"Don't tell me you're falling in love with him."
"What?!" I exclaimed, my ears ringing from her choice of words.
"Listen, I'm jumping to conclusions here because you're not giving me anything to work with." She shrugs, "All I know is that you guys had a fuss in the hospital and that's it. Next thing I know, you're telling me you have a homeless dude under your bed. Like I know I've been sent to a therapy clinic, but Jesus Christ Adrianne, this is a little too much. I'm sorry!"
I take a moment to listen to her rant, suppressing the bees from taking over my ears. "I-It's fine, it's my fault anyway." I suck in the smoke emitting from the safe tip, shaking off the almost venomous remark.
"How's the little guy doing anyway?"
"I found him sleeping on my bed when I got home yesterday." I sigh, "He said he went back through my window and didn't get caught. I just told him not to make a habit of it."
"Where's he now?"
"Left him in my room, Uncle Ron drove me to school earlier and I wasn't going to bring him along with the storm."
"Damn, I was really hoping he'd just disappear."
I ignore her remark, knowing I wished the same thing.
"Did she call you or . . Anything?" I stutter, impatiently tapping the tip of the stick in between my fingers.
"Not at all." She says, "Been texting her all night and all I got for a response is a smiley face. Georgie doesn't send smiley faces, Adrianne. When she does, usually there's something wrong."
"Did you see her today?"
"In Trig. But she just reminded me about the meet up in the cafeteria, which was your dog's idea by the way, I'm surprised she even agreed."
I tried stopping myself from worrying too much, biting back the questions pooling at the back of my mouth about the absolute anxiety I've been having for twenty four hours. "H-how about . . How about the guys?"
"Dalton was pretty shocked, I definitely know that." She nods, "Dustin was shocked too, he's been texting me about it all night and I'm kind of sick of it. Grant could care less and Brylle is also pissed."
Another person not so fond of Arthur and the football team was Brylle. When we were sharing unfortunate experiences in a circle, he once told us about the entire group teaming up on him in the boys'locker rooms and taking pictures of him while he showers and selling his naked pictures on craigslist. Apparently they advertised him to be looking for a relationship, and some of the people interested blackmailed him for his nudes, threatening to leak them on facebook if he didn't agree to their terms. As expected Brylle was traumatized, he was only fifteen when it happened and from there on he had always been cautious.
"But you don't need to worry about them." She nudges me playfully on my elbow, a crooked smile curved on her maroon coloured lips. "You know them, they act like little bitches on the first day but eventually they'll understand. They're not going to murder you or anything they're not your cousins. I don't know about Georgie, though."
"What do you think should I do?"
"Even if you kneel in front of her, she's not going to cool down any time soon." She claims, genuine concern written across her visage. "So just give her space for now. This is a big deal anyway, she's not just going to accept him because you said so, they have history."
They have history.
"Did Georgie ever mention?" I dare to question, heat rising to the back of my head like something was breathing on my hair and listening.
"Mention what?"
"The history." I muttered, the stick dangling on my fingers. I know for a fact Jumper don't know anything about the history, or anything about the matter. We were as clueless as everyone else, but part of me stays pondering with the idea that perhaps Georgie just didn't want to tell me. Because she knew I wasn't good enough. It was a corruptive thought I should get rid of, but with everything I have done it would be justified.
"Adrianne, you know Georgie doesn't like talking about it with anyone, why on earth would she tell me?" She shakes her head, face scrunched up in confusion as she stared at me. The bell rang across the hallways, snapping both of us back into reality. "I better get going . . " She sighs, the same cold sensation of loneliness spreading back into my chest. She steps in closer, placing a hand over my shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. "Don't worry about them anymore, alright? They're fine. I'll see you at lunch." Before I could even comprehend, she was walking out of my sight, her black platform boots squeaking against the floors.
I stood there still, the lit up cigarette halfway done in my hand. I didn't want her to go. Hell, I didn't even want to go to class anymore for it feels like I was suffocating myself again. I'm beyond certain my grades are falling, and it was worrying that I didn't care when Uncle Ron does. I would rather talk further about Georgie than pretend I was alright sitting on an armchair while my best friend remains to despise me. Nonetheless, a part of me is relieved by Jumper's statement. It's better than nothing, and it's absolutely better than jumping into conclusions for the rest of the day.
