ELLE

Theodore and Elle wandered down the dark corridor in silence. The two had met up pretty early in the challenge, having woken up pretty close to each other. Now they were trying to find their way out of the tunnels, using Elle's phone as a flashlight.

Theodore had felt the presence of spirits pretty early on; one of the perks of being a necromancer. Unfortunately, they didn't seem to be of the friendly variety. And it didn't help that Theodore's brain was still muddled from his last high, something he really regretted just about now.

"Did you hear that?" Elle said, gripping Theo's arm.

He shook his head. "What d'you mean?"

There was a faint screech from further down the hall, like rusted door hinges or squeaky wheels on a cart.

"That," Elle said.

"Probably nothin'," Theo shrugged. It was an old hospital. Some mundane noises were bound to happen.

"Nothing? We are trapped in the freakiest hallway in existence and you even said there were ghosts down here! Why the hell would that be nothing?" Elle shouted, forgetting her fear momentarily.

"Oy, no need to get all cranky. Want me to go check it out?" Theo asked.

Elle nodded.

Theo sighed. "Right. I'll be right back."

"Have you ever seen a horror movie? Whenever someone says 'I'll be right back,' they die!" Elle said, watching him disappear down the dark corridor.

Waiting for Theo felt like an eternity. Elle could feel eyes on her, scanning her and testing her in the darkness.

Then there were footsteps.

"Theo?" Elle called.

There was no reply.

"Theo? If you're out there– this isn't funny."

Still nothing. Elle's body tensed. She waved her phone-flashlight around trying to pin the source of the footsteps. All of the sudden, two powerful hands grasped Elle's shoulders. She jumped, the hands letting go. Whipping around, Elle came face to face with– Chance.

"Chance! I'm going to kill you!" Elle screamed, furious.

The boy just laughed. Chance was hardly dressed, simply wearing a pair of black basketball shorts, giving Elle a magnificent view of his lean body, his washboard abs– but she refused to get distracted by this. Well she tried to. For a second or two.

"This place is already freaky enough without creeps like you roaming around."

"Creeps? I take personal offense to that," Chance joked, finally catching his his breath. "Come on, let's get out of here. You heard the man," Chance said gesturing up to the ceiling with his jaw. "It's 'dangerous' down here." He smiled mischievously.

"Hold up. I was with Theo. We heard a noise. He went to go check it out, and I told him I'd be here."

Chance gave Elle a look she translated to mean "whatever".

The two waited for a while, making small talk, flirting a little. All the while Elle couldn't shake the feeling that something had gone wrong.

SLOAN

Sloan wasn't afraid of anything. She was a hellhound, after all. She's hunted the fiercest demons, fought the toughest monsters. It was all in her line of duty; protecting the weak and powerless of the super-human community from those who would do them harm.

This challenge was a walk in the park for her. She'd already tapped into the hound side of her existence, the large dog like beast she was able to transform into if she so desired, in order to use her canine hearing and sense of smell, hopefully giving her the edge on finding a way out.

The firsts scents she picked up were to be expected; mold, rats, rust. She could smell fear, most likely from the others, but it was hard to pinpoint any one direction to follow.

Then there was another scent. Deep, metallic, earthy. The unmistakable smell of blood. And it was close.

Sloan considered ignoring it, convicted it was some kind of trick, or maybe a hallucination from her own uneasiness. But no; the smell persisted, and Sloan knew she needed to check it out. Someone down there could be injured, or worse.

The smell was luckily pungent enough for Sloan to track, and even in the total darkness of her momentary prison, she had a good sense of her surroundings. Even so, she picked her way in the dark very carefully, moving slowly and quietly so not to attract any unwanted attention.

As the smell grew stronger, a pit sunk in Sloan's stomach. She could already tell there would be a lot of blood; more than likely whoever had been injured was dead by now anyways. She still needed to know for sure.

The smell was overwhelming now, so close yet–

Sloan stopped. The scent seemed to be coming from the wall. Hitting the surface, she realized it wasn't a wall at all. It was a door. After a few seconds of fumbling for a doorknob, Sloan shoved the door open. The rusted hinges squealed, too loud for her liking. She slipped inside, carefully closing the door behind her.

The room was strangely illuminated by some sort of yellow light. It took Sloan a second to find its source: a discarded flashlight. She picked it up, shining the light around to get her bearings.

The room she entered appeared to be some kind of office or workspace. The only furnishings in the room appeared to be a desk and some filing cabinets. Scattered on the desk and all across the floor were papers. One thing that was missing, however, was any blood. Sloan knew the scent had come from this room, yet even now the smell was untraceable, as if it had just disappeared.

Shaking her head in confusion, Sloan decided to leave the room and find a way out, but as she was making her way to the door, there was a loud bang from behind her. Muscles tensing, she whipped around. It appeared the bang was caused by a desk lamp falling, but Sloan scoured the desktop just in case.

That's when the files caught her eye.

Marked "Cult Cases," the file was ordinary enough. Sloan picked the folder up and opened it.

The first document in the folder appeared to be a diary entry.

July 24th, 1945

We receive more and more shell-shocked veterans everyday. They come by the bus-load, they're empty eyes and thin bodies stirring a sadness in anyone who looks at them. I cannot express my absolute pity for those poor souls.

Yesterday, I caught Janet sneaking a syringe from the operating room. I told her to put it back. She complied. I would have reported her to the Professor, but, truth be told, I'm forth tends of Janet and her "gang", Marisa and Peg. Those girls are nothing but trouble; pretty on the outside but demons on the inside. The most wretched nurses I ever did see.

On top of that, I overheard the Professor speaking to one of the guards. They found a body outside the chapel. A body with strange lacerations on the wrists and chest. I tremble to think of who could have done such a thing; my mind wanders back to those three girls.

