"I'm writing this in hopes of it someday making its way to you. It is a small hope, but a hope nonetheless." The pen glided frantically across the last, torn page of the notebook you found in the hallway. The crumbling old hospital walls loomed behind you, surrounded by menacing fir trees. The old asylum was in the middle of the woods and you, of course, couldn't remember the way back to the main highway. But your curiosity had been too much when you picked up the mental institution's traveler's brochure from the hotel.
"You were the best thing to happen to me in my life, and I love you. It will be hard to understand, but please listen. Never come to Shady Lake. Never. There are things here that are impossible for even me to understand even though they are right in front of me." The space remaining on the page is running out as you continue to write. It was getting increasingly harder, adrenaline and fear making your hand shaky, the words almost illegible.
A low laugh and the slap of running feet are distantly heard inside the asylum, causing you to pause and glance up. The dark windows reveal nothing of what's inside, however. A little girl's voice comes floating through to the woods.
"Come out, come out, wherever you are…" It sang. It was a voice that couldn't have come from any human mouth. It seemed to linger on the wind longer than was possible, echoing with the breeze as it swirled in the air. The only feminine thing about it was the higher tones of the sound. A chill goes down your spine. You quickly go back to writing.
"I went into the woods, looking for this old institution. People said it was haunted so I went to take pictures for the blog, like I usually do. Everything was fine until I saw him. He just stood there, staring with a creepy smile on his face. A little girl was there too. She didn't have an arm, it was cut off. He had a saw, so I guess he did it. I ran away and now I'm…" The hospital doors burst open behind you and the little girl's voice was loud and clear.
"There you are. Won't you play with me and daddy? I need a new dolly, and daddy said he would make me one." You don't dare to turn around, afraid of looking into those dead eyes that saw nothing. You attempt to write one last sentence, using the last remaining line of the page.
"I'm scared. Oh, god I'm scared. I don't th-nk tha- I'll m-ke it. He- a ma-man! He-" That was when the pen ran out of ink. Despair grips your body, rending you immobile. The little girl's hand grips your shoulder, a cold vice, silently promising never to let go again.
ns 15.158.61.6da2
