A small monitor is embedded in the wall, pulsing gently with life. Green icons flicker on the terminal. The speakers crackle faintly with static. The numbers alternate, showing the vitals and psychological states of two patients—both awake, yet silent in the night.
Dull, rhythmic beeps of medical devices fill the darkness.
Through the window and across the street, the County Sanitation building looms—a concrete mass bathed in moonlight and summer rain, draped in fluttering moths, guarded by streetlamps. Bright headlights are swallowed by the September night, so cleaning units take off slowly. An owl perches on a branch, its eyes fixed on a room within the hospital.
The room, white in the daytime, has softened to a comfortable yet numb gray. Gray bedding, gray tiles, gray walls, gray people. A gray specter stands in the corner furthest from the window.
“They’re releasing us today,” Finnian says, his voice barely breaking the silence. “As long as the cleansing and emotional evaluations go well.”
Barbara doesn’t take her eyes off Meredith in the corner. “So long as the cleansing and the emotional evaluations go well.”
A heavy silence settles over them again, interrupted only by the steady beeping of the machines. Finnian’s gaze drifts to the ceiling, the weight of the impending procedure pressing down on him like a physical force. He feels the chill in the air more acutely now, with the thin hospital gown doing little to shield him.
The door to their room creaks open. As it closes, the specter is no longer in the corner. Octavia now stands in front of them, with hair as gray as the night.
She gives a big, toothy smile, with two thumbs up. “Last cleansing, y’all.”
Finnian and Barbara exchange a glance. He gestures to her.
“We’ll head over to work as soon as we’re finished here, ma’am.”
“Oh.” Octavia’s smile drops into an awkward frown. “That isn’t necessary. Both of you should take the day off, how’s your hearing?”
“Our hearing is fine,” Barbara says. In truth, her right ear is still about thirty percent deaf. Finnian’s is at ten. “When is the next job?”
“How’re your emotions, Barbara?”
She waves off the question dismissively. “They’re fine. When is the next cleaning? What is it, so I can start researching? What and when is—”
“Slow down, Slim.” The older woman plops into a rolling chair. “The hazard pay hasn’t even hit our accounts yet, so let’s give it a minute—”
Barbara picks her phone off the nightstand. It’s still vibrating with congratulatory messages from friends, peers, and families. Her first official job. The seeds of a budding career, they say.
She swipes a few new messages away quickly. “Look at this, ma’am. I think this job would allow us to… sorry, one moment.”
A phone call from someone she doesn’t remember. In parentheses, it says “University,” so she must know them from there. She hangs up. Another phone call from a different person. “Sorry, ma’am—”
Finnian tosses his phone over, already unlocked. Neither of them has talked about it, but she knows nothing sits in his inbox besides the auto-generated “thank you for a job well done” message from the Custodial Association.
“Thank you…”
“No problem.”
“How are you feeling, Finnian?”
“He’s fine,” Barbara answers. “Ma’am. Could you please look at some of these jobs—”
“Barbara—”
“Just—”
“Slim—”
“Stop it!”
The anger Barbara feels is quickly replaced by horror, as she realizes she just yelled at her superior. The drone of machines fills the silence, as does the static hissing in the speakers.
“Ma’am, I’m so sorry. I’m out of line.”
Octavia rolls to their bedsides and picks up their charts. “Elevated cortisol… low serotonin.”
“We were already predisposed,” Barbara mutters, staring down at the blanket, still embarrassed.
“Waking hallucinations?”
“Infrequent.” Her breaths are shaky. “I want… I need to get back to work, ma’am. I’ve thought about all the mistakes I made and would like to actualize the adjustments. I know it’s still busy over there. I can see the unit cars coming in and out even now.”
As if on cue, three units turn on their sirens and ride out.
“I need you to focus on getting better. That job was more emotionally intense than I would’ve preferred for recent hires. I’m actually inclined to request an extension on hospitalizations.”
“But—”
“I’m serious, she says. “Depending on how the cleansing and evaluation goes, I really will keep you both here for another six days.”
“That’s not fair,” Barbara says. “We didn’t do anything wrong, we did everything you told us to do.”
“It isn’t a punishment!” Octavia shouts. “I mean damn, Barbara, you and Finnian both tried to—”
“It. Isn’t. Fair.” Barbara looks up and locks eyes with her superior. “We didn’t do anything wrong.”
Silence falls again.
“Who’s overseeing the disposal of Meredith’s corpse?” Barbara asks.
“Due to the alleged actions which lead to the [Banshee]’s manifestation, State Sanitation is handling it.”
“Why won’t you use her name? She had one.”
After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, the door creaks open again. A small woman in scrubs steps inside, as cold and as lifeless as the atmosphere. “It’s time,” she says, her voice cutting through the darkness.
“I’ll take my leave,” Octavia says.
Just as she stands, Finnian pipes up. “Will there be a funeral?”
