew brighter as the man came closer, causing Willow to raise her arms in order to shelter her eyes from the stark light. His shadow was slight and tall. “How did you get here?” he asked, walking up to her, and diverting the flashlight from her to the direction she had come from.
“I woke up here,” she explained. “Where am I?”
“You’re in the maintenance section.” His tone was clipped, filled with annoyance.
“The maintenance section of what?” she asked, looking at the dark cement walls and floors.
He took her arm gently and shined the light onto her medical bracelet. “Miss …Viviers?” he asked, struggling to pronounce the surname.
She looked him directly in the eye and shook her head slightly. “No, my name is Palmer, Loral Palmer.”
Clearly the girl was confused. Not wanting to cause her anymore distress, the janitor nodded. The patient’s medical bracelet visibly stated, Miss W. Viviers, heart transplant patient. Ward C. Recovery. Room 212 but he guessed it was easy, what with the drugs and the strangeness of the situation, to get confused.
She grabbed his wrist in turn, her fingers so cold they almost stung his skin. “Where are we?” she asked, her eyes darting from one corner of the structure to the other.
“In the hospital,” he replied, knitting his brow together and giving her a look that told her he thought she was crazy.
She looked down at her hospital gown. “Oh.”
“Let’s get you back to your ward. I’m sure the nurses must be looking for you.”
She took his hand, unafraid. “Thank you.”
“I’m George,” he said as he slung her arm over his shoulder giving her support.
“George,” she repeated.
“That’s right.”
She let herself be led, his flashlight lighting the way.
“We need to get you back in the warm—you’re freezing.” He offered.
Her mouth quivered from the cold. “I know.”
A loud noise erupted at the end of the passage causing her to stop abruptly. Her heart burst with fear. It was as if the noise was some awful thing coming for her. Her feet refusing to move she stood agape waiting in petrified state for the onslaught.
“It’s just the fan kicking in,” George explained upon taking in her reaction to the sound.
“Hey,” he said as he shook her, “I’m too old to carry you all the way. Just try to stay lucid, okay? I’ll get you to the service elevator in no time.” He pursed his lips before saying, “Just stay with me, okay?”
As she muttered her thanks, her tongue felt thick and full in her mouth from exhaustion and dehydration. Something felt oddly familiar about being down here. Not just familiar, she was certain she had been here before, and that noise—the one George dismissed as just being the fan clicking in, terrified her so much, she felt sick to her stomach.
“We need to hurry, please,” she told him, suddenly recovering her strength and almost pulling him along. “We need to go.”
The sound of the generators got louder, to the point they sounded like they were crushing down on her, pushing her mind somewhere she didn’t want it to go. They rounded the corner into a larger square room made up of abandoned hospital gurneys and a large biohazard sign half- faded and glowing in the light of the torch. Was this a nightmare she’d walked into?
Her naked feet slapped with increasing speed along the cold concrete as she was now the one dragging George along, as if trying to literally outrun the terrible dream. Not soon enough, to Willow’s fleeting relief the lights became brighter, instilling some reprieve from the terror, but there still remained dark corners everywhere she looked. From one of them, a face appeared, and she let out a small scream. The figure was just standing there, staring at them as they hurried along the corridor of doors.
“Dear what is it?” George stopped to stare at her.
Quickly, she closed her eyes and opened them again to see that the face had disappeared, replaced by a single steel door with a small window in its center. It was stained, scratched and cracked as if many years and some trauma had afflicted it.
“What’s in there?” is all she offered as an explanation, immediately feeling the pull towards the door.
“No idea,” George said. “This basement gives me the creeps. I try not to come down here unless I really have to.”
She placed her hand on the door as if to push it further open, but George stopped her by pulling her back. “It shouldn’t be open.”
She looked to him and saw the worry in his eye. For a moment they were held in suspended animation as the temptation of pushing the door open hung between them. The tension was broken when George took her by the hips and firmly guided her away.
“I don’t think that is a very good idea.” He pulled her along, “A few more stairs and then the elevators are on our left,” he said with gritted determination, taking her away from the creepy room.
Willow nodded but the door had imprinted itself in her memory. She was almost curious enough to fight George off and return to find out what lay behind it. She had never been good at leaving well enough alone.
The metal stairs were jagged and added another layer of cold to her feet. Her lungs labored as she climbed up and she silently cursed her weakened state. The sound of water, drip, drip, dripping filled her ears and she tried to find the source, but the shadows got darker as they hit the metal catwalk.
“Come along,” He pulled her to walk father. “Almost there.” His patience with her was something to admire.
Willow couldn’t shake off the strange feelings of the place. “Who else is down here?” She asked, feeling the encroaching darkness as if it were an entity on its own.
“No one at the moment. It’s just me, two other janitors who use this section and guards. But not for a while.” He sighed wondering why he was telling her all this, “It doesn’t matter.”
“Are you sure?” she asked looking back over her shoulder.
“Yes, now come along before you get sick.” His patience had just run out.
She snickered. “Sicker, you mean.”
He gave her a sideways glance. “I promise there is nothing down here that might interest you.”
They stepped into the service elevator where it immediately felt safer and warmer.
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those coffin kids, searching for paranormal experiences?” His tone was mocking.
“No,” she said smiling, but as the doors slid closed with the soft creek and moan of metal, Willow stared out into the shadows searching for the unearthly face she’d seen watching them.