As soon as other students flooded the hallways, I walked off, heading somewhere other than my next class. Uncle Ron is going to be pissed if he even finds out, but it's not like he was going to. As long as I don't bump into any of the twins, I was good. I make sure to throw away the stick out of the windows before someone sees, shoving my hand into the pocket of my denim jacket. People in Hillside Highschool weren't the most conservative, but they still cared about smoking and drugs and I didn't want to add another problem to the mountain behind me. My mind wanders back to yesterday, the background noise of people buzzing behind me melting to be replaced by static.
I still couldn't get my head off what Georgie said about Bill, and the connection of my issue with Mortimer's, or if they're even connected in the first place. I choose to think otherwise. Bill wasn't Beatrice, or a demon for that matter. He was just some homeless person who happens to be in the same place at the same time. For days I've been thinking about it endlessly, but never in those times have I thought he was a supernatural entity like what she was implying. I've only known him for two days, but it wasn't difficult to dismiss the idea. And even if it's the truth, it can't be the explanation for the visions I've been having and the nightmares. Chills run down my spine everytime I simply recall her story about her uncle and grandmother, and the possible connections. It wasn't just a coincidence that they all lead back to the hospital, is it?
There was only one way to find out.
I quickened my pace through the corridors, heading towards the library. It was crowded today, students with research for their fifth periods seated in front of the computers, while others drowned themselves in books on top of the tables. Yesterday I was in the same spot, freezing my balls off while attempting to avoid Arthur. This time I didn't have to worry about that. He was far far away and I had another hour before I see him again in the cafeteria. It was cold inside like yesterday, but now I've come fully prepared. I take off my backpack and pull out a chair in front of one of the empty cubicles, sitting down and checking my surroundings before opening the computer.
Because of the international fame Hillside Cross Station Hospital have gained over the last one hundred years, almost everything about it; starting from the duration of its active years to the suicide incidents, have been documented all throughout the internet by either renowned historians, or simply people who knew a lot about its history. If anything, it was a tourist spot for people who wanted to experience the dread residents have felt since the day it burned down. Even famous paranormal television shows have covered it and ghost hunted each corner of the premises, finding all sorts of signs that the people were right, like the hundreds of cases of suicides weren't enough. It was an insult to the victims, and an insult to the residents so since then they've prohibited tv stations from going in, but if course that wasn't enough to stop curiosity from taking over.
As soon as I typed in the word Hillside, I was bombarded with all sorts of auto complete phrases, the most searched one being Hillside Cross Station which wasn't a surprise. I clicked on it, almost one hundred million results greeting me. The first batch of results were all articles about the hospital, one of them being about the anniversary since it burned down, another about the petitions to make it a national landmark. I scrolled down the first page with a cautious eye reading carefully through the headlines, when I find the official article for Pamela's death. A wave of grief hits me as I sat in front of the blinding monitor, Arthur's face flashing into my thoughts. I ignore the urge to click, continuing on scrolling down until I get another familiar article, this time it was the article I saw of Sarah.
Eventually I found a Wikipedia page dedicated to the hospital, immediately clicking on it. Next to what seemed to be an endless stream of words documenting when it was first built and the purpose of the hospital, was a black and white photograph of the building before it was eaten by the fire that killed everyone inside it. It was actually decent. White columns and white walls, a huge cross on top of the building which gave it its name. The people who built it wanted it to look like a church so patients would feel safer in the hospital, and they felt like they could actually heal even though they were one cough away from death. Most of the patients were victims of the flu, tuberculosis and pneumonia, almost everyone of which died. Only a couple of people only ever get cured, same with most hospitals back then.
