KISS OF DEATH

Genre: Horror

 

 

 

KISS OF DEATH

By Randy Romero

 

 

The vagrant lingered in the alley, propping himself up against a brick wall to keep his balance. He was clearly drunk. If his lack of equilibrium wasn’t a dead giveaway, JP could smell the whiskey wafting off of him. As far as vagrants smelled, this one carried an exceptionally offensive odor.

JP could not hide his disgust, nor was he required to as far as he was concerned. The alley was behind JP’s nightclub, The Wild Stallion. It was his nightclub, and that meant this was his alley. This was JP Taylor’s territory, his jurisdiction, his property. He’d be damned if any scruffy, mangy vagrant was going to stink up his alley.

JP didn’t just own The Wild Stallion. He owned half of Spring Harbor. JP’s money and influence came with a considerable amount of power. A power that JP was perpetually drunk on.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen the vagrant, either. Sure, plenty of them have come and gone over the years, but this one JP remembered from his filthy red-and-black flannels and lime green hat that was stained white from bird shit.

JP was a tall, slim, athletic young man, dressed in a charcoal gray Brioni suit with an immaculate cut. For some, that suit was almost six months salary. For JP, it was what his club made in a single night.

JP adjusted his navy blue tie, slicked back his dark brown hair, and took his phone from his breast pocket and pressed a few buttons. “Security,” was all he said, and in seconds, two of his bouncers walked around back, at his beck and call.

“I can’t have this skunk stinking up my alley,” JP told them. “Get rid of him. Don’t hurt him too bad. Just enough to send a message to the other bums. Let them know that this alley is off limits.”

JP didn’t stick around to watch. He never did. He went back inside where his assistant, Gregory, was waiting for him in his office. Gregory was a meek, spineless shell of a man whose answer to every question was yes, unless JP wanted the answer to be no. That made him the perfect and most dependable assistant for JP. Never mind he was twelve years older than JP. He didn’t mind taking orders from a spoiled rich kid, so long as he got a taste of the spoils himself. “That Veronica chick is on line one. I can’t fucking get rid of her.”

“Did you try simply hanging up the phone?”

“She’s relentless. She wants your head on a spike.”

“Who doesn’t?” JP said, lighting a Cuban cigar. He puffed away and a thick, pungent smoke filled the air. “I’ll deal with her.” He picked up the phone. “Veronica, baby. Miss me much?”

“I went to the police,” Veronica said vehemently. “I filed a report. I already spoke to a lawyer.”

“Good, and he can speak with my attorney in the morning. Try as hard as you want, you’re never going to win. You don’t stand a chance against me.”

“You’re a monster,” she cried.

“A rich monster. And that entitles me to do just about anything I desire. Don’t you know who I am, you dumb little bitch? I’m JP fucking Taylor. I’m the man that other men can only dream of being. I have it all. I own more than half this town. I own the bars, I own the clubs, I own restaurants and music venues. And if you haven’t figured it out by now, I own the cops, too. But do feel free to drop by anytime you want. Your first drink is compliments of the house.”

“Rot in hell, you slimy piece of–”

JP didn’t give her a chance to finish that thought. He hung up the phone, finished his cigar, gelled his hair, fixed his tie, and headed back downstairs.

It was Tuesday night, and Phil, the bartender, knew what that meant. The owner would be on the prowl for that evening’s unlucky prey.

JP had it all. Money, good looks, clear healthy skin, a pearl white smile. And he had a routine, a plan. First, he would select that evening’s sexual conquest. He’d have Phil or whoever was working the bar that night send her a few free drinks, compliments of the owner. That would be JP’s cue to sidle up next to her and introduce himself. He was smooth and suave and the girls took to him like flies on shit. He had a white rose, one single rose, for every girl he approached. It was his signature, his calling card. And most of the girls fell right into his hands. His routine worked every time.

JP was well known and he had a reputation for being a womanizer and a heartbreaker. But that didn’t stop the girls from trying their hand with one of the youngest, richest bachelors in all of Spring Harbor.

