Chapter 19
The parking lot is nearly empty when I pull up, save for a few cars clustered near the front, closest to the large, imposing building that rises from the top of the hill.
I slow down and pull in beside an old, beat-up Hyundai that’s seen much, much better days, and pull my keys out of the ignition to just sit for a moment.
Easterly Ridge Sanitarium really is one of the most impressive places I’ve ever visited. While this isn’t my first time—given that I visited for the guided tours more than once—I’ve never actually stayed the night here before.
By my count, there are seven other cars in the parking lot.
If I assume one or two of them belong to the staff, that means that I’m one of about six content creators invited to stay the night, with only my phone and my flashlight for company.
Excitement simmers in my chest as I look up at the imposing structure that disappears into the night sky, and I tap my fingers on my steering wheel as I wonder just how lonely it’ll be.
After all, the point is to go off on our own and create content, whether that’s just inspiration for a blog entry, or collecting video and photos.
Even with several people wandering, the hospital is big enough that I doubt it’ll be difficult to go the entire night without seeing another living soul.
Indiana has finally realized that it’s October, naturally, and when I get out of my car, I shiver in my hoodie and fleece-lined leggings. Even layered up with a long-sleeve tee under the fleecy, thick material, I’m still cold and glad I’d brought my gloves that I tug over my hands.
“You’re Scaredy Cat, yes?” The voice seems to come from nowhere, and I nearly levitate in surprise at the sound. My heart finally calms down after a few seconds, and I turn to see a shorter, no-nonsense woman standing behind me with her phone in her hand, the light shining on her face.
“Yeah, hi. I’m not late, right?” I ask, gesturing to the cars already here.
She shakes her head. “Not late and not the last. We’re still waiting on two. Come on in. And do you have something you’d prefer to be called?”
“Persy,” I’m quick to answer, falling into step slightly behind the woman.
She doesn’t remark on it, but she gives me a quick glance, as if wondering why I’m not walking beside her.
Truthfully, I’m lagging so I can stare up at the stone walls of the building with my stomach doing little flips of nervous anticipation.
Reasonably, I don’t believe in ghosts. I’ve never seen one, never had one reach out and slap me across the face.
But there’s a difference between not believing and knowing.
Especially being somewhere like this, where the history is palpable and so many unfortunate things have happened to patients, staff, and visitors over the years.
It almost seems impossible for so many things to have happened in one place. But this hospital reminds me of a magnet for unfortunate situations impacting the people that wander inside, or patients put here back when it was an actual destination for those who were sick.
“Have you done the guided tour?” the woman asks, breaking the silence.
“Twice,” I reply. “I really liked it. My followers do, too, and I know they’re looking forward to me doing this tonight.
” Here at least I can feel confident that my stalker won’t show his face.
While I had, in fact, been vocal about where I’m spending the night, it’s over an hour away from Town of Pines, and he can’t just park here, blend in, and waltz inside the hospital.
No, tonight I’ll be on my own.
Which shouldn’t feel like a disappointment.
I hate that I have to almost counsel myself to not be upset about it. I should not want my scary stalker with an appreciation for cats to show up and terrorize me with a real fucking knife he’s absolutely cut me with before.
Even though the cut was minor…the feeling from it, with his mouth on my body, had been—
“Sorry, what?” I glance up, blinking, as it sinks in that she said something to me again. The woman doesn’t notice my slightly frazzled state, however. She just repeats the question.
“What do you think about this place? Do you think it’s really haunted?”
“Do you?” I counter, not meaning to sound aggressive. “I mean, you don’t, right? You wouldn’t work here if you thought this place was actually full of ghosts.” I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t work somewhere that felt menacing, or anywhere I believed restless spirits wander the halls.
“I do.” The answer surprises me, and the woman grins. “You didn’t think I would,” she assumes, causing me to shrug my shoulders helplessly. She’s not wrong after all. “You think I wouldn’t work here if I thought this place was haunted.”
“Something like that.”
The woman grins, leading me into a small outbuilding and down a flight of concrete stairs.
