Wicked Whispers

The phantom hum of fluorescent lights paired with rustling papers and inaudible chatter tells me it's almost time. As the noises get louder, the room around me brightens and my skin starts to prickle. All of which are signs of the veil thinning. It's not until the glow pierces my eyes, forcing me to raise my hand as a shield, that I know I've arrived.

If one was to ask me where I went between visits, I'd have to admit that I hadn't a clue. All I know is that at the same time every night, I'm awakened and allowed to roam the hospital grounds. When the light dies out, I lower my hand and take in what used to be an overflowing psychiatric ward. 

My body moves on its own, following my nightly route. There was no clear way to measure time now, but the decay and lack of staff in the nurses station tells me it's been a while. Over the course of my visits I've watched the foot traffic slow to a halt. I'm not sure when they closed the doors for good, but soon the walls grew moldy, and the ceiling leaked. Over time people came in and cleared it out of anything valuable, leaving nothing but scattered papers and old, outdated equipment. 

After that, it was quiet for a while. I wandered the hospital, meeting other trapped souls like mine. Mostly friendly, besides the shadows in the attic. We co-exist on the property, all having our own zones, happy and content with our afterlife. I'm not sure what sparked the influx of interest, but soon ghost hunters started arriving. Or groups of reckless teens who wanted to see us. Sadly, they rarely noticed my interactions and when they did they'd run away screaming. To be honest, I'll never understand why the living ask for signs if they don't actually want one. Now, I've learned that if I want the company to stick around, it's best to follow them, silently. 

As I make my way through the darkened, dilapidated halls I think of the last group who came to the old hospital. It was two girls and a boy, no older than 15. They came with snacks and sleeping bags, eager to spend the night exploring. It was a fun little group. Respectful. Their night was spent using flashlights for yes and no questions, and a little box that let me and the other ghosts talk through. Myself, along with two other ghosts who frequent the upper levels played their games and enjoyed our time with the living. It was a shame when they left. 

A smile crosses my face at the thought of another bunch coming to scope out the place. 

Maybe they will have one of those silly boards I can talk with, I beam as I come to a dead-end. There is an old rocking chair and planter full of old dirt by a window overlooking the back courtyard. After some star counting, I notice two bright dots down below. It flashlights, and they're getting closer. My body nearly vibrates, I'm so happy. 

"People! Oh, how wonderful!" 

I spin in a circle while plugging my nose and drop through the floor like it's water in a swimming pool. When I land on the floor below, I call out for the old man who died in surgery. His name is Arnold. He's a bitter old man who loves visitors as much as I do. It's the only time I see him smile. 

"I see lights, hurry up!" I shout. 

The few doors still on hinges slam shut as Arnold zooms down the corridor, stopping inches from my face. 

"They better be worth my time," Arnold gripes. "Be hard to beat that last lot, wouldn't you say, Phillis?"

I bop him on the nose before turning to point out the window. 

"We'll have to wait and see." 

The two of us watch the dots get closer until they disappear under the trees below. 

"Should we go down now? Or wait for Charlotte to do her thing?" I ask, wiggling my shoulders with anticipation. 

"I always love a good show," Arnold winks. 

We both drop down to the main floor and zip over to the front doors. 

Though the living can't see us, we peek from behind a wall in hopes to stay hidden. Like other explorers before them, they peel back a piece of plywood used to close up a broken window, and slip inside the building. They are older than the last bunch. Grown men, by the looks of it. With backpacks over their shoulders and hoods shadowing their faces. I glance at Arnold and get the feeling that he doesn't like them either. Call it a ghostly-sixth-sense, but we can tell if the intentions of our guests are good or bad and something about these two is off. 

They don't help their case when moments after entering, they both light cigarettes and start puffing away. The smoke taints the already stuffy air as they make their way deeper into the maze of halls, laughing about what a mess my home is. 

"Look at this, it's fucking ancient," one of them points to the computer left at reception. 

It came to the hospital long after my time, and was one of my favorite things. I always got a kick out of watching the night shift fiddle with the thing and when they left, I, myself, played with the keys. 

"Holy shit, it's older than me," the other man adds before lifting the keyboard. 

