The Icebound Clocktower and Other Noise Inspired Stories

The Asylum

Dark World, Healing Trees, Deserted

The pitch black is lit only by the beam of a flashlight gripped tightly by the side. Footsteps tap down on the dusty stone floor, skidding marginally on small discrepancies, chips from the eroding cinderblock walls covered in peeling pale yellow paint.

A door creaks open. It's not quite obvious where, and there's no one else here.

Hanging chains and bits of metal swing, doors shift, screeching their protest. If trying to logic away the phenomena, then it's possible it could just be wind? Drafts? Gurneys and wheelchairs seem to roll around just to prove confusing. One has been seen creaking to a halt just as the light lands on it.

And the whispers.

Oh god the whispers.

No matter where the light lands it has not ended up revealing a single soul. But they're still there, in the peripheral hearing. Is that a real thing? Well, it's like that. Always just quiet enough to be swinging between real and imagined. Like a shadow out of the corner of the eye. Speaking of which...

Having followed the noise of the door, a tunnel has been revealed. Was it locked before? Who knows? There's a faded 'Staff Only' sign on the door, but the warnings cannot be made out. There are deep grooves in the metal... scratches. Like something big was trying to get out. Inside the flashlight only reaches so far. Water drips from ceiling pipes, and there is a bit of a metal wheel visible. Leaning a little further, but not quite crossing the door's threshold into the depths beyond, it is found that it is indeed, just another gurney, with the same silent-hill-y straps and odd stains and rust. This probably used to lead to a morgue or something... Something cold brushes past and the mind goes foggy for the briefest of seconds, then back into focus. The gurney rolls away, out of sight, and it's almost like it wants someone to follow.

This is the point where the audience of a horror movie would bemoan the protagonist's intelligence. Up until this point that's been kept well in mind. The door will shut the moment it can, locking them in, forcing them to follow the path to their untimely demise. Perfectly timely, actually, if they're that stupid as to do it. That's just natural selection at work there, with supernatural undertones.

Turn around.

Leave, in fact.

This was a pointless venture.

For a second there's hesitation, but that pit looks unsafe at every angle. Turning to go...

...the door to the tunnel slams with a loud clang!

There's nothing to do but stand there foolishly, wondering why there was now a good three feet distance from the door on the wrong side. It's locked, like expected. Don't they always lock? It takes a second to realize something changed, or rather, gone away...

The whispers.

It's dead silent now. Somehow that's worse than before. The air's colder, the water forms a little stream that turns the tap tap of the footsteps into splick splick. And there's nothing left... to... do... but...

See what's farther down...

Literally carrying nothing other than the stupid bulky flashlight with five other settings that are all pretty much useless. Well... that and spare batteries. No sense in bring something silly like a phone when spare batteries could be taken, right? Suppose there's no cheating the ending to these sorts of things. When the horror movie game is played, it's played all the way. No wussing out.

About ten or so feet into the tunnel, the gurney appears again, just out of sight. Again, it rolls away. Think you can just make out a figure pulling it... no. No. No it's probably on an incline...

 Yes, it absolutely is on some kind of angle and is going downhill. Shut it. God, obviously.

A door is discovered. It is a supply closet. Another door is found... this one looks like a hospital room like there are elsewhere but...

Something snags as the room is entered. It feels... plastic. Slimy. Even after all these years the distinct yellow can be made out... but it's not just caution tape...

—TION POLI—

It's all over the place, and it doesn't take a detective to deduce something terrible happened here. The floors here are checkered with stained little tiles still shining with water, but there's a drain it goes down. It smells like mildew and something... unidentifiable. Antiseptic? Odd. The door doesn't slam and lock, thankfully, and this prompts further investigation of the room.

Take all the time needed, we both know where it goes from here.

There's a weird feeling around the room, an unnatural sort of... groggy sense of fear. The center of the room is a lamp illuminating a table with a sheet over it... it's strangely lumpy... like... oh god.

There's a body, but it looks small, and the stomach moves up and down as if it's breathing. Without thinking, the sheet is yanked away with unnecessary force... nothing there.  The sheet floats to the floor, and the first instinct is to run a hand over the table, to determine, beyond a doubt, that there is indeed nobody there.

The surface still feels warm.

Empty restraints hang off the table, years out of use yet nowhere near as rotten and rusted-looking as the others seen earlier tonight. This wasn't worth the excitement. There wasn't supposed to be a real ghost. The tray next to it still has tools on it, hooks and scalpels and sharp things that put the imagination to work in the worst ways. A lamp hangs over it, almost at eye level when standing up straight. It hums with electricity, but the power hasn't been supplied to this place in over twenty years. It's ice cold.

Once the scare is over, the lamp flickers a little and goes out, plunging the place into pure darkness for a second as the flashlight is hastily flicked through all four settings and back until it's on its normal one. There's a small creeeaaak from the doorway. The gurney is there, and it's no doubt that it wasn't there before... meaning it had to go 'uphill' to get here.

What use was denial anymore?

... And it rolls away.

Seen enough, now get moving. 

Back to the tunnel.

It's freezing now. Fifteen minutes down the tunnel stops. The gurney sits in front of a pair of white double doors. It's finally able to be approached. Like the doors that locked shut what seemed like hours ago, these are covered in claw marks up and down. The gurney's rusty and, now that it's up close its stains are darker than water or mold can manage. There are straps on this thing as well, unsecured and swaying in a wind that isn't there. The metal's so cold it stings to touch. Without warning, the doors swing open and the gurney charges through, yanking one by the hand still, most unfortunately, gripping it.

There's barely a second to look around the 'empty' room before the flashlight flickers.

Oh god no.

Despite crude persuasion, it dims, and then dies.

No not now, please not now!

Fumbling with the spare batteries it's a race to cram them in the right way 'round and flick it on.

Yes!

There's a moment of giddy elation until looking up.

There's a face... and there's time to register that it's a woman's face...

And it's very, very close.

The flashlight goes out.