HELL HALL

Chapter One

Darkness choked him. It choked him every night. There was nowhere left for him to run. Solitude, loneliness, and fear loomed in the air as thick as morning fog. Where could he go to hide? He jumped into bed, clutched the covers up around his neck, wedged the blanket under his feet, and prayed for comfort from the watchers, ghosts, unseen visitors, monsters, and those unwanted and uninvited specters that always come from the other world into the room where he slept. They invaded his will, his mind, and his soul. Eyes filled with piercing vapors and encircling flames stood by his bed one again. Fearing the faintest touch from them, he flinched as if electricity leaped from the wall socket of its own will onto the bed. Unspoken words from childhood prayers stood at the gate but refused to be spoken. Needing a release to fight off the creatures from some niche forgotten by the world, Scott, a man now eighteen years old, took his normal last available escape from the torment covering him. Seeking to retain his sanity, grasping sleep, a form of release, or so he thought, he rode the familiar reserved seat on a fast-moving beam of light that thrust small spiral-shaped shards into uncharted regions where, if one wasn’t vigilant, arms of the aggressor would seize the living light unwilling to relinquish the flame of one’s soul.

Chapter Two

Out of the darkness and riveted with holes from stones that had been thrown by passersby, the hospital represented a solace for Scott in his dream state. Dark, foreboding, possessor of secrets, this gigantic monument to human suffering and despair awaited it next occupant.

Scott moved through the wet green grass with ease. During the early morning hours nothing, animal nor human, was stirring.

The hospital was constructed in the late 1940’s and consisted of twin towers, one called the East wing, and one called the West wing. Each of the wings enclosed stairwells that led from each of the floors. The stairwells encased within the towers were for fires and emergencies. The towers jutted out into the now vacant parking lot. Elm trees and Oaks surrounded the grounds and was the home for a variety of birds and small animals. As the full moon reflective light bright as summer campfire embers passed between the branches, shadows crept along the ground creating numerous shapes and indistinguishable forms. Street lamps glowed as if thousands of fireflies were captured slaves on the night and teamed together by unseen coaches to fulfill their game plan in the soft hours of the tired night.

Dim lights from distant lamps cast auras of anticipation through empty streets. Trees, benches, and bushes allowed slithering specters a hiding place.

In the courtyard, Scott leaned against one of the five trees planted by artisans when the hospital was young and vibrant. Landscaping around the central court added symmetry to the building’s grounds.

He wondered how his friend was doing. Mike, one of his closest friends, had been a pal since grade school. The last account from the doctor at the hospital was that he was in satisfactory condition, whatever that meant. The doctor also related the traumatic status to the floor nurse during Mike’s patent’s visit and informed her to not pass the information along to anyone else. This car accident was not on Mike’s agenda for a wonderful weekend. He was destined to be a prisoner of his own actions.

Social scenes had become a past time, a compulsion for Mike. He enjoyed them as an artist would a good canvas, a spouse his wife. Weekly, he awaited the Friday night crowd at the local clubs. This Friday proved to be an evening Mike should have stayed home or gone to a friends.

In a drunken stupor, a condition not uncommon for Mike, he pulled head-on into traffic down a one-way street and into a trailer truck. Shattered glass, bent metal, and crushed bones littered the highway just outside the corner convenience store at the entrance to Maple Avenue. His birthday present from his parents was totally destroyed. No one else was injured.

Suffering from two broken legs and a broken arm, Mike hadn’t planned on spending the spring break bound to this hospital and eventually to his destiny.

Chapter Three

The “Chamber of Horrors”, or so the neighborhood children called it, was the focal point of many strange and unexplained occurrences over the years since its construction. Stories surrounded the building, surfacing and submerging, and resurfacing to spin the tales of disappearing patients, those stories that are used to frighten kids into going to sleep or told around campfires.

Not suddenly, but ever-so-often, without a trace, leaving little evidence or clues as to their whereabouts, patients would be discovered missing. Scott didn’t like hospitals, especially not now that his friend Mike was a hostage in one. On Scott’s list of places to avoid, this hospital took the prize. Some people stayed way from Malls, some from grocery stores, but for Scott, hospitals crippled him. He couldn’t believe he was standing outside this “Hell Hall” assessing accessibility and the possibility of removing a body without being discovered. Mike wouldn’t understand nor like the idea, but what could he do in his current state or condition?

