If there were infinite universes, with infinite versions of me, how did I end up in the one where I’m stuck buying used laptops from Craigslist?
I mean, come on, of all the possibilities, I couldn’t have landed in one where I grew up rich? Or at least rich enough to afford a new curse free laptop from Best Buy. At the very least, was it too much to ask to sleep in a room by myself, without Larry, Curly, Moe, and Shemp watching over me?
I cracked an eye open, hopeful they had decided to leave me alone for the night.
They were still there. Of course they hadn't left. If anything, they were even closer now.
If I had known that “Dude, you’re getting a Dell” really meant “Dude, you’re going to have creepy ghosts staring at you every time you try to sleep,” I would’ve gone with the HP. Talk about false advertising. Yeah, it would have taken me another paycheck, but it would have been worth it.
I sprawled out on my floor mattress, face-up, surrounded by my four new companions. They all had desperate looks in their eyes.
I recognized those eyes. In fact, I've had those eyes before. They were the eyes of someone longing for sleep. Years ago, when Halo first came out, I “slept” over at Murphs house and we played all ten levels from start to finish.
We basically played non-stop from seven that night until seven in the morning. By the time we were finished, my eyes were worn out and droopy. They were practically begging to be shut. I was so exhausted, and that had only been a single night.
Some of these guys hadn’t seen a wink of sleep in over twenty years. While I had no idea what that translated to in ghost years, it still sounded horrible. Especially now that I had broken them of whatever spell they were under. Now that I thought about it, this was partially my fault.
Still, I liked my sleep, and I turned into a real jerk when I didn't get enough of it. Between yesterday’s void walk, which zapped a ton of my energy, and the haunted sleepover I was currently hosting, I was on the verge of losing it.
“Do you guys mind? Could you maybe watch from over there?” I pointed toward the far side of the room, hoping they’d take the hint.
Nothing. If anything, they had moved even closer.
“You're all lucky that ghost don't make smells, because from this distance, It would be easy to tell what you all ate for lunch when you died.”
My body shivered. Damn, it's cold in here. It seemed the more ghosts there were, the colder the room got. This sorry excuse for a blanket that they supplied me wasn't going to cut it.
I sighed. “Seriously, this is my personal space. I can’t help you if I can’t sleep. How about you migrate somewhere else?” I was more forceful this time.
Migrate. The word echoed in my head as Josiah’s chant popped back into my memory. “Looks like a duck! Probably a duck!”
I believe the full chant was “If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s probably a duck.” That had to be what he was trying to say.
My uncle used to say that phrase all the time when I was a kid. He loved throwing it out whenever I asked a question about an animal I didn’t recognize. But that was never helpful. In fact, for the longest time, I thought any animal with wings was some kind of duck. It made games of duck, duck, goose pretty confusing.
But why had Josiah said it? Was he trying to tell me something? I was like ninety-five percent sure that the woman I saw wasn’t a duck. But with the way my week was going, I couldn’t rule anything out.
Okay, assuming she wasn’t a duck for now, what was Josiah trying to say? Maybe it was simply about if she looked off, she probably was. Perhaps he had seen the face too. If that’s the case, it was time to think outside the box.
If she wasn’t a duck, she had to be something else. And that face... that rotting, distorted face wasn’t natural. I’ve seen a lot of gross faces online. There were plenty of disgusting shock sites out there, but I've never seen anything like that.
Come on Joe, think. What could cause a messed up face like that?
You know, I played dungeons and dragons once with a group of friends. In the game we had to deal with warlocks and wizards. I was overwhelmed early on and made a barbarian who fell asleep whenever they had a single sip of alcohol.
Needless to say I was asleep for a majority of the campaign and didn’t focus as much as I probably should have. But I did remember them having spells that could change their appearance.
In “Monty Python and the Holy Grail” they used the duck test to prove a woman was a witch, so that’s something, right? Were wizards and warlocks the same as witches? They had to be similar.