Now that I've thought about it, I haven't actually seen it unruined. All the stuff I've seen from the internet were pictures of it only recently, all ominous and haunted with white apparitions and orbs. Apparently those pictures are all photoshopped, and the real ones are all tucked hidden in one site. The site Arthur was talking about when we were inside. I don't dare to search what it is, scrolling further down the Wikipedia page and quickly reading through everything I already know. On the bottom part of the seemingly endless article were the related terms and links, most of which intriguing my senses.
- Hillside Cross Station victim list
× Hillside Cross Station ghosts
× Hillside Cross Station rituals
× Hillside Cross Station patients
× Hillside Cross Station employees
× Eyeless Witch
× Hillside Curse
× Hillside Cross Station demon
× HCS real stories
I click on the "victim list" slightly surprised it even came up. As far as I know, cops don't really like releasing any of the stuff reported to them about the suicides, but people find it anyway and spread it across the internet. As soon as the page was finished loading, I was greeted by an extensive list of names and pictures and causes of death, my heart beginning to race inside my chest.
"Felicity Montgomery, 17, died of severe skull fracture after jumping off the third floor window in 19o2." the first one stated. Apparently she was the first victim since it burned down, an ancient picture attached next to her brief summary.
I continued further down, my index finger rolling the mouse as hundreds of pictures only kept on loading. It felt weird reading through them, like I was relentlessly invading their privacy for the sake of my peace of mind, because I can't bare the idea of dying. It was absolutely wrong. They were all dead because of the building, and I shouldn't know why. If I were to be on the same page, I wouldn't want some random person scrolling through for relief that they're not one of us. But I wasn't feeling relief. If anything, puke rose in my esophagus the longer I read how they died. One burnt themself alive, one smashed their head into the walls, one snapped their neck and in the 1980's a group of friends were all found dead in the same night inside after doing a ritual.
I didn't know why I was still reading, but I didn't stop, eternity passing before I finally see familiar faces. The most recent ones were all students from Hillside Highschool, some of them I had classes with two years ago. Then Pamela. "Pamela Darlene Mitchell, 17, died of blood loss after slitting her wrists with a swiss army knife in 2017." a photograph also attached next to the article. It was a different picture from the one I've seen on most sites, it was a picture of her smiling, not the the point where her teeth were showing, but just enough to show happiness.
She couldn't have possibly killed herself, right? But to assume such a thing disrespects the idea of what if she did? I didn't know her enough to assume she wasn't depressed or mentally unstable, and basically just thinking twice about her death was wrong yet there I was.
Has Arthur ever felt the need to read through the articles for the sake of seeing his girlfriend again? I didn't know, nonetheless, I'm certain I avoided every single bit of the news and the people sending their condolences for Hannah and Connor's death. Perhaps he felt the same, and maybe that was a good idea. The stuff posted on the internet about Pamela weren't only the facts about what happened to her, ridiculous conspiracy theories also circulated. I couldn't care less about them, but one of them was the theory that Arthur was there on the night of the ritual and that he wanted her to die so he could break up with her. No boyfriend would ever want to see such a statement from strangers who don't know the truth. Not when it's only been a week since she was buried. After all, the rumours in the school are enough, he didn't need another batch of even more far-fetched stuff.
I clicked off the site, taking a moment to breathe as I was directed back to the Wikipedia page. Only then did I realize the icy cold in my palms, my insides trembling from the a.c blasting above my head. I hugged my jacket over my torso, continuing on to the next link, "HCS real stories" It wasn't too long before I was greeted with another site, however, instead of the plain old white theme, this time it was mildly decorated. Kind of like something you would see in a site for stories and documentaries. And that was exactly what it is.
"This site is purely dedicated for those who have stories to share about the haunted one hundred and seventeen year old hospital, Hillside Cross Station, located in Hillside Pennsylvania. The following are nothing but raw and genuine statements about the survivors who have cheated the seemingly endless stream of killings and suicides happening in town. Please note, that the following people may or may not be alive at the moment you are reading this. Do you have a story? Let us know via e-mail."