“I used to not believe. When I started, I was sure the stories about this place were just that, stories. I thought people ran wild with the facts and that the sanitarium was an easy target for making the occult seem real.”
She pushes the door open, and waits for me to go into a small supply room. While the appliances and lighting are up to date, I can’t help noticing how the floor and walls look just as old as the hospital itself.
“This is the maintenance building. It’s the only place on the premises with working bathrooms and power.
” Heated air greets me the second we step into the larger room filled with long tables that remind me of something from a school cafeteria.
Sure enough, a handful of other people are sitting at the tables, and I recognize a few of them as having platforms a lot like mine, with their own original spin on things.
One pair, at least, is from a group of ghost hunters I like much more than Squad Ghouls, even though we’ve never met.
“Maybe tonight will change your mind,” the woman suggests. “Or it won’t. It’s all the same to me in the end. But you’ll be amazed at what your brain conjures up in the darkness inside. Trust me, you’ve never been in darkness like what’s in there with no power and no windows in some of those rooms.”
A shiver goes up my spine at her words, but before I can reply, she walks off to talk to another woman wearing an employee shirt, clearly done with our conversation as the two of them immediately start talking like they’d been in the middle of something.
It leaves me hovering, feeling a little bit awkward about being in a room of other creators.
Before this week, I would’ve been more confident in putting on my Scaredy Cat persona and walking right up to them, with a fake smile on my face and conversation easy on my lips.
But now, every person I look at seems like they might be friends with Squad Ghouls, or like they follow Miscreant Manor’s social media pages enough to recognize me from the stupid post.
It’s a testament to how nervous I am that I stand there, drawing attention to myself, as my fingers tug on the hem of my hoodie instead of at least sitting down and making myself look busy.
A hand going up draws my attention, and when I look over at a group of four people, the man who’s got his arm raised meets my eyes with a smile. He gestures me over, and I take the invitation with a silent prayer that this doesn’t turn into something negative.
“Hey there,” he greets, a light, almost faded accent tinging his words. It’s light enough that I can’t quite tell what country it’s from, and I guess he’s been here a while for it to be this faint. “You’re Scaredy Cat, right?”
I force myself to smile and sit at the table as well, placing my phone and flashlight on the table. One member of the group has an actual camera, and as I watch, she fiddles with the lenses strewn out in front of her.
“Yeah. You’re, uh…” I look between them, scanning my memory. “Zack Lawrence, yeah? You broke off from Spook Squad what, four years ago now?”
His smile widens. “I didn’t think you’d know me. I don’t do quite as well as I used to now that I’m off on my own.”
“I like your content more now,” I counter, and my gaze sweeps over the table.
I recognize one of the girls from a channel that’s existed as long as mine, though I’ve only watched a few of her urban legend and true-crime videos.
She gives me an amicable grin as the man beside her leans forward on his elbows to survey my face.
“Seems you’re the flavor of the week after that livestream,” the guy I don’t know remarks. There’s a curious gleam in his eyes rather than a malicious one, but I feel myself withdrawing anyway. “Unfortunately, not the flavor everyone wants.”
“Hey.” Zack’s warning tone cuts through the air and he raises his brows. “Don’t make me tell her about last year. You were certainly everyone’s least favorite flavor of the week after what you said live at that concert.”
The man grimaces and leans back. “I wasn’t being nasty,” he mumbles. “I was just being conversational.”
“You’re not interesting enough to be conversational,” the girl with the lenses mumbles. She looks up at me, giving me another quick smile. “Seriously, it’ll fade. If him being caught with his pants down, literally, faded after a few months, then you’ll be fine.”
“I didn’t even do anything,” I point out, breaking my rule about not letting myself get drawn into a conversation about this.
I successfully fended off talking to Brynn and Mads about it whenever they broached the subject, but something feels different about opening up to this small group of content creators who have had similar things happen to them.
“Miscreant Manor just likes to use me for advertising, since I won’t go to their haunt. Squad Ghouls is…”
“Immature,” Zack supplies. “They’re a bunch of kids whose target audience is kids. They’re immature, and they always start shit. They’re not worth your time…you have a real name, don’t you? Feels weird to actually address you as Scaredy Cat.”