Hm. I'm not sure about this one so far...it's not haunty enough. I mean, yeah, I've got to set it up a little bit more first...but I want more haunty stuff. Only problem is, I can't write it as creepy as I imagine it :(
Guess I'll just have to write a whole lot of ghostie stuff and practice :P Mwahaha.
Oh, by the way, this story isn't set in my usual little world...it's kind of a stand alone thing, so that way I get to kill Joes off! ...not that I like the idea, but hey: ghosty story. Has to happen. :D
Anyway...yeah. Next chapter should see things set up properly and a little more haunting starting to happen! And thanks for the reviews!
"So…if there's any, uh…spirits in here with us, make yourself known to us," Zack said, glancing sideways at the red point of light on Jessie's video camera as she pointed it at him. "Um…please?"
"You're so polite, Zackie," Jessie said, sniggering.
Zack swept his own camera around the small, empty room. He and the Goth-wannabe nervously stood in one of the tiny cells on the third floor of Massey's Asylum - one of the cells previously inhabited by some of the crazier residents of the hospital. It was absolutely pitch black in here; there were no windows.
Zack felt his heart pounding against his ribs as he scanned the cell. It was dusty and dirty. Pieces of the roof had fallen and lay in chunks on the dusty floor. A single light fixture hung from the high ceiling, the bulb long shattered. Long shreds of rotted padding hung from the walls. A bed - a gurney, really, it had wheels - with a disintegrating mattress sat crookedly in the middle of the floor. Zack tried not to look at the shackle-style restraints hanging off the sides.
Why? Why did he let himself get talk into this again? Every time, he told himself it would be the last. He didn't like sneaking around creepy old houses and deserted old hospitals in the middle of the night.
He sighed to himself. Who was he kidding? He was whipped, even if nobody else saw it. If Jessie asked him to go with her to a creepy old house or deserted old hospital in the middle of the night, he was there.
He snuck another glance at her. She was slowly turning on the spot, filming the tiny box they stood in. The stud piercing in her nose glinted in the soft light from the camera screen.
She was twenty-four, two years younger than he was. They'd met last year; both were friends of Hannah's.
"Make a noise, or something?" she called suddenly, making him jump. "Touch one of us. Smack Zack over the head!"
Zack glared at her. She grinned back at him and stuck her tongue out. He shook his head.
"Come on, do something!" Jessie called again.
They waited for a few momentsin silence. Zack realised he was holding his breath - he let it out in a quiet sigh.
He and Jessie turned sharply to each other. "Was that you?" Zack asked.
Jessie shook her head, dark eyes wide. She lifted her arms - she'd taken all her bangles off before they left the base room.
Zack reluctantly panned the room with his camera. The shackle-like restraints hanging from the bed were swinging slightly. "Jess, did you -"
She shook her head, dumbfounded.
"Neither did I."
They stared at each other for a couple seconds. Then, at the same time, they bolted for the door.
"…and the chains were swinging! Just swinging, all on their own!"
Hannah glanced at Ash, barely able to hide a grin. Still, she had to check. "Are you sure neither of you touched them? Did you bump the bed?"
"Swear to God, no," Zack's breathless voice answered. "We were standing right next to each other, and Jessie said 'do something', and we were just about to leave when we heard it!"
"Sounds promising, Han." Ash looked up at Hannah as she stood beside him, one hand on his broad shoulder.
She nodded and keyed the walkie talkie. "Alright. Head back, me and Ash wanna go check out the autopsy room.
"Ten-four, Red Leader."
Hannah sat the walkie talkie on the makeshift table of upturned crates - which until an hour ago had held their equipment - and turned to Ash.
Ash wasn't what most people expected. When they looked at him, they saw the typical, stereotyped jock - big muscles, small brain, all-round asshole.
They couldn't have been more wrong - he was studying to be a psychiatrist, and was, so far, in the top of his class.
And he was looking at her with one eyebrow raised.
"The autopsy room?" he asked.
She chuckled. "You're not scared, are you?" she teased, turning to pick her camera up.
Ash grabbed her hand and pulled her back onto his lap, his big arms encircling her waist. One hand slipped between her thighs.
"Ash." She jabbed an elbow gently into his ribs.
"Come on…why don't we put that camera to good use?" he murmured. His hands pushed up underneath Hannah's She-Ra t-shirt.
"If we get something good tonight," Hannah said, shifting her hips just enough to make him moan quietly, "maybe I'll let you borrow it."
"Mmm. Will you wear that blue thong I got you?"
"I'll wear anything you want."
She felt him shake with silent laughter. "Naughty nurse?"
"As a psychiatrist -"
"In training," he interjected.
"- what does that say about you?"
Ash withdrew his hands and lifted her off his lap. "What does any of this say about any of us?"
Hannah opened her mouth to answer, but something on one of the two laptops sitting on the crate table before them. Each screen was split into four sections - one for each of the static cameras set up throughout the asylum.
She'd seen something moving in one of the corners. "Hey, did you see that?" Hannah pointed to the screen.