Clothing himself in darker-than-normal apparel, Scott planned to reduce the possibility of detection during his adventure. Perhaps a disguise would help, perhaps not. Regardless, he was ready to try anything.

Pops, creeks, the slightest sound grew in the darkness. The wind held darkness suspended momentarily, the released it into a cape that hovered over reality outside of the hospital. Scott twisted to find the source of the sound but found nothing to explain his uneasiness. His friend needed help and that’s all he could think of right now. During the preceding day he noticed the same uneasiness about town. In his care, his house, at work, and driving over from the city where he and Mike attended night school, the same feeling lingered. Scott knew, like the hundreds of times before when the happened, something from Hell would come to claim one of the living. This time it was Mike.

Deciding not to be creative and theatrical in his entrance, Scott entered the hall in the conventional manner. The majority of the workers were gone leaving only a skeleton crew that managed this poor excuse of a care center. Walking toward the lobby doors and feeling like an unwanted guest, Scott could see both side doors existing from the stairwells from each wing. His friend was in the left wing on the fourth floor, room 4-D.

Realizing the hour and expecting to have an explanation, Scott conjured up an excuse to tell the station nurse. Standing on the apron outside of the main door, Scott glanced to see if he was being watched in case he needed to create a black eye or swollen nose, like makeup artists do for television personalities. Concluding he lacked the skill for the job, he walked slowly toward the lobby doors.

Beneath the lobby and unknown to most visitors was an old operating room. Now filled with files, books, and equipment that had been discarded over the years or claimed by obsolescence, it was a room that seldom entertained visitors. Just as in other hospitals, this area was used for storage after losing its usefulness. Yearly, the room was ventured into for inventory or checked for water leakage, but little else. Other than storage, this room served no purpose for the staff. The windows of the old room were located at ground level and covered by wire guards. Each wire guard was welded over by iron frames to prevent animals, children or any other unwanted adventurer from entering this all but forgotten space.

Sounds- growls, sniffs, and snorts- rumbled from under the bushes located near the apron. Scott glanced back to see if his over-active imagination was playing tricks on him.

Breathlessly he waited, but no other sounds rattled through the smoke-covered panes of glass of the room under the apron. He moved closer to the lobby. If asked what he was doing there he would express his commitment to his pal, that personal stuff that gets them if nothing else would. He peered over his left shoulder as if sensing something was watching, but he saw nothing.

Stepping through the lobby doors and looking around, he was bombarded by odors of alcohol. It spoke of pain, sorrow, and surrender of those held here somewhere upstairs.

Late hours meant tired people who were in bad moods, bad frame of mind. Nevertheless, people at this hour also could not care less about visitors. Music from a small unseen radio that sat under the top counter of the desk played tunes that told stories of love, an emotion this place was unaccustomed to feeling.

“May I help you?” quizzed a plum woman from behind the counter, as she busied herself to stay awake.

“Yes,” replied Scott. “I’m looking for a friend. He’s been in an accident, we were both involved, but he was the one hurt. My name is Scott Henderson.”

A night watchman walked over to the counter to investigate the visitor. Scott expected as much and was prepared for what could be a difficult moment.

The watchman only looked but said nothing.

“Wait here,” said the nurse. She brushed her red hair out of her green eyes, looked through the papers on the desk behind her and returned to the counter.

“What’s the name of your friend again?” she asked while turning the sheets of occupant’s names on the daily printout received earlier from the administration.

“Mike Little,” mumbled Scott.

She found the name and after running her finger through the list about four times to be sure there was no mistake, she asked what the nature of the visit at this hour was.

Scott had expected this drill and was ready.

“Mike is my best friend. We attend the Community college together, night classes. The class ran longer than anticipated, and the traffic put me behind schedule.”

Scott stood motionless anticipating being escorted out of the building. Lowering his head and turning slightly to the right, he peered at the nurse to see if the story would allow entrance to “Hell Hall.”