JP helped himself to a few complimentary drinks of his own and scoured the dance floor. Nothing of interest there. But the girl at the bar caught his perverted eyes. She was short, slender, had jet-black hair, and eyes as green as a cats. He gave Phil the signal to give her a free drink. Then he slithered in beside her and offered up a white rose, along with a Cheshire grin, which let JP flash and flaunt his pearly whites.

“JP Taylor,” he introduced himself. “I own the place, but you own my heart.”

She laughed. “Does that cheesy pickup line really work?”

“Most of the time, yes, actually.”

“I guess I’m not most girls.”

“You can say that again,” JP said, still showing interest. “What brings you here? Don’t break my heart and tell me you’re waiting for a date.”

“No, I’m alone tonight. But I was hoping to meet someone…”

“Really, who?”

“You.”

“Oh, now you’re pulling my chain now.”

“No, I’m serious. I heard the owner was smart, handsome…rich.”

“That I am.”

“You know, I can hardly hear myself over this music. Let’s go outside.”

JP was all smiles. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”

She led him to the alley where the vagrant had resided a few hours prior, twirling the white rose in her fingertips. She leaned in and kissed his cheek.

“You’re sweet,” she giggled, placing the rose in the palm of her hand. “I can see why the ladies fall for you. You’re handsome, you’re smooth, you know exactly what to say. But not everyone falls for your act.” She clenched her fist, rose petals squeezing out between her fingers.

He recoiled from a sudden burst of pain. “What the…what did you do to me? What did you do to my face?”

“I gave you a taste of your own medicine. All those girls you’ve used and abused. All those lives you’ve destroyed. All those hearts you’ve poisoned. Now I’ve poisoned you. Did you really think you were invincible? Did you think you could get away with things forever?”

“What are you?”

“Justice,” she whispered.

The spot where she kissed him felt swollen and irritated. He touched his face and winced. His skin stung when he grazed it. Bumps and blisters and boils began to emerge. He stumbled back inside, ran straight for the bathroom. He recoiled again at what he saw in the mirror.

“My face!” he wept. His features were grotesque, his face unrecognizable. For once, the monster in the mirror reflected the monster deep inside of him.

This mysterious infection, this curse, it spread across his face like a carnivorous cancer, until it all but enveloped his identity. When they found JP, he tried to alert them of his assailant, but by then, he couldn’t speak; his face was completely obscured, and his airways were blocked. And by then, his assailant was long gone. Like a goodnight kiss, her presence was fleeting but everlasting.

MISSING

Genre: Horror 

 

 

 

MISSING

By Randy Romero

 

 

 

It all started with Ms. Kinsey’s missing cat, Oscar.

Don’t ask me why, but she loved that cat. Oscar was a plump grey tabby, and I say plump from all the overfeeding on Ms. Kinsey’s part. She spoiled that cat rotten. Must’ve fed him three or four cans a day.

And don’t get me wrong, I love cats…all except Oscar. When he prowled around the neighborhood, people knew not to get too close. Oscar was known for leaving his autograph on people’s arms with his jagged claws that Ms. Kinsey rarely trimmed. He was so grumpy and miserable that we all nicknamed him Oscar the Grouch behind Ms. Kinsey’s back.

I, like many others, absolutely hated that cat. But I still felt bad for her when Oscar disappeared. That poor old lady flooded the town with flyers and missing posters, offering a reward for anyone who found and returned Oscar safely. She called all the shelters. She even tried to file a police report.

We thought it was an isolated incident. Dogs and cats run away; they go missing. It’s sad, but unfortunately it happens. But then Mr. Sheridan’s Corgi, Cooper, disappeared one afternoon. One minute the dog was in his front yard, and the next minute, he was gone.