No one told me that being a nurse in a mental institution would be easy or safe, but I have never feared for my own life more than I do now.

-Celine

Sloan shook her head, rereading the last paragraph. If Trinity Heights was this messed up seventy years ago, then such negative energy could certainly exist now. Sloan had seen many a haunting caused by centuries of hate and depravity; hunted demons that fed on the negative emotions tied to certain locations.

Sloan flipped the diary page over. The next document was a news article.

TRIPLE SUICIDE AT MENTAL INSTITUTION

August 14th, 1945

Last Sunday night, the bodies of three nurses were found hanged from the rafters of the St. James Chapel on the campus of Trinity Heights Mental Institution. Peggy Miles, 23, Marisa Streett, 18, and Janet Hope Dunsten, 26, were nurses at the institution.

"They were nice girls, really sweet and pretty. I don't know why they'd do something like this," said Professor Hayes, lead researcher at Trinity Heights.

"They came to Mass every Sunday, cared for the sick– this is, simply put, quite a tragedy," said Father Emile, resident chaplain of St James.

So far, not motive has been identified for the triple suicide, and foul play has not been ruled out as a possible explanation.

Trinity Heights is no stranger to murder. In the early 1900's, the Institution was plagued by a string of child murders committed by the 19-year-old Temperance Devereux, known as the "Doll Killer". In its earlier history, a mass slaughter committed by the criminally insane inmate known as the "Gardener" has been recorded.

Wherever the mentally disturbed are involved, violence is sure to follow. One cannot help but wonder: are these apparent suicides more than they seem?

Sloan flipped over the paper to the last document, another news article.

CULT TIES CONFIRMED IN SUICIDE CASE

October 13, 1945

After examination of the rooms of triple suicide victims at Trinity Heights Mental Institution, cult ties have been confirmed. Pagan books, knives, and even hidden stashes of dried animal organs were found in the dorm of Janet Hope Dunsten. Symbols found in one of Dunsten's books were also found carved into the flesh of other murdered Trinity Heights patients earlier this year.

"As far as we can tell now, it seems the Dunsten girl may have killed the other girls found hanged with her before committing suicide herself, or all three girls were involved in the cult," said Police Chief Suthers in a press conference late last night.

As the case comes to a close, more concerns have been raised over possible cultist infiltration amongst other nurses and doctors in the institution.

Sloan shut the folder. It was just as she suspected. She had dealt with plenty of cases of demon-worshipping mortals before, and they never ended well. Perhaps that was the reason behind the paranormal nature of the asylum?

Satisfied with her discovery, Sloan placed the folder back on the table.

Flashlight in hand, she crept out into the dark hallway, ready to face whatever evil came her way.

BRENNAN

Brennan had been huddled in a corner, arms right around himself and wishing the darkness away when Hinoki had found him. The dryad boy had been carrying a flashlight he had found in some hallway.

"Hiya!" He had called. "You here by yourself? You don't have to be sad, you can come with me!"

And so, Brennan went, the two wandering the dark hallways together.

The entire time, Hino talked and talked, not minding one bit that Brennan had made no effort to respond, nor did he seem to care about the apparent gravity of the situation.

"Oh, and this one time, I was home alone... Actually I was home alone a lot, considering I never really left home before I came here... But anyway, I was home alone, and– Did you hear that?" Hino said, perking his ear up.

Brennan shook his head. To be fair, he couldn't really hear anything besides Hino's chatter.

"Sh-shhh," Hino shushed, despite Brennan not saying a word. "There it is again."

Brennan strained to listen to whatever it was Hino had heard.

Then, very faintly, he did hear it.

"Theo! Theodore?" Came a call. It sounded like one of the girls, possibly Ivy or Elle.

"Elle! Elle, is that you?" Hino screamed at the top of his lungs, making Brennan's heart race.

"I- I don't think you should scream," Brennan muttered.

"You can talk! I was worried for a second that you didn't know how!" Hinoki said.

The loud bang from behind the two boys made both of them scream.

Whipping around, Brennan saw– a potted plant.

"What–?" He began to say.

"My tree!" Hino exclaimed. "That's my tree. Every Hamadryad has one. Or rather, we are born from the tree, tied to it, exist because of it. I wonder what it's doing here? I thought I left you in my room..."

Hino wandered towards the plant.

"Hino, I don't have a good feeling. I think you should leave it..." Brennan warned.

"I can't just leave it! That's a silly idea!" Hino said.

The tree boy bent over to pick up the potted plant, but as he did, suddenly a pair of arms materialized out of the shadows. Hino screamed, struggling to break free from his captors. A gurney rolled from out of the darkness, wheels squealing. Hino's captors, two doctors, Brennan assumed, from their long white coats and medical masks, strapped Hino to the rolling bed. The boy continued to thrash. Brennan was frozen in fear. One of the doctors stooped down to pick up Hino's small bonsai tree while the other began to roll Hino down the hallway into the darkness.

"Help me! Brennan! Please, don't let them take me! Brennan!"

Hearing his name, Brennan snapped out of his fear-paralysis. He transformed himself into a cat, took a quick sniff of the air to find his bearings, then scampered off in the opposite direction of Hino, leaving the tree boy to fend for himself.

XxXxX

Hello again readers! What do you guys think? Is Hino doomed? Will somebody come to his rescue? Let me know what you guys think in the reviews!

Also, now that we have our first character disappearance, I must please ask that owners of characters who disappear or are killed respect the author's decision. The last thing I need are a list of complaints about why such and such character should not be dead.

Thanks again guys! Hope you all are enjoying the story thus far!