Emerson walked down the left corridor, the bright fluorescent lights casting a cool blue hue that made his already dry and overworked eyes start to water. He wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes with a forearm, muttering, "Electricity bill must be astronomical... is that why they never pay me?"

As he passed several closed and empty patient rooms, the echo of his footsteps magnified the emptiness around him. A wave of loneliness swept over him, a sudden ache in his chest. He shook his head, forcing the feeling away, shoving it to the back of his mind.

His thoughts drifted to something he’d heard about businesses keeping lights on because it was cheaper than turning them off and on. He couldn't recall where he'd heard that or if it was even true. He shrugged. "Just one of those things," he mumbled. If he ever found himself at a swanky cocktail party and someone asked him where he got his anecdotes, he'd probably have to make up another story. Speaking of parties...

The thought of socializing made his shoulders tense. He imagined crowded rooms, stale air, people shouting over each other and the blaring music, communal chip bowls that were more bacteria than food, and the inevitable stampede to the dance floor when Journey’s "Don’t Stop Believing" started playing. He shivered.

But deep down, he missed those spontaneous calls from friends inviting him out. He missed being part of the scene. His career, however, demanded most of his time and energy, leaving little room for social events. To get invited, you had to know someone who was throwing the party or be close friends with someone invited. And his closest friends were the colleagues who sat ten to twenty feet from his workstation... working.

This dedicated group of healthcare workers was too absorbed in bettering people's lives to think about relaxation or mental health. If he mentioned that to his colleagues in the morning, it might earn a laugh. Well, technically, later that day, since he was scheduled to work at 8:00 AM.

He passed the general surgery department's nursing station—deserted hours ago.

He speculated that Radiology might still be active as he turned left, passing more vacant rooms. At the corridor's end, his beacon appeared: the vending machine. He could almost taste the sweet, artificial goodness of the six bite-sized, chocolate-covered donut holes he was about to indulge in. All for $1.99!

At the T-junction, elevators stood before him. To the left was his nightly salvation, the vending machine, while the emergency exit/employee entrance was to the right. It wasn’t exactly up to fire code, but no one had pointed it out yet, and none of the staff were in a hurry to do so either.

Emerson approached the vending machine, his stomach growling again. "Quiet down," he whispered, trying to ignore the hunger pangs. Leaning closer to the glass, he scrutinized the brightly colored snack packaging. Finally, he gave in, pulling out a credit card and swiping it through the reader. He jabbed the keypad with a force that suggested it owed him money.

B9

"Like 'benign' neoplasm... I need sleep," he muttered, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose as the vending machine whirred.

The crinkle of packaging hitting the bottom of the machine was a small triumph. Emerson opened his eyes, wedging his Hydro Flask under an arm, and pushed back the protective flap. He fished out his prize, a cleverly packaged dose of sugary relief. After tearing open the plastic, he slid the sleeve of miniature chocolate donuts free, crumpling the packaging into a ball. He walked to the trash can next to the elevators and tossed it in before indulging in his treat.

With a sense of ritual, he placed an entire donut hole into his mouth, chewing slowly with his eyes closed to savor it. His nose wrinkled. "Who eats this garbage? Bleh," he muttered, popping another donut into his mouth.

A faint, distant scream echoed down the hallway.

Emerson froze mid-bite. His heart raced as he strained to hear. 'Was that...?' He looked around with wide eyes. 'It came from...' He swallowed the suddenly tasteless donut, licking his lips as a sense of unease grew. "Hello?" he called out. "Is anyone there?"

Another scream, angrier this time, sliced through the silence.

'Holy shit!' Emerson's arms broke out in goosebumps, the hair on his neck standing on end. His mind raced, heart pounding.

A woman screaming bloody murder in the dead of night? Ignoring it wasn't an option. Forget the dark, forget how tired he was—someone needed help!

He discarded the remaining donuts into the trash and rushed toward the emergency exit doors. He slammed his hip against the crash bar, bursting into the bitterly cold night air. Snow pelted his face, wind whipped through his hair, and the cold sliced through his scrubs. He figured whoever was screaming was having a tougher time than he was, so he pushed on, squinting through the snow. Maybe it was his mind playing tricks on him? The howling wind was so loud he couldn’t hear anything else.

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

'Fucking hell...' He lifted an arm to shield his eyes from the snow, squinting to see. 'Can't see shit... wait—' A sudden silhouette emerged, causing his eyes to widen. 'So there was someone out here!... but what... why are they just...?'

Emerson's brows furrowed in confusion. The screaming had sounded urgent, but the figure in the snowstorm seemed eerily still, almost as if waiting. It didn’t make sense, but he couldn’t ignore the possibility someone might need help.