But it didn’t stop there. There was Mrs. Freemont’s Maine Coon, Popcorn, that vanished without a trace. But the most unsettling incident was the case of Mr. and Mrs. Pickman’s missing German Shepard, aptly named Grizzly. That dog was one vicious beast. The Pickman’s couldn’t keep him in the house. Grizzly had a doghouse outside but he spent most of the days chained up in the backyard so he wouldn’t hop the fence and attack anybody. Mr. Pickman went outside to feed him one day and found Grizzly’s chain snapped in half. Cats and Corgi’s are one thing, but how does a dog that big disappear without a sound?

Was someone in the neighborhood abducting animals? Everyone had their own theories or suspicions. I had a theory of my own, but it was one I didn’t dare share with my parents.

My mom and dad couldn’t figure it out. But they were worried about Archie and so was I. Archie was a boxer that we had adopted from the local shelter. She’d been with us for five years and she seemed to prefer to sleep outside in her doghouse.

My parents were quieter than usual at dinner that night. And they decided that Archie would stay in that night. Archie didn’t seem too happy about it, scratching at the back door and howling away. But my dad wouldn’t budge.

“Ronnie, don’t you dare let her out,” my dad ordered me. I promised him I wouldn’t. And I was grateful that he called me Ronnie. It was my mother’s idea to name me Ronald, after my uncle on her side of the family. Most people called me Ronnie instead, which I preferred. Some kids at school called me Ronald McDonald, which I didn’t appreciate that much. But hey, I was fourteen and kids my age could be real dicks sometimes.

I took that moment alone to be candid with my father. “Dad, whatever this is…I don’t think it’s human.”

“Beg your pardon, Ronnie?”

“All these animals vanishing without a trace…there’s got to be a cause for it. And whatever’s behind this, I don’t think it’s like you or me. I think it’s…” I trailed off and let his mind fill in the blanks. I couldn’t bring myself to say something so ludicrous.

“Son, there’s no monsters out there. You want the truth? It’s probably some sicko going around kidnapping people’s pets for the reward money. Some people will do anything for money, Ronnie. And people would pay practically anything to get their pets back. I heard about two guys pulling a scam once years ago. They’d kidnap people’s dogs, wait for them to put up flyers offering a reward, then they’d show up at their front doors and say they found the dog, collect the reward money, and move onto the next sucker.”

My dad was probably right. And as sane and realistic as that sounded compared to the idea of a monster devouring animals in the neighborhood, I still wasn’t convinced.

Archie finally stopped scratching on the back door and settled down that night on the floor of my bedroom. We all settled in too and slept through the night until about four o’clock. We woke up to what felt like a massive earthquake. I was half asleep and my eyes were barely open, but the first thing I noticed was that Archie was missing.

I figured she got spooked by the earthquake and hid somewhere in the house. But when the ground settled, we searched high and low and couldn’t find her anywhere. But my mom was the first to notice that the door leading to the garage was open. My dad surmised that Archie must’ve escaped through the dog door he had installed in the garage a few months back. But where would she have gone?

Everyone in the neighborhood woke up that morning to discover that their pets were missing. And that’s not all they found. On the hood of Mr. Clark’s BMW, they found teeth marks. Embedded in the concrete, they found footprints, bigger than any humans.

My dad looked terrified just trying to imagine what could’ve left those footprints behind. Whatever it was, it was big enough to make the ground shake and cause an earthquake-like side effect. Everyone was at a loss, nobody had any explanations.

But there was still my theory. I believed that this creature, this thing, was slowly consuming pets around the neighborhood, growing with each animal it consumed. Until its hunger finally took control and it grew to monstrous proportions. I was just a kid, so what did I know. But you know what, I wasn’t too far off from the truth. Soon, people from the neighborhood started disappearing instead of animals.

That’s how it all started. How it ended was a very different story. 

AFRAID OF THE DARK

Genre: Horror

 

 

 

AFRAID OF THE DARK

By Randy Romero

 

 

One wrong step was all it took to send Geoff plunging into the abyss. The fall probably only lasted a few seconds, but for Geoff, it felt like a lifetime. It was as if time had frozen even as his body continued to plummet.

