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  Shining his torch directly over the graffiti, Karl read it aloud and his heart quickened a little. Glen took a step forward beside him. “It looks like someone is trying hard to keep people away from this place.”

  Karl nodded. “It’s just going to be kids messing about, this building hasn’t been used in years.”

  He turned to face the rest of the group. “Right, boys, I suggest that we all stay in one group, we don’t need to go looking for anyone that may wonder off.” He looked towards Jonny and Steve. “That especially means you two.”

  “Hey man, we aren’t going anywhere,” Jonny replied. “This place gives me the creeps already.”

  Karl laughed. “Good, I suggest that we head straight to the top floor and find the furthest point away, then we start to make our way back to the entrance to finish up. I will take the lead along with Adam. Jonny and Stevie, you stay in the middle. Glen and Mart, are you OK to bring up the rear?”

  “Fine with me,” Glen replied, a hint of nerves in his voice.

  “OK, let's go. Everyone, be careful where you tread, and try not to touch anything. I aim to have us back here and out of the building within ninety minutes. If anyone gets separated from the group, try and find your way back down here and the entrance can be our rendezvous point. Any questions?”

  A semi-silenced groan came from the group.

  “Great, let’s go.”

  Karl and Adam started the ascent up the set of old stairs, they shined their torches upwards through the pitch black as floating dust particles and small pieces of debris floated through the air, untouched for decades. A deathly silence from the abandoned building enveloped them; there were no sounds at all apart from their soft footfalls as they slowly scaled the stairway.

  Ignoring the expanse of corridors that came from every landing, the group finally reached the top level, they were breathing heavily after the climb – a mixture of exertion and nerves.

  “Which way?”

  Swinging his beam to the right, Karl lit up the corridor, the complete darkness looked totally uninviting. To the left was a corridor that seemed to open out into a series of doors, left and right. It didn’t seem as dark and empty as the other way.

  Karl nodded to the left. “That way.”

  Taking the lead, Karl headed down the corridor tentatively, a door stood open in the first room. Shining his torch through the gap, he saw that inside the room were six old beds, presumably old treatment beds from when the building was used as a hospital. Apart from a couple of steel lockers that stood alone in the corner, the room was empty.

  He exited the room as the other members of the room entered to take a look. Suddenly, the beam from his torch began to flicker - gently on, then off. Shit. He began to bang the side of the torch with his palm causing the beam to dip and then shine intermittently. A sound caught his attention from further down the corridor – it sounded like metal scraping.

  Shining his flashlight in front of him, its diminished light didn’t manage to pick up any detail. The sound of the scraping continued, slowly getting a little louder as if its source was getting closer. Karl squinted his eyes, desperate to make out some detail in the dark when three overhead bulbs quickly burst into life, not enough to illuminate the whole corridor, but enough dingy light for Karl to make out a shape in the distance, it looked like the silhouette of a figure.

  Frantically, his heart thundered in his chest cavity and his breathing quickened. Despite the cold air, he found himself beginning to sweat. Karl began to take a few steps forward and the scraping noise started again. The figure in the distance slowly began to move forward from where it was partially hidden in the shadows, he desperately tried to make out any detail, it was edging its way closer and closer.

  Illuminated by the light from the first dim bulb, Karl made out the horrific sight that stood before him. The figure was a man, dressed in a dark grey boiler suit - ripped all over. Dark red and brown stains were splattered down the front of the man’s clothes, no shoes upon his filthy, bare feet. His black sweaty hair was a ruffled mess upon his head, his face obscured by an old gas mask. He continued his movement forward, the large meat cleaver in his right hand was outstretched and scraping along the side of the exposed brick on the wall of the corridor.

  The figure halted when it spotted Karl, who was now shaking with fear. He felt light headed. Tilting slightly to one side, it seemed as if the man was considering the sight of Karl before him. Raising his left hand, he raised his index finger and pointed it directly at Karl, he lifted the meat cleaver in his other hand above his head menacingly. His hands were caked in dirt, and a sticky red substance that looked like blood dripped from his hands and from the blade of the cleaver, pooling on the floor. He began to walk towards Karl.

  “Guys!” Karl began - no response.

  “Guys!” Karl shouted louder, as the figure in the gas mask started to reduce the distance between them rapidly. The figure began to run toward him, the cleaver still held aloft. The men began to file out of the room as Karl turned and piled into them clumsily. “Run!" he shouted, as if all of their lives depended on it.

  Instinctively, they all ran straight down the stairs, most of them clearing two or three steps at a time. As they hit the first landing, one of the men immediately darted down the corridor to the left, disorientated with panic. The others continued rushing down the stairs, each of them heading in different directions in their rush to flee.

  Three

  Running down the corridor as quickly as his legs would allow, Glen slowed down and swung his flashlight behind him, scanning desperately.

  Nothing.

  Shit!

  He leaned forward in an attempt to get some air into his lungs. What was all that about? One minute they'd been looking around a boring room with nothing but tatty beds and the next they were running for their lives.

