"You’re late."
Fin shot an annoyed look at Bill.
"No, I was here before you! You were the one running late, so I went to answer nature’s call," Bill laughed.
"Tell me you didn’t go inside without me," Fin eyed him suspiciously.
"Relax, man. Let’s go. Oh, by the way, you won’t believe this—our documentary got featured on—"
"The Busters. I know," Fin interrupted.
"You should’ve told me!" Bill frowned. "I thought you cut ties with me after what happened in the cemetery."
Fin glared.
"Don’t give me that look," Bill teased. "You were the one who swore last week would be our final ghost hunt. And knowing you, once you make up your mind—"
"Yes."
"Then why are we standing outside an abandoned mental asylum?"
Fin sighed. "You never stop talking, do you?"
"I’ll keep quiet," Bill smirked. "Just tell me when to start filming."
"Yeah, fine."
Just then, a sudden chill swept past them—not the crisp cold of winter, but something unnatural, something that felt like it moved through them.
"You felt that too?" Fin whispered.
"Yeah… Let’s get started."
They stepped inside, their footsteps echoing through the empty corridors. Rusted chains dangled from stained walls, and broken beds lay scattered in the darkness. The place reeked of decay.
Fin stopped. A sickening squelch beneath his foot made his stomach twist. He looked down. A pool of semi-dried blood.
"Bill… look." His voice trembled.
"Don’t look back," Bill’s tone was urgent. "Just keep walking. Turn right. Find room 309. Pick up whatever’s inside and leave. No sound. No hesitation. And for God’s sake—never come back."
Fin’s breath hitched. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to run, but Bill was with him. That was his only assurance.
Step by step, he walked, turning right as instructed. There it was. Room 309.
The door creaked as he pushed it open.
His breath stopped.
His skin turned ice-cold.
Bill lay inside—motionless, a metal rod jammed into his skull. His mouth hung open in a silent scream, eyes frozen in terror.
Fin staggered backward, horror flooding his veins.
Then, against every warning, he did the one thing he was told not to do.
He turned back.
A flash of black light consumed him, and before he could scream, cold steel pierced through his skull.
The asylum swallowed the silence once more.