But time was unfrozen now, and Geoff could feel the ramifications of his misstep. His leg was shattered. If the searing pain wasn’t any indication, his femur bone had snapped in half and broken through the skin. He couldn’t bear to look at the shiny white nub of bone that was poking out.

“Geoff!” Lisa cried out. “Can you hear me?! Please answer!”

“I can hear you,” Geoff called out, his voice echoing through the vast cave. “My leg is a mess. I’m going to need medical attention.”

“Can you see anything?” Lisa asked. “Any markings, any openings or passages? Any way for us to get down there?”

“It’s pitch black,” Geoff responded. “I can’t really see anything.”

“Hang tight,” Carl yelled down to him. “We’re going to find help.”

Geoff could hear the panic in their voices. An idyllic summer afternoon hike had turned into an absolute nightmare. Carl, Lisa, and Dana were miles from the car. And they hadn’t encountered anybody else on their lengthy walk.

“Water,” Geoff choked. “I need water.”

Carl fished through his pack and found a bottle of water. It was lukewarm but it was all he had to offer.

“I can’t see anything, but I hope you’re able to reach this,” Carl said before dropping it into the mouth of the cave. It landed near Geoff’s side with a thud and he snatched it up and drank it all in two or three gulps.

“Hang in there, buddy,” Carl said. “We’re going to get you some help.”

Dana was muttering something about her cell phone. All Geoff could make out was, “No reception.”

He couldn’t even hear their footsteps as they ventured off in search of help.

“Wait! Don’t leave me alone in the dark,” he cried out.

Geoff suffered from severe nyctophobia, an intense fear of the dark.  As a kid, he slept with a nightlight on. As an adult, he needed the TV on or the glow of his laptop monitor to fall asleep. But it wasn’t the nyctophobia that truly terrified him.

He felt a presence. Something was down there.

Something more animal than man.

He tried to sit up but the pain was too extreme. He was able to reach into his pockets. His phone was miraculously still intact. He didn’t have any service either. But at least there was a light on his phone.

He shone the light around the cave, taking in his surroundings. In the shadows, it lurked. He didn’t see it all at once, and he was grateful for that. It revealed itself in pieces, allowing Geoff to take in its shocking form.

It was a twisted, perverse amalgam of every animal it had encountered. Flesh and fur, claws and teeth, scales and pelts. It had hooves for feet and a tail at its backside. Its face was hairy, wet snout. And it had more eyes than Geoff could count. A bipedal organism made up of other organisms. Whatever this thing was, it had absorbed every living thing it had ever come into contact with.

It made a sound that he couldn’t even begin to describe. A horrible, tormented squeal that was anything but human. Geoff cried out. He begged for Lisa, for Carl, for Dana, for anyone. But nobody was there to answer his cries for help.

He shut his eyes to shield himself from this abomination and lost himself in happier times. He thought about the day that Carl and Dana introduced him to Lisa. He thought about his first date with her, about her perfect smile, her warm embrace. He thought about anything but his impending demise.

 

 

***

 

 

“Geoff!” Lisa screamed. “Help is here! Just hang tight!”

Dana managed to get service on her phone and call 911. They used GPS to pinpoint their location. The police, paramedics, and fire department were all present.

“Geoff, can you hear me?” Lisa called out. No response.

“He may have lost consciousness,” one of the paramedics said. “We have to get down there.”

“I know an entrance into the cave,” one of the officers said, volunteering to lead the way. And so they began their descent into the dark, massive cave in search of Geoff.

IN THE CLOUDS

Genre: Horror 

 

 

 

IN THE CLOUDS

By Randy Romero

 

 

 

Fire, was Shawn Downey’s first thought when he woke up and saw that the neighborhood was bathed in an ominous, reddish-orange glow.

But he didn’t smell any smoke, he didn’t hear any sirens or panicked screams ringing out in the streets. There was a quiet commotion that Shawn could hear outside, but it wasn’t full blown hysteria.

