Chapter 2: Whispers in the Walls
Hook: Sometimes, the past refuses to stay buried.
Inside, the room was worse than abandoned. Dust floated in the air, swirling in beams of the flashlight. Chairs were overturned, a cracked IV stand leaned against the wall, and medical charts littered the floor like fallen leaves. The air smelled of antiseptic and decay, an impossible combination that made Reyes gag.
But it wasn’t just the mess. Faint whispers seemed to echo from the walls — a child’s laugh, a woman’s cry, the shuffle of footsteps. Nero barked at the far corner, where shadows pooled unnaturally. The dog’s fur bristled, teeth bared, eyes darting to something unseen.
Reyes’s hand shook as he pulled open a loose panel near the corner. Behind it was a hidden cavity, and inside… papers. Old medical files, yellowed and brittle, recorded patients who had “disappeared” decades ago. One file detailed a girl, Anna, admitted in 1979, marked as “Room 207 — confidential.” Her chart ended abruptly, a blank page scrawled with a single word: lost.
Cliffhanger: A soft giggle echoed behind him, and the door slammed shut on its own.