He held the emergency door open with a foot, allowing snow to slowly accumulate in the corridor behind him. The frigid chill seeped into his boots, snow creeping further into the hallway, but he didn't notice. His focus was entirely on the figure. Just as he was about to call out, the silhouette moved. It was a subtle, almost imperceptible shift, but he caught it.

'Oh shit?' Emerson's eyes widened as he watched the shape draw closer. Relief washed over him as he thought, 'They must’ve seen the light behind me!' He believed he had the situation under control and just needed to bring them inside and out of the awful weather. But the memory of the screams nagged at him, dousing his relief. Something felt off. He shook his head, blaming his discomfort on the cold and darkness. Reminding himself that everyone deserved help, he resolved himself to act.

"Hey!" he called out, "Come on over; the water's fine!" He grinned and waved an arm to catch their attention. The shape stopped. 'Hm? They can't see me?' he wondered.

The figure started forward again, becoming more distinctly human with each step.

'Huh?' Emerson's brow furrowed. 'Are they... hurt?!' His experience working around the nursing stations and physical therapy areas kicked in.

The person was hobbling, favoring their left side.

'What happened—I don't see anyone else?...' He almost facepalmed. Why did that matter? He needed to help!

Just as he was about to step beyond the emergency doors, the figure stepped into the floodlight’s glow.

Emerson's jaw dropped as one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen swayed into the light. His heart skipped a beat. Then reality hit him like a cold wave. Her clothes were more bloodied rags than garments, and her once vibrant auburn hair was tangled and matted with dry blood. A tight lump formed in his throat, and his heartbeat pounded in his chest, the initial attraction vanishing like smoke.

"Ma'am...?" he asked tentatively, reaching out with a hand.

The woman’s swaying stopped unnaturally; her head cocked at an odd angle.

Every hair on Emerson's body stood on end as a chill unrelated to the cold weather shot down his spine.

The woman’s head twitched upward. Her disheveled hair parted to reveal a single, glowing-red eye staring into his own.

'What—'

The woman threw her head back and screamed.

The sound was so sudden and piercing that Emerson jerked backward, slipping on the snow at the door's threshold and falling onto his ass in the corridor. It saved his life.

Emerson blanched, watching in slack-jawed disbelief as the woman’s hand cleaved through the air with a violent whoosh! Sharp, taloned nails flashed in the light.

“Jesus Christ!” he shouted, no longer thinking and reacting purely on instinct as he crab-walked backward, almost crushing his fingers beneath the Hydro Flask.

'The Hydro Flask!'

He scrambled across the wet, slushy floor on all fours, managed to get to his feet, and clutched the flask to his chest as he ran back up the hall, slipping and sliding almost every other step of the way.

A tinge ran down his spine, and, heeding some indescribable sixth sense, he threw himself sideways to shoulder check the wall. Another whoosh, followed by a tearing sound and a searing line of pain running down from his left shoulder to his lower back. A pained shout escaped him as he staggered forward, crashing shoulder-first into the wall and bouncing off.

But not before he swung with all the power of a securely held Hydro Flask.

Clang!

The container’s edge caught the woman in the jaw, snapping her head to the side and sending her wild hair flying.

Emerson didn't wait; he took every chance he got as he continued to sprint down the corridor and spotted a beige door further down on his right. 'Supply room!'

He skidded to a halt, yanked open the door, and dashed inside like a hurricane, spinning around to slam it shut behind him. He quickly locked it and gripped the handle with white knuckles. His hands were violently shaking, and his breathing was ragged. But he was safe. He’d made it.

‘Okay… okay… just, think… think…’

The door shook in its frame, bucking the handle out of his grip. Emerson paled, backing away with growing terror.

‘No way…’

The door dented inward—a deep snarl echoed outside, more animal than human. The sound sent chills down his spine, making the hair on his neck stand on end.

He couldn't process what was happening.

Another dent. Then another. Every hit echoed in the small supply room like the tolling bell of death.

Emerson backed away until his back hit a supply shelf. The misshapen door flew open with a bang, hinges screeching off the frame.

The woman howled angrily as she tumbled into the room atop the crumpled door.

Emerson’s skin turned ashen, cold sweat breaking out across his body. His trembling lips pressed into a bloodless line.

The woman remained on all fours, chest heaving with every breath, her face obscured by a curtain of ruined hair.

He wanted to look away but couldn't; he didn’t dare breathe. He didn’t even blink.

‘Please… please no…’ he silently begged.

The woman’s head jerked up. Her vacant, bloodshot eyes locked onto Emerson’s. Then, her mouth grotesquely distended, revealing sharp, unnaturally long canines that glinted in the low light.

A low roar filled the supply room as she lunged.