I wish James was here. He was our dungeon master. I’m sure he’d know. Anyway, if not a witch or warlock or whatever it was, what else could she be?
Maybe she was some kind of AI—like a rogue program with a glitchy face? That could explain the weirdness, but why was I the only one seeing her?
She did look almost zombie-like. Ew, let's not go to zombies. At least not until I had no other option. I had recently seen “28 Days Later” and I wanted no part of that world.
I noticed the ghosts expressions had changed. They were now staring at me as if I was crazy. I looked around the room, remembering where I currently was. Ok, perhaps that was a fair assumption. Oh wait, maybe they could help.
“What do you guys think?” I asked. “Is the nurse human or something else?”
I waited for an answer that never came. Of course they didn’t respond. They just hovered there.
“Ok. That’s super helpful. Thanks guys. For now, I’m going to assume she’s a witch. It fit her personality nicely. Plus at the very least, she’s definitely an old hag.”
I swore one of the ghosts appeared to chuckle. I knew they could hear me. It was annoying that they only helped when it suited them. However, I remembered what Nicole did to me when I upset her. I better not push it.
Alright, I wasn’t getting any sleep tonight. Unfortunately, as far as I know, sleep was the only way I was able to void walk.
To be honest, I wasn’t sure I wanted to deal with the exhaustion that came along with it again. It was hard enough pretending to be mute without having felt like I ran a marathon.
The next best thing I could do was explore. There was still that hidden room. It was calling to me. And lucky for me, they hadn’t taken my wheelchair this time.
It was risky, sure, but sitting here for another eight hours with these guys standing over me was not an option.
I hoisted myself up into the chair, the wheels squeaking against the tile floor. The ghosts shuffled off to the side, giving me some room.
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“Oh, now you move. How considerate,” I muttered as I wheeled myself toward the bathroom door, where the entrance to the storage room waited.
“All right, here goes nothing. You guys coming? Or are you just gonna stand there?”
Without waiting for a response, I rolled to the bathroom, hoping I would be able to get some answers.
###
I had spent what felt like ten minutes so far trying to open this damn secret door. I guess there were no clocks, so I couldn’t know for sure.
Either way, this was ridiculous. Come on, I had literally just opened the door earlier today. Well, I guess technically it wasn’t actually me, only my body, but still. I guess that wasn’t helpful.
Luckily years of geocaching had prepared me for moments exactly like this. I tried to pretend I was finding a small cache. My fingers searched every square inch of that wall.
“Come on, it’s gotta be here somewhere,” I muttered. I looked over to the ghost who opened it the first time.
“Would you mind helping?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
Finally, my fingers brushed something tiny. It was a button that was smaller than a toothpick. The door slowly creaked open.
A wave of relief washed over me. “Thanks for nothing,” I said, visibly frustrated.
I rolled into the hallway, finally taking a moment to study the area. I’m no architect, but this didn’t seem like an add-on. I’m pretty sure this place was installed here for the sole purpose of controlling the patients. It seemed likely that this wasn’t the only hallway in this building containing secret rooms like this.
I leaned my ear up to the storage room door, listening. It sounded empty. Taking a breath, I eased the handle down and wheeled myself into the small room, closing the door behind me. I had no idea how long I had, but it felt like the clock was ticking.
Across the room, I spotted the desk. I wheeled over and opened the drawers. Everything was still there. Hold on, something wasn’t quite right. The container of needles used to have five vials.
One. Two. Three. Two of the vials were missing. Where had they gone? He must have used them on someone. The thought sent chills down my back.
My hand went to the spot where that needle had gone in. One of the ghosts reached over and brushed my arm. I felt a sudden wave of warmth wash over me, just like with Nicole and Terry's sister. I won't lie, I had begun to love that feeling. It was strangely comforting.
“This happened to you, too,” I whispered. Not only them. Dr. Klanderman had most likely done this to all of the patients.
One of the four ghosts appeared beside him. He was a stocky man with a black beard. He pointed behind his ear. My memory flickered back to that night with Dr. Klanderman in Josiah’s room.