He checked the time on his cell phone. Four PM.

Shawn got up awkwardly, groggy, still half asleep. He wrestled his way into a faded pair of blue jeans and threw on a plain black T-shirt. Shawn worked overnights as a cashier. He clocked in at midnight and clocked out around 8 AM, sometimes later if the morning crew was running late for their shifts. He usually fell asleep around nine and slept through the afternoon if he didn’t have any classes. Downey hated all of his classes. And he hated his last name too, mainly because he was tired of his fellow students asking if he was related to Iron Man. And morning classes can be daunting when you work overnight.

A lot of colorful characters frequented Quick Stop Convenience in the wee hours of the night. Most of them came in looking for beer or cigarettes, most of them whacked out of their minds on God only knows what, struggling to keep their balance or form coherent sentences. The rest of the clientele were all-nighters like Shawn, just stopping in for coffee, soda, or energy drinks, and maybe a little snack for the road.

He wasn’t thrilled with the job, and neither was his dad. But it was a job nonetheless, at least until he worked his way through college.

Shawn let himself wake up a bit, then made his way downstairs, only to find that his parents were strangely absent. Normally they were both home from work by three o’clock.

Shawn went outside where the whole block was gathered. Mrs. Glick, the benevolent old lady next-door was there with her Pomeranian, Farfel. Mrs. Brunswick was there with her husband and their two doe-eyed children, staring in disbelief. The look of terror on their tiny faces was palpable. But what was all the fuss? Dennis Caldwell was on the sidewalk, nursing a twenty-four ounce can of beer tucked inside a brown paper bag. He was one of the nightly regulars over at Quick Stop, always stopping in after the bars closed for a nightcap.

“What’s going on?” Shawn asked Billy Mitchell, whose five-year-old son was clinging to his leg.

“Take a look for yourself,” Billy motioned with his head.

They were all standing there with their heads cocked back, eyes gazing skyward. Dark red storm clouds raged overhead. Shawn had never seen anything like it before in his relatively short nineteen-year life.

A terrible roar tore through the sky, and something even worse came with it.

“Look, up in the sky!” Billy Mitchell’s boy cried out.

It wasn’t a bird, it wasn’t a plane, and it sure as hell wasn’t Superman. But something loomed overhead, hiding behind those crimson clouds. Downey could just make out their vast wings, pointed tails, and what looked like talons.

His phone pinged. One text message from his mom.

It read: Shawn, no time to explain. Your father and I got detained on our way home from work. They are evacuating the city. Don’t waste any time. Get out now!

THE LAST TRAIN

Genre: Horror

 

 

 

THE LAST TRAIN

By Randy Romero

 

 

The rumble of the train jolted Alice from her slumber. She woke disoriented and bemused. She blinked rapidly as her eyes adjusting to her surrounds. She stood up and saw that the train car was empty. Row after row of padded red seats with nobody occupying a single one of them.

She had a lot of questions, but no answers. The first was, how did I end up here? The second was, where am I?

A train, obviously. She knew that much. But where was it going? And why couldn’t she remember getting on? Why couldn’t she remember anything?

She wondered if she had been drinking that night. Is that why I can’t remember anything? Did I black out?

She cupped one hand over her mouth and smelled her own breath. She couldn’t smell any alcohol.

Her first guess was that she had been out partying with Tina and Michelle. If she wasn’t drunk, she probably got really high. Tina’s boyfriend always had primo weed and one joint was all it took to send Alice into another world.

They had also discussed trying psychedelic mushrooms. Tina’s boyfriend had a connection who could get them. Did she trip out and fall asleep on her way home?

No, Alice had done shrooms in high school and she was familiar with the experience. She didn’t feel high. Her mind was clear. She wasn’t seeing or hearing anything. She didn’t feel any different. She was just confused as to how she ended up on that train.