She takes a deep breath. “We… outside doesn’t hold funerals for things like that. No matter where they once were, it’s just not what [Custodians] do.”
She quickly exits. The woman in scrubs makes no acknowledgement of her, but simply asks, “Are you two ready?”
The pair exchange a glance. Barbara rises first, her movements stiff and mechanical, as if she’s on autopilot. Finnian follows suit, each step feeling heavier than the last.
The woman waves for them to follow, leading them out of the gray room and into the dimly lit hallway. The fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting harsh shadows as they pass. The sounds of their footsteps echo against the wall, the only noise in the otherwise silent corridor.
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[CUSTODIAL CLEANING MANUAL: EMOTIONAL RESIDUE]
[ACCESS GRANTED]
[THANK YOU FOR YOUR ASSISTANCE, DR. MAHOGANY]
“You two are lucky!” Dr. Mahogany exclaims, his voice bursting with emotion that feels wildly out of place. His limbs are long, and at times it feels like there are too many. “If you were anymore possessed, we would’ve been forced to take this a bit further.”
He cackles maniacally, the sound sharp and jarring in the sterile room. He moves animatedly, almost too quick, across the space, limbs seeming to contort as he gestures wildly. The laughter echoes, bouncing off the walls, making the room feel smaller than it is.
Finnian shifts uncomfortably in his hospital gown, the thin fabric offering no warmth against the sterile, freezing air. Further than this, he thinks, glancing around the room. The bright, artificial lights flood the space, leaving no corner untouched, and no shadows in which to hid. The light is harsh, almost too clean, making the room feel more like an operating theater than a cleansing chamber.
This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
The room is a strange juxtaposition of the modern and mystical. Monitors hum beside altars, their screens flickering with unreadable data. Burning incense sits in a perfect circle, the smoke curls rising in lazy spirals, filling the air with a sweet, almost cloying scent.
A small woman in scrubs approaches them, her eyes unnervingly large, the only feature that feels human in this cold, clinical space. She holds out a pair of white garments, her expression unreadable beneath the surgical mask.
“We need you two to disrobe and change into these, if you wouldn’t mind,” she says, her voice flat and professional.
Finnian minds. The thought of stripping in this place, under these lights, makes his skin crawl. But he sees Barbara already moving, movements brisk and efficient, as though she’s done this a hundred times before. She doesn’t hesitate or falter—just does what’s expected of her, with that professionalism she always carries.
Finnian feels a twinge of shame. He wants to be robotic. He wants to be like her, always making the optimal choice. Someone who just does the necessary. But look where it got him—possessed because his skill level back his bravado. He isn’t good enough yet.
Burying the thought for later, he takes the garment from the woman, the fabric feeling coarse in his hands. With a deep breath, he forces himself to follow Barbara’s lead, slipping out of his gown and into the sterile white. The air is colder on his bare skin, every movement making him aware of the situation they’re in.
As he dresses, he catches Barbara’s eye. There’s a flicker of som
ething—maybe a shared understanding, maybe just mutual resignation. But it passes quickly, replaced by resolve.
The little woman steps back, satisfied with their compliance.
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[DOCUMENT SUBMISSION]
[SUBMISSION ACCEPTED]
[THANK YOU FOR YOUR ASSISTANCE, DR. MAHOGANY]
Procedure Title: Final Cleansing Protocol of Class III Supernatural Possession - [Banshee]
Document Identifier: CP3 - BCS - SEP - 001
Document Originator: Dr. Daniel Mahogany
Objective: To perform a comprehensive cleansing procedure on individuals (Finnian Brown and “Slim” Barbara Lee) who have been exposed to moderate-risk supernatural possession, specifically on removing psychological residual effects including memories and emotions.
Disclaimer:
* All aspects of the procedure, including patient reactions and readings are thoroughly submitted to the Custodial Association’s Custodial Health Department within 24 hours.
* In cases of procedural failure or incident, a detailed incident report must be filed. In cases of post-procedure incidents, a detailed incident report must be filed. As of this submission, none have been or will be filed.
Procedure Overview:
* Patient Preparation
1. Patients were prepped in a sterile environment. Standard issue white garments were provided. Patients were required to disrobe and change. They were not allowed to change in privacy in order to maximize vulnerability for cleansing procedures.
* Environmental Setup
1. The cleansing chamber was sterilized. Physical sterilization is located in reference [Hospital Janitorial Guide Link]. It was purified spiritually through the process of smudging.
* Personnel
1. Three cleansing officers, one licensed psychologist, and one energy field specialist were required to be present. Based on the moderate severity, two additional assistants were present.
* Cleansing
* Isolation:
1. Patients were placed in dual-containment fields designed to prevent the spread of residual entity influence. These fields were calibrated to specific energies detected during the pre-cleansing assessment.
* Incantation and Energy Alignment
1. Cleansing officers began ritual incantation, focused on aligning the patient’s energy with the ambient cleansing energy, Patients experienced fluctuating temperatures and intense pressures in the chest area during this phase.