At first I thought he was going to type the same way I did, but instead, he lifts it over his head and smashes it off the desk. It cracks, so he does it again, breaking it into prices. The two of them burst into laughter, and the first to mention the computer decides to lift the screen and throw it to the ground. I gasp when it shatters, going as far as to cover my mouth. 

"Where is Charlotte?" Arnold growls. 

As if he summoned her, the air shifts, causing the halls to groan. Both the men stop laughing and start aiming their flashlights every which way. 

"What was that?" The keyboard smasher asks. 

"Fucked if I know," his friend replies.

Before either of them can get a grip on what is happening, Charlotte bursts through a set of doors. Nothing but a misty mass of air. She rushes through them, taking their breath away. 

This is not her common introduction. This act is saved for the unwanted intruders, but where most would race for the exit, frightened by heavy metal doors flying open all on their own, these two just stand there, stunned. 

"Did you see that?"

"They weren't kidding."

A dark and venomous laugh seeps from the men, alerting us to their lack of fear.

"Do you think we pissed it off by breaking the computer?" 

"One way to find out,” the Keyboard smasher walks over to the small waiting area and kicks over a chair. “Here ghosty, ghosty, ghosty,” he teases before knocking over another. 

Arnold and I look at Charlotte who is off in a corner, panting. Her trick with the door always takes a lot out of her, meaning she couldn’t do much more to scare them off. It was up to us to get rid of them. 

“I don’t scare the living, not on purpose…” I admit. 

“Leave it to me,” Arnold says with a huff. 

The burly, transparent man puffs up his chest, and straightens his shoulders to make himself bigger than he already is. In a blink of an eye he is at the trouble-makers back and wraps his hands around the guy's throat. Our touch rarely affects the living the way we want, but with enough energy we can do some damage.

 Arnolds grip causes the man to cough, and grab at his neck. He rubs at it as if it will open his airways, but there is no use. Arnold tightens his hands, grunting as his strength leaches from him. 

“What’s your problem, dude?” His friend asks, taking a step closer.

The keyboard smasher points to his neck and says, “can’t breathe.”

His buddy wastes no time and rushes over to get a better look. 

Arnolds invisible hands were beginning to leave a mark, causing the men to panic, but the moment it seemed like they're about to leave, Arnold lets go.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs, breathless and weak. 

“You tried,” I whimper.

At the sudden release of his hands, the men relax and give a laugh. 

The two of them start kicking and punching at the air, doing what they can to hit whatever just attacked them. It is pointless, Arnold was already out of arm's-reach and even if he wasn’t, they’re living hands would go right through him. 

“What are we going to do?” I ask.

“I got nothing left,” Arnold frowns.

After the men’s invisible fighting match, they start their venture into the building. The three of us follow closely, wondering how to get rid of them. 

“They’re not scared of us. If we give them too much activity, then they may come back with more,” Arnold explains. “Remember that bunch with the spray paint? We thought we scared them off and now look at the place.”

“I forgot about them,” I moan. “They came back nine times…”

“So, we can’t have them coming back!” Arnold commands.

Charlotte moans in agreement. 

Up ahead, the men ducked in and out of rooms looking for ghosts, oblivious to the three right behind them. They tick their tongues as if we are cats, and tease empty hallways, hoping to get a reaction. We roll our eyes while keeping our distance, and warn any wanders we catch sight of to steer clear. Most listen, except Wanda who spends her nights wallowing in a busted wheelchair. 

When our visitors spot the chair, they tilt it and spin it around. Wanda screams so loud the men hear her and freeze. 

“What was that?” The one asks, scared.

“Who cares,” The other answers before sending the wheelchair flying down the hallway. 

The bent tires try to spin but quickly get jammed and send the chair toppling to its side. Wanda goes for the ride, falling out of the chair when it tips.

Charlotte and I rush to Wanda’s side while Arnold stays put. 

“We warned her,” He shrugs.

On our way, we push through the men, causing them to shudder. They aim their lights around to get a better look, but see nothing and continue on their way.

“This place is creepy,” one man says.

“You scared?” The other pesters. “You want to go home and hide under your covers?”

“Screw you man,” the first huffs. 

With the four of us, I assume we can solve our infestation. So, when the men turn the corner I ask,

“How do we get rid of them?” 

“Lead them to the attic and let the shadows take care of them,” Wanda sneers. 

Arnold raises his brows, “that’s not a bad idea.”

"You promised," I pout. 