If she was with Tina and Michelle, where were they? Another question that Alice didn’t have an answer to. Surely her best friends wouldn’t have left her alone and asleep on a train.

But Tina and Michelle weren’t always the greatest of friends. Alice wouldn’t admit that, but it wasn’t hard to notice. Alice was the odd girl out, the one who didn’t fit in. If Tina and Michelle had plans with some of the more popular girls in their school, Alice was usually left out of those arrangements. Or if they had an invite to an exclusive party, Alice rarely received that same invitation. But Alice refused to believe they would just abandon her on the subway.

She took another look around the empty train car. Nobody around to ask where they are or where they’re going. She assumed there had to be somebody on this train she could talk to.

She got up and walked to the next car, also empty. As she worked her way through, she wondered if she was all alone. It was an unsettling feeling to think she was trapped on this train by herself, with not a clue how she ended up there in the first place.

How long had she been asleep? She wondered. She patted herself down, feeling for her cell phone but couldn’t find it. She didn’t have her purse either. And she never wore a watch. She considered watches obsolete with the advancement of cellular phones. Now everyone had a watch right in their pockets. But that did her no good when her phone was missing. Maybe a watch wasn’t a bad idea after all.

The last train car was occupied. The passengers were sparse and all sitting two rows apart. She approached an elderly woman with a silk scarf tied around her neck. “Ma’am, sorry to bother you, but do you know where we are?”

The woman didn’t reply, just stared straight ahead.

“Do you know where this train is going?”

The old woman didn’t move, didn’t sigh, didn’t blink, she didn’t even seem to breathe. She stared blankly at the seat she was facing, never looking up to acknowledge Alice.

She approached the next passenger, a middle-aged man dressed in a worn out, wrinkled suit, carrying a briefcase.

“Sir, do you know where this train is heading?”

The man offered no reply.

She looked at the other passengers. A bald man in his mid-thirties, heavyset with a mustache. A woman with jet-black hair, her arm covered in scars and track marks. And a teenager wearing a sports jacket. They all shared that blank, expressionless stare. She took a seat in the back, and drew a deep breath.

Why isn’t this train stopping? It should have stopped by now. Unless…maybe I’m on an express train. But how the hell did I end up on an express train? Why won’t anyone talk to me?

“She doesn’t know why she’s here,” the old woman snickered and the other passengers laughed quietly.

I’ve got to get off this fucking train.

She walked back to one of the empty cars, sat down, caught her breath. She felt trapped, which was her biggest phobia. She didn’t like to feel stuck or boxed in.

This train didn’t seem to stop. And she couldn’t see anything outside its windows. Nothing but darkness. How long was this tunnel?

The woman with the scarf joined her. “I didn’t know what to think either when I woke up here. It’s hard to accept the truth. But we’re all here for a reason.”

“What reason might that be?”

“There’s a reason,” she assured her. “You just don’t remember it. Not yet.”

There was no shortage of psychos in New York City. Alice assumed this old woman was just another head case and decided to play along.

“And why are you here?” she asked.

The old lady unraveled her scarf, exposing the deep scar from where her throat had been slashed, a self-inflicted wound.

“Enjoy the ride while it lasts. It doesn’t get any better than this. Join us in the last car when you’re ready.”

The door to the car opened and the conductor stepped on just as the old lady stepped off, retying her scarf.

The conductor, towering over Alice, asked for her ticket.

A forked tail poked out from under his long coat. She gasped, turned away.

“I don’t have a ticket,” she said. “I’m sorry. I’m very confused. I woke up here and I don’t know how I got here. I don’t know where we’re going. I promise I’ll get off at the next stop.”

“Don’t worry about it. This one’s on the house. I know it’s confusing at first. The people in the last car, they were all confused at first too. It takes time to come to terms with it.”

“Where are we?”

“This is the last train,” he said.

“The last train to where?”

“I think deep down you know the answer to that. Try and remember how you ended up here.”