He had climbed on Josiah. There was a needle in his hand. A needle that was much larger than the one in the container. He didn’t slip that one into the arm. He slipped it behind his ear.
It was hard to see in the void, but I clearly remember the injection. That and the look on poor Josiah's face as the needle went in.
Another chill crawled up my spine. I reached up to feel behind my own ear, half-hoping to find smooth skin. But there it was, a small bump.
“What…what had he done to me?” My voice was small, strangled even, but the ghosts had nothing else to offer.
They stood there like statues. It was as if they weren’t allowed to help more than necessary. That fucking sucked. Why the hell couldn’t I remember any of this?
“Come on, don’t go cryptic on me now!” I pleaded. I was growing desperate for the answer to all of this.
Still nothing. Fine, I needed answers, and maybe the book had them.
I flipped open to the first entry. It was labeled June 1st, 1948. That was right around when Cottonwood opened. This felt like peering back into history.
> “Patient Name: Isaac Weirtz
>
> Age: 34
>
> Family: None listed.
>
> Blood Type: O+
>
>
>
> Patient admitted with traumatic brain injury-induced psychosis.
>
>
>
> Perfect candidate for our new program.
>
>
>
> The Strigon program is officially ready to commence. We are limited to universal donors for now. Luckily, patient is a match.
>
>
>
> Sometimes I wonder if peace is truly worth this.
>
>
>
> — R.K.”
R.K. Those must be the initials of Robert Klanderman. He was the man that started cottonwood.
When Josiah saw me looking at his photo on the wall, that must have triggered something in him. But what the hell was that last line about peace? There was nothing peaceful about what they were doing here.
Flipping through the pages, I found only one follow-up note:
> “Patient Name: Isaac Weirtz
>
>
>
> Follow-up procedure successful. Brain alteration complete. No further resistance. Assuming this works, we can proceed with the other candidates.
>
>
>
> — R.K.”
Brain alteration. That was what they had said in my notes. So it wasn’t simply the truth serum. Whatever it was they did behind my ear, it was to try and mess with my head. Those sick bastards.
A loud, sudden buzz ripped through the room. I froze. What the hell was that?
I looked around, heart hammering. There was a phone, somewhere in one of the unopened drawers.
On my third try, I found it. I picked up the Razor branded phone, holding it in my hand. I flipped open the screen displaying a single locked message:
> Wyatt: I’m almost there. You’re sure the procedure worked? I want to confirm it’s the same boy.
No. It had to be someone else! There was no way that was the same Wyatt. I mean I had seen his mutilated corpse. Even smelt the rotten decayed flesh. That was something I would never forget.
There was no way he was coming back from that. Not unless they had a way to regrow internal organs from scratch.
I looked around. Something was wrong. The ghosts were gone. Where the hell had they gone?
“Hey guys, this isn't funny,” I whispered, my voice heavy with worry.
There was no reply. I heard a thin, joyful whistle from the hallway, someone coming closer. Too close.
I closed the phone and shoved both it and the book back into their drawers. I shut it as quietly as I could, heart pounding in my throat.
What the hell do I do now? There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Do I try to fight? That wouldn’t get me far. I was still locked in this place. I was quickly running out of options.
I grabbed one of the needles and held it tight as the footsteps closed in. I heard him whistling just outside the door.
This was it. There was no turning back. Why had I decided to go spying? It had to be Dr. Klanderman. I could hear the sick twisted sound of his voice as he whistled some tune I hadn’t recognized.
There was a smash from somewhere. Not a smash. An explosion? I jumped, holding back a gasp.
Whatever it was, it was loud. I heard the whistling stop. The door knob stopped turning. Apparently, he had heard it too.
I leaned my ear to the door, hearing footsteps carry off down the hallway.
Did the ghosts do something? Could they even do something? I have no idea how they would have made a noise that loud.
All I know is that I had dodged a bullet. Now I just had to make it back to my room without being caught.