"You got any better ideas?" Arnold asks.

“No… but no one comes back from the attic.” I gulp. 

“Exactly,” they say together. 

Charlotte vibrates with excitement, and all three look at me. 

“What? You want me to lead them? How am I to do that?” I burst. 

“You’re smart, figure it out," Arnold snips.

“You’re smarter than me,” I argue. 

“I’m tired. Charlotte is still winded, and Wanda is useless.”

“Hey!” she snaps.

“You know it’s true,” he scolds. 

Wanda stomps off, finished with our escapade while the rest of us figure out how to do this. 

The last thing we want is for them to get to the kids ward. Those poor souls have been through enough. We need to get them to the old nurse's wing, and get them to take the service stairs. 

As we discussed, we follow, keeping a close eye on them. They lit more cigarettes, and kicked holes in walls. Misused bathroom stalls and smashed the few mirrors left. At one point the keyboard smasher unzipped his draws and pissed in the corner. 

“Whisper,” says Arnold when the men sit down to eat. 

“And say what?”

“I don’t know, but make it their idea to go up stairs. We are close enough to the back stairwell. Now is the time.” 

I roll my lips between my teeth and tip-toe forward. They are busy tossing their wrappers on the floor and chugging back their drinks to feel me approach. It isn’t until I am practically on top of them that they react. 

“It’s getting cold. Do you feel cold?”

“It’s in your head,” the other justifies. 

I decide he is stronger-willed, the leader of the two, meaning he’s less likely to listen. So I turn to the other one and get close to his ear.

“Attic,”

He flinches at my voice, but doesn’t tell his friend. He simply uses his light to look around.

“Attic,” I hum again, keeping close on his heels. “Attic.”

His shoulders tense, but he still keeps quiet. I try a few more times, looking back at Arnold for some kind of guidance. All he does is wave me on as Charlotte hovers behind him. 

And he has the nerve to call Wanda useless…

I run my finger up the man's back, causing him to shiver and squirm. Still, he doesn’t say anything to his friend. As a last attempt, I bring my lips right to his ear, so close he must feel me. 

“Attic,” I say sternly. 

This makes him jump and turn to his friend. “Something is telling me to go to the attic,” he admits. 

“You some kind of psychic now?” The guy laughs.

“No seriously. I can hear it.”

“Whatever man, we will get there when we get there.”

“Why? We could get busted and forced out of here at any time. Why not start at the top and work our way down.”

“Cause all the good shit happens down here. You read the post. No one mentions the attic.”

“Probably because everyone gets run off before they get that far. C’mon man. Something wants us to go up there.”

They stand for a moment while the one thinks it over. While they do, I scamper back to Arnold and Charlotte.

“Do you think it worked?” I ask.

Arnold shushes me, and points at the men.

“Sounds like a plan, lead the way.” 

The one I whispered to looks up and down the hall before turning and heading the way we want. 

“Nicely done,” Arnold praises before gesturing to us to follow.

When the men reach the service stairs they stop and shine their lights up. 

“That’s a hell of a climb,” they say together, making them both chuckle before taking the first step. 

We kept close, being sure they didn’t veer off course until we reached the third floor. That’s where we stopped and watched. The creek of the top floor security door tells us they are not far from their destination. Arnold and Charlotte look eager, excited for what was to come. I, however, feel ill. When the heavy door slams shut, I wonder if we will hear them, or if the sun will rise and take away our so-called victory. 

My teeth grind together as we wait, my stomach twists. The last time I was on that floor, I’d followed a group of teens. Their screams flood my mind with memories of them being torn to pieces. I shudder and take a step back, unsure if I want to be here for this. Guilt has already seeped in, I didn’t need the confirmation of my evil doings. My involvement in feeding darkness. 

Arnold must have noticed my apprehension, because his happy face turned grim. He reaches out his hand to offer some kind of comfort when the shouts begin. I drop to my knees and cover my ears but there is no use. It’s too loud. Their curdling shrieks last barely a second before ominous giggles start. Soon, the sounds from slurping the men's souls from their bodies reached us, and we all cringed. 

“Time to go, they won’t be bugging us again.”

“We can’t keep sending the visitors we don’t like up there. We need to stop feeding them,” I urge.

“Last time, I swear,” Arnold promises.

“You said that last time.”