“Not only that,” he interjected, “but Mike’s family had to leave earlier, and I promised them I would stop in on the way home.”

After a few moments, the nurse said okay and told him to check with the nurse on duty upstairs if he couldn’t find the room. She turned and forgot him and his request. Maybe sleep was a friend after all.

Chapter Four

Silent, vacant, and uninviting the halls behind the reception area stretched out in two directions. With lights lowered to conserve energy and minimize glare into the rooms lining the halls, Scott felt a loneliness followed by fear sweep over him. He made an additional decision about this hospital; this trip would be his last. Swinging doors separated the waiting room from the rest of the hospital’s business offices. Stepping through the doors, Scott smelled antiseptic, a customary hospital commodity, along with other offensive odors that stung the nostrils and caused the eyes to water.

Pale yellow tiles were used during the original construction and showed wear from years of traffic up and down the hallways. Some of the appeared to have been replaced time and time again causing the floor to look uneven. Cracks and stains from cleaning agents used by the maintenance department were everywhere. Several pictures selected to adorn the halls were chosen specifically because of the price, not the artwork, had long since begun to fade or become discolored. Each added little to look at or admire while one was waiting for the station nurse to call. God only knew what waited around the next corner.

A fire suppression system, the newest additional and very noticeable, had been added because of a city ordinance ordering more stringent fire controls.

A small room across the hall from the elevator was lined with plastic multi-colored chairs. This time of night held little chance of a call for the nurse. No one wiped tears from the eyes of children or helped blow their noses, or seem engulfed in grief as they often were during daylight hours. But Scott did not feel alone. A chill, an almost silent gasp muffled by growls came from somewhere in the darkness. He looked around and being satisfied it was just his imagination, pressed the appropriate button on the elevator plate located outside the cubicle.

Chapter Five

Papers rustled. Their leader advanced slowly with paced steps from the secluded area located at the back of the room under the apron. This room had been theirs for many years. Vents, overhangs, and drains proved to be the advantage they needed over their prey. He preferred a lesser-traveled route of this their home, less chance of being discovered. At “Hell Hall” customary routines were easy to get use to inventory once a year, night nurses traveling darkened hallways every four hours, seldom visited rooms, it made hunting easier. Years passed with little problem obtaining food here. It might have been different, but to their kind, this was more than what was needed to sustain life.

Chemicals in bottles of all colors stood at attention on shelves covered with dust from neglect. Many were dated, others were not. Looking like Crayola Multi packs, bottles stood ready, a selection of lethal colors. Each had been distinguishable when first placed there, but the years and moist air had removed the labels on most. A mutated effect could be expected if dispensed in the wrong combination, some for good, a combination of life, some just the opposite, a combination of death. Without directions, a doctor’s decisions, who could tell the difference? Did it matter now?

He was big. He stood a full 12” taller than the next in rank. He was the oldest. Over the years he delivered the nourishment they needed to survive. Thoughts and scenes of what he could do caused blood to run cold in the veins of his pray before he took them.

Matted dried blood, odor of urine, chemicals, and small particles of rotting flesh hung from his coat like ornaments from a Christmas tree. He back legs were equipped with powerful muscles used for leaping, running and ripping. Nails like daggers protruded from hand-sized paws. Each dagger was well groomed, unlike any other part of his torso, they were perfect. Shoulders loomed over his head. His cat-like ears and leopard’s eyes filled with fire of death set shivers up and down the spine of the victims just before he took them. His protruding fangs prevented his jaws from closing, but allowed him to rip, tear, and shred his victims. Victims to find, he stood poised to attack. He made his way out of the sanctuary and into his private hunting ground.

Chapter Six

Deep within Scott his fear swelled. Shivers shot up him like knives cutting through a ripe melon. As moments passed, the elevator seemed to be stuck on the fourth floor as indicated by the light above the door. But, as he watched, they changed and began to move down the numbers again. Even though he was grown, Scott remained afraid of the unseen, the unexpected. From childhood, he knew specters in the night were only illusions, but even now sometimes he just knew they were real. He glanced over his shoulders in both directions once more to be sure, to reassure his heart.