  Who shouted run? In the confusion, he couldn’t say for sure. I’ll bet it was Jonny and Stevie, their stupid idea of a joke.

  Looking around, he tried to gather his bearings. Glen had turned off the main corridor in panic, and he had no idea where he'd ended up. Shit, all of these corridors look exactly the same. He began walking back down the route that he had ran. After a few yards he came to a junction; one corridor ran both left and right and another went straight on. Considering his options, he tried to think back as to which way he had ran.

  I could have sworn that this is straight on and it will lead back to the main staircase.

  Cautiously, he started to back track. After a few yards he shone his flashlight down the corridor, it seemed a lot longer than the distance that he had remembered running. Turning, he headed back to the junction. Left or right? He had no idea.

  He shouted. “Hello!” Total silence.

  “Guys, stop fucking around.” Again, silence.

  He shone the torch down both corridors, they both looked identical. Bollocks. Take a look down one and if not, head back. He started to walk slowly, the shadows thrown off from the torch creating creepy images as the light bounced between the walls and the ceiling. He was just about to shout again when he heard something. Not too far away, it sounded like running water. Concentrating his effort on the sound, he headed in the direction that it came from, directly ahead.

  A faint light emanated from within one of the rooms ahead on the left, he hurried forward, the sound of the running water increasing in volume as he got closer. Pausing as he reached the open door, the illumination from within was barely bright enough to allow any detail to be seen. He slowly entered the room. A large cast iron bath tub sat directly ahead in the centre. The tap had been left running and water had filled the bath right the way up to the brim, it had begun to overflow onto the ceramic floor and pool at its feet. Instinctively, he turned the flow of the water off at the tap.

  Another noise caught his attention, it sounded like someone sobbing. Swinging his flashlight to the left, he made out the outline of a sink, it was full to the brim with what looked like blood
, it had started to leak over the sides and slowly dripped to the floor. Next to one of the puddles lay a razor, its blade splashed with red. Written in blood on the mirror that was hung above the sink - Glen.

  Filled with dread, he concentrated on the sobbing sound that came from the corner of the room. The figure of a woman slowly started to emerge from the shadows. She was grotesque, her filthy brown hair partially covered her pale white face – it was a picture of pure evil. Her dead, white eyes were rolled back into her skull, displaying no pupils. She blinked and a speckle of blood dropped to her cheek from her tear ducts and then began to roll freely down her face like the slow trickle from a tap. She leaned her head back a few degrees and opened her mouth, a steady trail of thick, dark green liquid slowly started to sluice from her mouth between her rotten black teeth, dribbling down her chin and splashing down her filthy grey nightgown. The foul stench hit Glen’s senses like a truck.

  With his feet unable to move, he was frozen to the spot in absolute terror. The woman raised her arms out in front of her. Her long, filthy finger nails had grown long and looked like razor sharp talons. Turning over her hands, she displayed deep cuts on both of her wrists exposing severed veins and ripped muscle, both wounds squirting fresh blood.

  His body became alive with panic; he dropped his torch and span round in an attempt to retreat from the wretched woman. He began sprinting towards the door, his feet slipping on the patch of water on the ceramic floor beside the bath. Quickly falling sideways, he was unable reach out to soften his fall. The sickening sound of his jaw snapping echoed as his face hit the corner of the bath. Agonisingly, his broken jaw hung limp to the side of his face between the torn flesh of his cheeks, several of his teeth had been shattered on impact and knocked out of his mouth. They plinked on the tiled floor beside him as he turned over and groaned in pain.

  The last thing that he saw before losing consciousness was the dreadful sight of the woman in the filthy nightgown stood above his twitching body, the blood leaking from her wrists onto his face.

  Four

  Mart and Adam ran down two flights of stairs, stopping on the landing on the second floor. Both men shone their torches back up the stairs, unable to see anything through the darkness and dust that had been unsettled.

  Breathing heavily, Adam turned to Mart. “What the fuck was that about?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t see anything. All I know was that someone shouted run and then there was a stampede of people.”

  “Did you see where everyone else went?”

  “No, everyone began falling over each other and panicked and headed off in different directions.”

  “What do you reckon we should do?”

  “Let’s head downstairs to the main entrance, that’s where Karl said to meet if we got split up.”

  “Good idea.”

  Both men began to head towards the downward flight of stairs, when they heard someone shout.

  “Hello!”

  Both men looked at each other. Adam asked, “Who’s that?” Is it coming from down there?" He pointed with the beam from his flashlight.

  Mart replied and nodded down the corridor that ran in the opposite direction. “I’m not so sure, I could have sworn that it came from over there.”

  “Guys, stop fucking around,” came the same voice again. Both men listened. Adam pointed down his corridor. “Yes, it’s definitely coming from down that way.”

  Mart replied. “No, it’s from over here.”

  Both men stared at each other, unsure of their next move. Neither man could say for certain that the voice had come from their chosen direction.