She remembered it all now. If she closed her eyes, she could almost see it. A warm bathtub. A cold razorblade. The blood draining from his wrists. The life leaving her body just as her mom made the gruesome discovery.

“I’m…I’m…”

“You passed on.”

“But why am I here?”

“You hurt a lot of people in your life, Alice. Think about the pain your mother felt when she found your body. Or when she found the drugs in your dresser. All the pain and suffering you put your family through. Was it worth it, Alice?”

“Where are we going?” she asked vehemently.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Go to hell!” she screamed.

The brakes squealed and hissed as the train came to a startling stop all on its own.

“Take a look around,” the conductor said. “We’re already here.”

IN THE SHADOWS

Genre: Horror 

 

 

 

IN THE SHADOWS

By Randy Romero

 

 

Detective Andrew Corso, a tall, lean, immaculately dressed man in his early forties, stepped out of the decaying building, looking a few shades paler. He’d seen a lot of things in his fourteen year career, but nothing could have prepared him for that.

He approached the groundskeeper, a gaunt old man with snow white hair and sallow skin. He was short and had terrible posture. He looked ancient to Andrew, who couldn’t even pinpoint his age. But the man’s age was irrelevant. Andrew’s only concern was the dead body in building three.

“You were the one who found the body?” Detective Corso asked the groundskeeper.

“Unfortunately,” the groundskeeper replied. “It’s not the first I’ve found, and sad to say, it probably won’t be the last. Teenagers love messing around in these buildings. They sneak in all the time at night. Public Safety patrols the area, but the kids usually hide their cars down the road and walk here. Public Safety will drive through, but they never search the buildings. I’m sure they’ve heard all the rumors.”

“That South Oaks is haunted?”

South Oaks was a mental institution in Fairview, Long Island. It opened in the early 1950’s and closed in the mid 90’s, and the buildings have been off limits to the public ever since. But that hasn’t stopped people from getting in. All the buildings used to be sealed and boarded up. But people kept finding ways of getting in. Eventually, the county gave up trying to seal the place off.

Public Safety do their best to keep the area clear, but kids always find a way to sneak around them. The local police rarely bothered to patrol the area.

“Uh huh,” the groundskeeper nodded. “I never believed it myself. But the shit I’ve seen over the years makes me think otherwise.”

Corso wasn’t the superstitious type. But being a detective meant believing that nothing was outside the realm of possibility. So he didn’t dismiss the groundskeepers claims, no matter how absurd they seemed. But he was interested in the facts, not the legend of South Oaks.

“Where did you find the body?”

“Building number three. The Thumper.”

“The what?”

“Kids call it The Thumper. In the daytime, it’s dead quiet. But at night, you can hear a loud thumping sound emanating from the basement as if someone or something is stomping around down there. Most kids know not to go in there when they hear that sound. Apparently not this one. Maybe his friends dared him to go in. Maybe he was feeling courageous, or stupid. All I know is he went in and it got him.”

“It?”

“The Giant. A former patient of the hospital.”

“All remaining patients were transferred to Windsor Sanitarium.”

“All living patients. The dead ones, they stayed behind.”

“You’re telling me that a spirit murdered that kid? He was tossed around that building like a ragdoll. Broke just about every bone in his body.”

“I’m aware of how crazy it sounds. But these buildings contain powerful spirits. Some spirits are harmless. They’re just lost and trying to find the light. But some spirits can leave a mark.”

Andrew hadn’t seen anything like it before. The boy, seventeen year old Matt Craven, had been thrown repeatedly into the basement walls of building three. Then someone or something hoisted him up and flung him full force into the ceiling.

Corso examined the body before speaking with the groundskeeper. Innumerable fractures and contusions. Massive blood loss. The back of his skull shattered against the basement ceiling.

“Tell me more about the buildings.”

“The Banshee is in building number four. You can hear her wailing at the top of her lungs every night, crying for her lost child that led to her being institutionalized. Building two, lots of roamers. Wandering spirits that are trapped and confused. They can’t find the light, so they stay here, doomed to roam the halls of these buildings. And don’t even get me started about building number one.”