In the darkness, a noise caught his attention. With hair bristled, he tried to shrug it off and watch the arrows of the descending elevator. The elevator bumped to a stop and the light became stationary. He looked cautiously in all corners of the cube before entering. Walking silently, he stepped into the right front corner, found the controls, and pressed the fourth-floor indicator tab, and waited. Closing automatically, slowly at first as if expecting another rider to step aboard, then more confidently, the doors met. The confining cube moved upwards emotionless toward the floor where Mike was being held, hostage.

On the fourth floor outside the elevator door, every third hall light was shining. After exiting the elevator, Scott felt that shame shutter again. Hesitation had become a part of his role in “Hell Hall,” a big part. At this point, his family’s over-protection through the years was crippling him.

With each shutter came images of supreme gray things crouching in corners, under stairs, and around the next bend in the hall. He glanced over his shoulder once more sensing an uncomfortable, extra-sensory touch, not like the normal sense of expectation experienced by others.

Peering down long hallways, he noticed to the left of the elevator, down the corridor, another desk was sheltered in darkness. Now vacant of life, useless, it offered little solace for the darkness and pain of this floor. Tomorrow with the arrival of employee, and an added spark of life, it would appear as if nothing had happened the night before.

She was overweight but diligently she moved through her rounds on the floor. The night nurse on floor four rounded the corner and disappeared down another dimly lit hallway, what a pity she was not seated just around the corner. Despair flooded over Scott. He wanted to run, to flee, to escape. White caps appeared on his knuckles as he gripped the corners of the elevator door before venturing into the hall to room 4-D.

Chapter Seven

It was tight, but he made the trip up the air vent beyond the accounting office in the East wing of the hospital. He traveled the same route time and time again, retracing each step with precision and undying dedication. They depended on him, he had never let them down.

Much like Pavlov and his conditioned dogs that were subjected to the same stimuli enough times to produce the desired results, he was conditioned over the years through repetition to achieve one goal, the feast.

Peering through sleep filled halls, he watched and waited for the right time to take his prey. Up steps, now vacant of his prey, he climbed. Scents on the steps heightened his desire. As he climbed, his long snout gleamed, hissed, and sniffed prints made by a child earlier in the day. The smell lingered near the front of his nostril before moving deeper inside where it fueled an already intense fire. Click, click, click resounded through the stairwell as he ascended.

Chapter Eight

Other than getting Mike out of this hospital, Scott couldn’t say he thought of much else. A thought of hopelessness eased its way into his head, but he quickly squeezed it out. He purged it and walked on. The escape was planned much like a jail break in the old westerns with horses and ropes. But in this case, the ropes were the sheets on the bed and the horse was the car out in the parking lot. He guessed rescuers of old felt much the same way he was feeling now, just a slight chance it would work. Excited but with measured cautiousness, Scott moved slowly toward the room where Mike was resting.

Most hospitals equip each floor with wheelchairs. Perhaps, thought Scott, this could be used to move Mike to the stairs down the other end of the hall if the elevator for some reason failed to work. After using it to help his friend, he could discard it once safely on his way out of the building. If one was not available, he would pull Mike to the stairs and down the steps to the exit doors just one hundred feet from the car parked outside. Scott had to succeed for tonight the outcome meant life or death.

Scott arrived at 4-D, trembling and sweating, but determined to take his pal to safety. Mumbling the room number under his breath, Scott pushed the door open and panned the room. Normal hospital furnishings dotted the room, a bed, and a dresser with four drawers that provided storage for people who came to say longer that just for a check up. The restroom was to the left of the large entry door. Small and congested but functional, the room provided the necessary space for the necessary things.

The bed was the largest item in the room. Wires and hoses hung in all directions from the victim’s bed. A bed that held the friend captive was destined for a surprise. Various clear liquids flowed in and out of Mike’s arms. A monitor beeped a familiar sound, but downstairs no one viewed the response of the continual pulse.

Mike was awake. He looked up but said nothing.

With a reassuring had placed gently on his friend’s chest, Scott told him he was going to get him out, out of this dungeon, this horrible place to a safe, clean and modern facility.

Mike raised his eyebrows, winked, and turned away. He muttered something but Scott couldn’t make it out.