As my fingers moved downward the mouse, there were hundreds articles, claiming that they escaped the monstrosities of the hospital, but not the entities lurking inside it. I didn't know most of the people who wrote. They all came from different parts of town, some of which I have never been in which was a surprise. The pack have been in all sorts of places in Hillside, but apparently not this one. One which caught my attention the most is an article by a girl only named Elloise Shawshank. Apparently she lived near, about two miles away.
"I don't know if I should even be documenting this on this site. I don't want anyone close to me to know I have done this, and I don't think I'll ever tell anyone.
It was about nine p.m on a Sunday night. I was supposed to be home, but my friends and I have been planning this for a while, and there was no way I'm going to cancel just because my parents have a curfew around the house. I told my sister I was going somewhere with my friends but I didn't tell her where even though she insisted. She watched me sneak out of the window and kept her mouth shut.
My friends and I met up near the hospital by the woods. We were plentier than we initially planned. A few people heard about our mission and decided to tag along. I had a few complains, but they weren't having that. We weren't about to fight in the middle of ten p.m so we continued on with the plan anyway. There were exactly fourteen of us as we entered the door, and immediately we were all fucking terrified. A few jokes were thrown around by the guys, we had a few laughs.
The anniversary of the was just around the corner so there were a lot of melted candles on the entrance by people who wanted to pay respect. The entrance of the hospital was just like how we see it on the internet so it was a bit familiar and for a moment there was comfort in the air.
But it didn't stay like that after three hours of wandering and making jokes. We figured we shouldn't be making jokes in a building solely standing as the most deadly place on hillside. We camped somewhere around the basement of the hospital which was very fucking creepy by the way. We haven't even started the Ouija session and my friends were already hearing voices. The scariest part was, they were all saying different things. One person from my group began having a panic attack. Her friend tried calling her down which thankfully worked, but since then she had been a big problem. We transferred to the second floor and there we began the session.
At first there was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. We asked the most common questions. "Is someone there?" and "If you've got anything to say move the glass." we tried a couple more questions until my friend joked around about asking if they were sad the hospital burnt down. So we went with that. Then the planchet moved. We were all so hyped over it, we forgot to spell out what it was saying.
That was when it started. We asked it if we were going to die. The answer was dead yes. We thought it was just one of us moving the planchette so we moved on with the ritual we wanted to perform in the first place. I'm not going on the specifics of what ritual we performed in fear of people finding out about my true identity. Nonetheless I'm certain we didn't research enough.
We didn't research the ritual enough so basically we didn't know what we were getting ourselves into. It began raining heavily outside, and the wind inside the hospital was ice cold. We thought the ritual was fake and stupid and we were planning to leave when we heard screaming downstairs. We didn't leave anyone behind, and as far as we were aware, there was no one in the basement. The first instinct was to bolt out of there for the sake of not fucking dying. One of my friends suggested we check it out because apparently, it was one of the steps in the ritual, direct contact with the entity. Most of the responses he got were disagreements, nonetheless, we figured the ritual wasn't going to work if we chickened out so we had to face reality.
We began venturing back downstairs. We were restless while we were going down the stairs. The floors upstairs were creaking, we were hearing whispers, and the screaming in the basement only got louder to the point where we could pinpoint who it was coming from. It was a male voice. He wasn't saying anything, he just kept on screaming.
Suddenly one of us stumbled on a weak peg and fell down a flight of stairs. We were all terrified at this point, even the ones doubting the entire thing. When we got to her she was saying something about how someone pushed her, accusing one of us of doing it and getting mad. We swore on our lives we didn't do such a thing, but she didn't believe us. For a moment we dove into a series of unspoken arguments. Everyone was screaming and everyone was angry. We were all angry for the wrong reasons. The thing was, the ritual worked and we didn't even know as we yelled bloody murder at each other. Some of us got physical to the point of scratching each other. It only stopped when one got dragged into the dark.
| Hey guys! sorry I've been gone for an entire month, school is absolutely killing me rn and I needed to do shit other than writing.| I'm still in the middle of fixing my grades but I just thought I'd update for the sake of you :) Also, I'm officially 17 today which is a big deal lol, i totally don't feel like I'm 17 yikes. Thanks for reading and I hope y'all enjoyed this chap ❤|