Ash leaned forward. "See what?" he asked, all business now.
Hannah stuck her hand right up close to the computer screen, squinting. It had only been a small movement, at the end of one of the corridors. "It was…I dunno. It looked like…like three shadows. Like three people, or something."
He leaned down next to her, snatching up the walkie talkie. "Zack, Jess, where are you guys?"
It crackled back at him. "Almost home. Turning the corner now."
"Have you passed any of the static cams in the last minute or so?"
Hannah looked at Ash excitedly, resisting the urge to jump up and down.
He looked back. "I think you might be onto something."
This place was fucking creepy as all hell. Cobra trooper Williams looked around uneasily as he and his two comrades crept through the building, night vision goggles lighting up the world in ghostly green.
"I tell ya, man, this place ain't right," said the second man, Johnson.
"Shut up," the third blue suit - a stern, no-nonsense older man called Clark - snapped. His voice was loud, echoing through the corridors.
"I'm just sayin'," Johnson insisted. "Don't you think? Feels kinda…ooky."
Williams turned. "'Ooky'?" he repeated, eyebrows raised.
"Can it, man, you know what I mean."
And there was the problem. Williams did know what Johnson meant…because he felt it himself. As soon as he'd stepped inside, he'd felt it: the air was…heavier. It felt kind of like walking into Cobra Commander's throne room, only worse.
Much worse. This was an entirely different sense of psycho.
He gripped his .45 a little tighter and loosened the k-bar in its sheath on his thigh, then turned to Clark.
Only Clark wasn't there.
Williams turned to Johnson. "Where'd he go?"
"Huh?" Johnson spun. "Wha - he was right behind me a second ago!"
Williams looked up and down the hall, then glanced in the open doorway of the large room they'd just passed. He even looked behind the door, just in case the old asshole was pranking them.
Yeah. Right. Clark was as much of a prankster as Williams was…well, not scared shitless.
"Williams…" Johnson's voice floated in through the door. Williams poked his head out of the room and looked at the other trooper.
Johnson's face - beneath the helmet and the NVGs - was white. He pointed to the floor.
Williams followed Johnson's finger to the footprints on the dusty floor. For about a five metre stretch, there were only two sets - theirs.
But then - between where the three sets of boot prints became two - there was something Williams didn't understand.
It looked like -
Johnson stared. "Are they…drag marks?"
Williams gulped. "Uh…"
They sure looked like it. A double set of lines cutting through the thick dust, leading toward a closed door on the other side of the corridor.
Williams hadn't heard a thing.
"Joes?" Johnson mouthed.
It was the only explanation, right? Only the Joes could've taken Clark like that, right?
Williams tilted his head toward the door. Johnson nodded, and both men crept quietly down the corridor, guns up. Williams noticed that neither of them stood on the drag marks.
They stood on either side of the door, glancing at each other. Williams put his hand on the doorknob, took a deep breath, counted to three…and slammed the door open.
"The fuck?" Williams muttered.
The room was empty. The drag marks stopped in the middle of the room. There was no sign of Clark.
"I don't get it," Johnson said. "There's no -"
The door slammed shut. Williams whirled around and grabbed for the doorhandle - only there was none. "Hey! Hey, who's out there? Let us out! Hey!"
He looked around as Johnson grabbed his elbow. "What?" he spat.
When Johnson spoke next, his voice was barely audible. "I…think there's someone else in here…"
"There's nobody -"
A black figure flickered at the edge of Williams' vision. Without hesitation, he raised his gun and fired, but when he turned to look directly at it, the figure vanished.
Johnson was clutching his arm tightly, almost painfully. "We have to go we have to get outta here we gotta go…"
"We're going, Johnson, we just have to bust the door down. You gotta help, man, I can't do it on my own."
Johnson didn't answer. Williams looked around at him - only to see the man standing unnaturally rigidly, his head back, mouth open. A thin line of blood, black in the green night vision world, trickled from his mouth.
Williams made a small squeaking sound.
The black figured flickered in the corner of his eye. Williams spun to face it, emptying his clip into the wall. Again, the figure had vanished.
Williams panicked, throwing himself against the door, clawing at it, his heart pounding, blood roaring in his ears.
He stopped when he felt it. A heavy, cold feeling, right behind him. He turned.
This time, the black figure was right beside him.
Storm Shadow almost froze when he heard the scream. Beside him, Scarlett did freeze - something that happened only rarely.
Tommy Arashikage had heard plenty of screams in his time. Had been the cause of plenty of them, too. But he'd never heard a scream like that before.
It was a scream of fear - pure, absolute, piss-in-your-pants fear.
Scarlett looked at him. He shrugged; he didn't know what the hell, either.
He did know he didn't like this place. It was…oppressive. He felt like he was being watched, but he couldn't hear anyone apart from himself and Scarlett walking the corridors. Fuck it, he couldn't hear anything. It was like once they'd pulled the rotten boards off the window and climbed inside, everything had just stopped.
It was like the whole place was…