* Psychic Drainage
1. Focused mirrors were directed at the patient’s core, targeting residual psychiatric contaminants. The process was accompanied by low frequency sound bowls, overriding the entity’s auditory influence. Hallucinations were apparent; patients were advised to remain calm and avoid resistance. Barbara Lee resisted, resulting in physical manifestations apparent only to her.
* Final Purification
1. The final phase involved application of ritualistic symbols directly onto the patient’s skin, followed by a high-frequency sound bowl designed to expel remaining contamination. A brief but intense sensation of cold resulted in temporary disorientation of the patients.
* Post- Cleansing: Following the cleansing, the space was smudged using granny sage. We then burned Palo Santo wood to provide a stable, clean energy.
* Post-Procedure Monitoring:
* Observation
1. Patients were kept in the cleansing chamber for one hour. Vital signs and psychological states were stable.
* Evaluation
1. A licensed psychologist will conduct an immediate evaluation to assess the patient’s mental state. Any signs of lingering contamination will result in mandatory follow-up cleansings or extended medical leave.
----------------------------------------
The psychologist turns on her projector. It whirrs alive, the yellow tint plastering against the wall. She has a binder in her laps and pulls three photos from it. With a deliberate motion, she slips one of the photos onto the projector—a hair comb with the initial “M” on it.
“What is this?” she asks, her voice calm and clinical.
“A hair comb,” Barbara answers automatically.
“Whose is it?”
Barbara hesitates for a fraction of a second. “Mine.” She pauses, her brow furrowing slightly. “And Finnian’s. We share it.”
The psychologist’s eyes shift to Finnian. “Do you two share the comb, Finnian?”
“We do,” Finnian replies, his voice steady, though the slightest tremor comes as he speaks.
The woman scribbles in her notebook. The pen scratch fills the silence, grating against Barbara’s nerves. Once the photo of the comb is removed from the projector, her heart skips a beat. She stares at the empty screen, realization dawning on her. It’s not her comb. It belongs to Meredith, the [Banshee].
Her mouth goes dry, but she forces herself to speak. “Wait,” Barbara says, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Hm?” The psychologist doesn’t look up from her notes.
“That’s wrong,” Barbara insists, her voice tightening. “That’s not our comb. It’s not our comb. Finnian, it’s not our comb.”
He looks at her, confusion flickering in his eyes before he nods in agreement. “It’s not our comb, ma’am.”
The psychologist makes no comment, her expression unreadable. She simply scribbles more notes. Barbara’s jaw clenches, frustration seeping out of her, doubt gnawing at her—are any of these her memories?
The psychologist slides the next photo onto the projector. It’s a hotel room and the image is grainy and cold. The room is a mess, with a toss of sheets and bottles scattered across the floor.
“What are your thoughts on this room?” the psychologist asks, her tone neutral.
Barbara stares at the photo, trying to focus. She feels pangs of discomfort and bad memories scratching at the surface, but it’s distant—almost numb. She remembers spending hours in that room days ago, cleaning the aftermath after taking the very photo she stares at now. Picking it apart. Realizing too late that a woman had been murdered there. That the motel manager allowed it. The thought still eats at her, how the Custodial Association has made no effort to submit evidence for prosecution against him.
The silence eats her, but Finnian fills it.
“I was killed there.” His voice trembles. Sweat beads on his forehead and roll to the carpet, darkening the light green patch dark. His breaths are getting heavy. Panic was sitting on him.
Barbara reaches over, her hand finding his wrist. “No, you weren’t,” she says softly.
He looks at her, tears welling his eyes. He attempts to make them stern, but fails, and wipes his eyes. “No. No I wasn’t,” he echoes, as if trying to convince himself.
The psychologist watches them for a moment. More notes. More notes. The last photo slides onto the projector—a man’s face, harsh but unfamiliar.
“Who is this man?”
Barbara and Finnian exchange a glance, both of them shrugging in unison.
“We don’t know,” Barbara says.
The psychologist doesn’t react, simply continuing to write as the image of the man lingers on the screen. She scans both of them, slowly. Then nods. “Alright, if you’ll head back to your room the doctor will be in with exit papers. Then, you’re free to go.”
They both stand in unison. Due to the procedure, Finnian leans on a crutch and Barbara hobbles out on an assistive walker. The room is empty for a while until Octavia steps out of a closet.
“Are they really free to go?”
“They are,” the psychologist says.
“I submitted a request to extend their hospitalization an hour ago.”
“I’m aware,” she says, lighting a cigarette. “And it has already been denied.”
Octavia sinks into the seat.
“Are you here for an evaluation?” she asks, blowing a thin stream of smoke.
She puts her head in her hands. “What are they doing up there?”
The psychologist shrugs. “Orders are orders. If they don’t attempt to strike me, I need to process them back to the field.”
“And that’s what qualifies for a healthy [Custodian] now?”
She shrugs again. “Above my pay grade. Above our pay grade.”