“You found his friends hiding in building number five, right? But building five is one of the only buildings that is still all sealed up. How did they get in?”

“The tunnels. There’s a series of underground tunnels that run in between the buildings for easier access. They must’ve been in the basement with their friend in building three. They probably took off through the tunnels when they saw what was happening to him. Building five is where they used to perform the lobotomies. It was a different time when they first opened South Oaks. Back then, they thought they were helping. They didn’t know any better.”

“Show me the tunnels,” Corso demanded.

“Officer, with all due respect, you’d have to be a fool to go wandering around in those tunnels. I only go down there in the daytime, if I absolutely have to. And I mean absolutely have to. The only reason I went down there in the first place was because I heard noises in building five. Otherwise I would’ve stayed above ground.”

“I thought you said these buildings were safe in the day?”

“Some buildings are safe. But not the tunnels. Besides it’s pitch black down there.”

“I’ve got a flashlight. Lead the way.”

“Why do you want to see the tunnels so badly?”

“I need access to building five. I want to see where his friends were hiding.”

“What for?”

“Evidence. You may believe in spirits. I believe in reality, things like murder. One man couldn’t toss that kid around like that. It had to be the work of multiple people. I suspect his friends had something to do with it, but I need something to prove it.”

“Follow me,” the groundskeeper sighed. He led him past decaying structures with broken doors and busted windows, covered in vines and moss. Each one stuffed with asbestos. Each one a safety hazard. One wrong step in those buildings can mean the difference between life and death. There was the empty morgue, its body slabs ice cold. Old filing cabinets left behind that were never cleared out.

The long, narrow tunnels were dark and claustrophobic. They had to go through building four to get to building five. He climbed the steel ladder and the groundskeeper slowly followed him.

The tunnel was pitch black, just as the groundskeeper had described it. Corso’s flashlight only illuminated a small portion of the long, black tunnel. As they moved slowly through the tunnel, Corso heard something skitter past them. A rat was his first thought. He shuddered to think what else was down there. There were no openings, no ventilation system. Corso was feeling short of breath by the time they made it to building five.

The building was bare, minus a few desks and forgotten filing cabinets. The walls were decorated with graffiti. The rooms contained wired bed frames but no mattresses.

“Watch your step,” the groundskeeper warned him.

At the end of the hall, in the shadows, he saw her.

“Do you–”

“Yeah, I see her. A nurse who died here. She’s been wandering these halls ever since. I wouldn’t get too close to her. Remember, some spirits can leave a mark.”

She was a thin woman with a pallid complexion in an old fashioned white nurse’s uniform. The sight of her turned his spine to jelly. Corso heeded the groundskeepers warning and kept his distance. He tried not to move as he observed her, but he couldn’t stop himself from shaking. He watched as she silently turned a corner and disappeared down a dark corridor.

Corso took a deep breath and composed himself.

“You alright?” the groundskeeper asked.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Corso said, trying to shrug it off. They continued walking in the opposite direction of the spectral nurse.

They took a turn and the groundskeeper pointed with one bony finger.

“This is where I found them.”

The room was bare. They hadn’t left anything behind. He shined his flashlight across the walls and the floor. Not a drop of blood. They didn’t have any on their clothes either. But what had happened to their friend? There’s no way one man, or one spirit, did that much damage.

“Nothing to see here. Did you find anything else?”

He turned to face the groundskeeper, but the old man was gone. He checked the adjacent room. He checked all the other rooms on his walk back, but there wasn’t a trace of him.

When he got above ground, he breathed a tremendous sigh of relief. He walked back to building three and approached some of the officers on the scene.

“You guys seen the old man around here?” he asked two of the officers.

“Old man?” one of the officers asked.

“Yeah, the groundskeeper.”

They stared, mystified. “Groundskeeper? What groundskeeper?”

If Andrew Corso didn’t believe in ghosts before, he did now.