  “Tell you what,” Adam began, “you quickly go and check down that way, I will check down there. If you don’t find anything I will meet you right back here in two minutes, right?”

  “OK,” Mart replied. “Two minutes and then back here.”

  Headed in their separate directions, the two men walked off, their torches shining out in front of them, leading the way. Mart followed the direction of the corridor in silence, listening out for the other voice. He passed several rooms on the way, each of the doors wide open or hanging from their hinges. Scanning quickly through the darkness, he saw no one.

  As he rounded a corner, he slowed down as he started to feel dizzy and nauseous. He lurched forward and emptied the contents of his stomach onto the concrete floor, hitting the surface with a splat as the mess landed between his feet. He wiped his mouth on the forearm of his jacket, his eyes watering as he looked up.

  He couldn’t explain the feeling of dread that suddenly assaulted his body, it crippled his senses and made him whimper like a small child. He began shaking, he could feel several sets of eyes watching him all at once – he felt exposed, terrified. A tingling sensation began to rise from his chest and engulf the rest of his body, as if a million razor sharp blades were flowing through his blood.

  His vision blurred and he felt like he was going to be sick again; he strained his eyes, staring down the corridor, rubbing the tears away. There was something there in front of him, something that stopped him from proceeding any further. He knew it was there, he could feel its presence, he just couldn’t see anything. A shiver ran up his spine.

  The darkness before him began to collect and merge into a singular dark shadow, the blackness seemed to intensify, and a deep pain began to throb inside his head. Once more, he lurched forward and attempted to vomit, his stomach nearly empty from his previous encounter. All that he managed to bring up was bile and stomach lining, which burned his throat and added to the torture that his body was enduring.

  Attempting to call out down the corridor, he found himself unable to speak. He struggled to rationalise the experience – even to himself. The dark shadow before him seemed to intensify even further, the pain in his head pounding, feeling as if it were about to explode. It couldn’t be his mind playing tricks on him. He attempted to stand, his legs like jelly beneath him, he wobbled gently from side to side.

  He had no idea what was causing the painful sensations throughout his body, all he knew was that he needed to get away from there. Grabbing his torch from the floor where he had dropped it beside him, he shined it through the shadows. He could see nothing, but it didn’t ease the feeling of complete dread that saturated his body.

  He was just about to turn and flee back down the corridor when he heard something that intensified his fear ten-fold. A high pitched scream, one that came from down the hall.

  Five

  Running in the direction of the scream, Mart did his best to maintain his balance, nearly tripping in the darkness. He headed back to the main balcony where he'd split up from Adam and froze in terror when he heard the scream once more - he knew exactly who it was.

  He continued down the corridor that Adam had gone to check out and stopped at the second door on the right hand side.

  From within he could hear a faint mumbling sound, almost like a chant and the sounds of low groaning. Stepping forward towards the door, the scream came again, it sent a chill down his spine and fear spiked through his entire body.

  He called out. “Adam?”

  No answer

  Slowly, he edged his way into the room, one step at a time. He shone his torch through the darkness and found his friend. The sight that stood before him once again made him vomit. Adam was positioned in the middle of the empty room facing a full length mirror. He was stripped bare to the waist, the mirror had been shattered and in his hand he was using a large shard of broken glass to cut and carve large sections of flesh from his chest and face. Blood was dripping from the exposed wounds and collecting on the floor in front of the mirror. Ripped chunks of muscle and flesh were smeared with congealed gore all over his hands and the makeshift blade.

  Mart called to him. “Adam, what the fuck are you doing?”

  Adam responded to the sound of his friend’s voice and slowly turned to face him. He was midway through cutting a large portion of bloody flesh from the cheek of his fa
ce. He looked at Mart and continued to cut through the flesh and sinew with a slick squelching sound, the large piece of meat dropped to the floor with a sickening wet thud.

  Mart stared at Adam. His face and torso was a mutilated bloody ruin, jagged abrasions streaked across his chest and dripped heavy, dark blood, forming streaks as it oozed down to his stomach and trousers. Large, ugly looking lacerations ran along the top of his abdomen, the pink and red torn flesh exposing intestines and viscera beneath. His face was a picture of pure horror, a large cut across the bridge of his nose had almost severed the bottom part of his nose completely. His cheeks were ripped wide open, exposing red muscle and back teeth.

  Mart could have cried for his friend, but Adam seemed to feel no pain. His eyes were wide open, alert as if he was really getting a depraved kick from his demented actions.

  Mart looked his friend in the eyes. He was unrecognisable - his pupils dilated with rage.

  “Adam, can you hear me? What have you done to yourself? We need to get you to a doctor.”

  Adam seemed to acknowledge his friends question and looked down at his wrecked body, blood dribbling from the wounds on his face like a dripping tap. The blood trickled down to his chest as he lowered his head. Staring for a few seconds, he said nothing. He looked up, his eyes locked on Mart’s. There was a slight hint of recognition, but ultimately he seemed feral; he had a look of someone who had totally lost his mind. To compound Mart’s despair, Adam began to laugh.