Working like a master, Scott started to disconnect the tubes and wires. Rapidly as the moments ticked by, he continued to assure his friend he would be okay. Leaning near, he whispered another promise. It was a hollow promise, a promise Scott couldn’t keep.

Quickly, Scott tugged at the blankets and sheets that were added for warmth over Mike’s cooling body.

“You’ll have to lean over and let me get this sheet off of the bed,” said Scott. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he moved his friend. He was sure things would move along faster once Mike was moved from the bed to the floor.

“It doesn’t matter now. Things just don’t matter. My life is chained to this bed. What am I going to do that would make a difference?” asked Mike in a low slow tone. Pain rushed through his back causing him to arch upward.

“I will get you out! This place is not a place for my friend. The nurses that work here a just rejects from every low-life hospital in this dying town. Whether you understand this or not, you are coming with me.” Retorted Scott. He fought the tears and the thoughts of his dying friend being left in this hell hole.

Chapter Nine

He cleared the fourth-floor landing and eased the door open. Surveying the hall for occupants and discovering it vacant, he moved through the door and allowed it to shut slowly behind him. He stood silent momentarily assessing the situation. The light from the hall illuminated his eyes. The confined wrath within the beast surged, bubbled, and churned as he waited.

Chapter Ten

Fear rushed in from all sides as Scott moved Mike from the bed onto the floor and over to the door. His pal was having trouble breathing. Scott waited until the breathing became easier before moving him further. At the door, Scott pushed the latch enough to look out into the passageway. Sensing urgency, Scott tugged at Mike’s nightshirt until he was outside the room.

Hell couldn’t have looked as final as the creature Scott saw peering at him through the darkness at the end of the hall. Fiery hatred, two hundred pounds of fiery hatred for mankind hunkered down, motionless. The beast then moved forward and stopped. Concluding the chances of success were in his favor and acceptable, he moved ten feet closer, closing the path to the elevator off as a possible means of escape. He was satisfied.

“I promise I’ll not leave you here. I promise.” Said Scott as he pulled Mike down the hall from the room.

Scott knew the elevator was out of the question, but the other stairwell might be the answer. Now he had no choice. He spotted the stairwell door on the West side of the hospital and headed for what he thought was freedom. Maybe, just maybe, he thought he could get Mike to safety. Pulling Mike down the hall was harder than he expected. If he could get him through the door, find the latch, and move down the stairs, he would be safe.

The beast moved closer.

It paced its prey. He knew their limits, human frailties. He hastened forward, faster now.

Scott lunged against the door of the stairwell door, hard, and pulled Mike through it. The door closed behind him. Unsuccessfully, he searched for a latch to prevent the beast from getting through to them.

Click, click, click, he came down the hall. He breathed deeply sensing a successful hunt.

Scott soon realized that getting Mike down the stairs would be almost impossible. The bandages, the blood, the pain would be more than he bargained for, and Mike would not survive.

As the shadow of the beast fell across the gap at the bottom of the door, Scott looked up from the second landing.

Slowly, rather playfully now, he eased the door open inch by inch. He sniffed as he pushed the barrier aside separating him from his prey. His size was breathtaking. Full anger swept through the passageway, down the stairs, and through the hearts of the waiting victims. Water vapor condensing from the contact with the cooler air in the stairwell dripped from his nostrils. Four-inch claws dangled from paws placed on the top step overhead in full view of his prey. His jaws opened with a blast of steam. His prey stood frozen with no more than fifteen feet that separated them.

Mike passed out on the steps from a combination of fear and pain.

The beast hesitated for a moment.

Scott looked around for anything that could be used as a weapon. There were no sticks, no hydrant bottles, nothing go any kind to defend himself from this creature. At most, Scott expected a screaming nigh nurse, but this was beyond human comprehension.

Grasping success, once again the victor, he hunched his hind legs and prepared for his final assault. Pleadingly, Scott looked up as the creature flung his full weight towards them. His fags were yellow, his breath hot and steamy.

Closing his eyes and preparing for death, Scott whispered his final prayer.

Death plays games with its victims. Cracking bones and the success of another kill permeated the air, just another kill behind the doors of Hell Hall.