Michal
eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
She's gone. I'm too late.
Nolan and Vena come up behind me, silently taking in the empty room. An old oil lamp is hanging on a wall, the plaster cracking and crippling to the floor. The room is about the size of a large closet, and it's barren aside from some dust bunnies and what looks like a dead rat in the corner.
I grip Maggie's bat anxiously.
"Right," I mutter. I bite my lower lip and shake my head.
Why does she have to run off like that?
"Stay here," I tell them. "I'll go look around and see if I can find Maggie."
"Uh, no," Vena says. "No way. Nolan can stay, but I'm going with you."
"I'm not staying!" Nolan says defensively.
I sigh irritably and shrug. Whatever. I tried.
"Stay close, then. And be quiet," I whisper, sneaking toward the open door.
I carefully peek around the bend.
Sure enough, this must be some kind of closet. I'm looking out into a wider room, consisting of old wooden chairs, desks, cobwebs, shelving units--some kind of office for several workers. Of course, it doesn't look like it's been used for a long time. There is debris scattered all over the tile floor, papers everywhere--there's even various office supplies that have been left behind: pen nibs, erasers, staplers, and paper clips. This place had been left in a hurry.
"It's freezing in here," Vena chatters as we step out into the office, shivering uncontrollably.
I pull my collar closer to my neck, noticing the clouds of breath that hang in the chilly air.
"Then go back to the lodge," Nolan mutters.
"It wouldn't be that much warmer," I shoot back. I clench my teeth and hold the bat even tighter to keep my hands from shaking.
"Whoa, look at this," Vena says, pointing at an old black safe sitting against a wall.
The door is dented severely, and a rusty crowbar is lying on the floor. With one easy motion, my brother swings the door open. Someone had already broken into it.
Vena crouches down and squints into the opening. "See any money?"
Nothing. There are only yellowed folders and documents left in here.
"Nope," Nolan tells her, rifling through the papers.
"They must be important, though. Important enough to be kept in a safe," I say.
I reach inside and pull out a stack of what first appears to be index cards bound together with rubber bands. I step into the doorway of the closet so I can use the light of the oil lamp to read.
"Name cards," I mutter, flipping through them and glancing at the faded time stamps. These are what they used to clock into work back in the early to mid 1900s.
Sure enough, the date on one is December 14, 1953. I squint at the company name in the left-hand corner: Hitchwood Mining Co.
Mining? Well, I guess I shouldn't be surprised. I'll just add abandoned underground mining tunnels to the list of what makes these mountains so creepy.
A strange whine echoes into the office room, and we all grow very still.
"Did you hear that?" Vena asks in a whisper that's just barely audible. Her eyes are as round as saucers.
"It sounded like a door opening," I whisper back.
Nolan digs out his phone and shines the light toward an open doorway. Small windows that spy into the hallway reflect the light, but they are too frosted over to reveal anything.
Vena slaps my brother on the arm and tears his phone away, shutting out the light.
"Are you an idiot?" she spits out, giving him a glare. She glances at the open doorway, then back at us with wide eyes. "He's here."
A shudder runs down my spine. My heart picks up the beat as I inch forward, holding Maggie's bat out.
Maybe it's her. Maybe she's just a few feet from us. Maybe it's Isabella, or Della--or a rat? It could be anything, right?
I hold my breath as I poke my head through the doorway. The hallway is almost pitch-black. Wooden benches sit against the walls, the floor is checkered, and various doors lead to what I assume are other offices. Nothing stirs. Nothing moves. No shadows are jumping our way.
I let myself draw in a shallow breath.
"Come on," I tell them quietly.
I peek into another office, and I can't help but notice the front page headline of an aged newspaper lying on the desk: HITCHWOOD MINE COLLAPSE, SEVERAL WORKERS MISSING
The date? January 1954.
"Great. This place is totally haunted," Vena says right behind me.
I slide past her and Nolan and enter the hallway again, walking slowly to a bend. "Where would Maggie have gone?" I mutter.
"Uh, she'd probably go to the morgue," my brother answers simply.
I stop walking and slowly turn around to see where he's standing. Having retrieved his phone from Vena, he's shining it on a rectangular sign on the wall, pointing down the opposite way of the hall.
In bold lettering, it reads: MORGUE
My gut lurches. What would a morgue be doing at an office building?
"No way!" Vena says, shaking her head. "There is no way we're going down to a morgue!"
But it does seem like a place that Maggie would be interested in checking out, right? Her curiosity would get the better of her.
"That's it. We're going back," Vena says after she sees that I'm considering the possibility. "Come on. Let's go!"
"Don't you want to find your sister?" Nolan asks, raising an eyebrow.
Vena shakes her head. "Nope. Not doing it. Don't care. If we go down in the morgue, I'm pretty sure we're going to die and--"
Something growls somewhere down the hall.
My breath catches in my throat. I take a step back in alarm.
Nolan bolts from his position.
"HEY!" Vena shouts, and I spin on my heels to follow him.
We all find ourselves sprinting in the direction of the morgue, whether we like the idea or not. I'm not about to stick around and find out exactly what is growling at the other end of the hall.
We fly down a rickety stairwell and slam shut the first door we come across.
"That was close," I say breathlessly, waiting for my heart to slow down. "Too close."
"What was it?" Nolan asks me.
I shrug my shoulders. "I don't know."
We slowly turn to face our new surroundings. An overturned wheelchair sits on the floor. There are several rusty metallic carts lying around, a gurney, a doorway leading into another room, and--
I stop short, halting my brother from going any further.
A heavy curtain is drawn closed, concealing a smaller room off to the side. I could just be seeing things, but I think I just saw it move slightly.
"What? What is it?" Nolan whispers.
I point over to the dark curtain.
"There's someone there," I mouth silently to him. Vena watches me with wide eyes.
I lead with the baseball bat, inching toward the curtain with every ounce of caution. My gut is screaming at me to stop. To turn around and run. I feel Vena touch my shoulder, as if to signal me not to do it. But where else could we go? With some kind of wild animal stalking the hallway upstairs, we only really have one safe option: continue.
We can't safely pass this room without knowing what's on the other side of that curtain.
I reach out with my left hand and carefully grab hold of the dusty, cotton material. I take a deep breath, focusing on my trembling fingers.
Please be Maggie please be Maggie please be Maggie.
I jerk the curtain aside, and the metallic rings on the rod above my head clink together as a cloud of dust rains down on me.
No one. It's empty.
The area is about the size of a closet. An observation window encompasses the back wall. On one side is a disturbing wooden chair with leather restraints bound to the arms and legs. Some kind of sticky substance sits on the seat, staining the surface. There are a couple flies that are crawling around, making a repulsive zzzing sound.
I heave and look away.
Nolan covers his mouth with the crook of his arm. Vena makes a gagging sound.
"Sick, just sick," Vena sputters.
"I wonder what happened here," I mutter, giving the chair a second glance.
That's when I notice that the other wall is covered in a series of smudged red handprints that are dry and cracking from age. Someone had written a desperate message in...
...in what appears to be blood.
"Beware the howler," Vena reads slowly as Nolan shines his light on the splattered lettering. She turns to me with a grim expression. "What's the howler?"
....................................
Next chapter: Photographed
When he stands back up, he's holding a dark object in his hands. A camera.
Ralph's camera.