Ethan Ward sat at the ticket counter of The Haunted Haven, the brass badge from the clock tower glinting in his hand under the morning light. The words Hope’s the echo looped in his mind, his mom’s voice—faint, urgent—still echoing from last night’s revelation. The journal lay open beside him, his dad’s final note stark against the page: The signal’s alive. It wants us to hear. He rubbed his temples, the weight of it sinking in—his parents hadn’t just disappeared; they’d been pulled into something bigger, something the Haven wouldn’t let go.

Sophie Bennett paced nearby, her flashlight tucked into her backpack, the wrench from the tunnel now a permanent fixture at her side. “So,” she said, breaking the quiet, “we’ve got voices, a creepy badge, and a ghost lady who’s half-bouncer, half-cryptic poet. What’s the play, boss? Keep digging?”

Ethan nodded, pocketing the badge beside the locket and key. “Yeah. They’re down there—past the threshold, chasing the lost. We’ve got proof now.” He tapped the journal. “And Lydia knows more than she’s saying. We push until she spills—or something else does.”

“Love a good shove,” Sophie said, grinning, though her eyes flicked to the office door. “Think the DJ’s got a new track lined up?”

As if on cue, the radio crackled to life—static hissing, sharp and sudden, the dial spinning wildly. Ethan tensed, and Sophie froze mid-step as the voice rasped through, colder than before. “The asylum cries for the broken,” it said, deliberate and heavy. “Face their wails, Ethan. Free them.”

The static cut off, leaving a chill in its wake. Ethan’s grip tightened on the journal, his flashlight already in hand. “St. Mary’s,” he muttered, flipping to a page near the middle—his dad’s sketch of a crumbling building, labeled Asylum Wing, with a note: The cries are loudest there. Signal’s close.

“St. Mary’s Asylum?” Sophie asked, peering over his shoulder. “That’s here? In the Haven?”

“Looks like it,” Ethan said, standing. “Another hidden gem, I’m guessing. Let’s find it.”

They moved through the main hall, past the manor door and theater entrance, the air growing heavier with each step. Sophie swept her flashlight across the walls, her wrench tapping nervously. “This place is like a funhouse from hell,” she said. “What’s next, a haunted bounce castle?”

“Don’t give it ideas,” Ethan replied, his beam landing on a narrow stairwell tucked behind a plastic skeleton. The steps descended, their edges worn smooth, and a faint wail drifted up—not the radio’s voice, not Lydia’s, but something raw, broken, human. Ethan’s gut twisted. “Down we go.”

Sophie nodded, her grin fading. “Round six, huh? Let’s hope it’s not a screamer.”

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

The stairs spiraled into a basement level Ethan hadn’t seen—wider than the tunnel, its concrete walls stained with rust and something darker. The wail grew louder, splitting into sobs, then silence, and the hum pulsed through the floor, stronger than ever. His flashlight caught a door at the far end—heavy steel, cracked but solid, the eye symbol etched deep into its surface.

“Bingo,” Ethan said, pulling the key from his pocket. It glowed faintly, warm against his skin, and he slid it into the lock. The door groaned open, revealing a sprawling chamber—St. Mary’s Asylum, or what was left of it. Collapsed beds lined the walls, their frames twisted like bones, and shattered glass crunched underfoot. The air reeked of decay, and the wails erupted again—dozens of voices, overlapping, screaming from nowhere and everywhere.

Sophie gripped her wrench, her flashlight trembling. “Okay, that’s… a lot. Where are they?”

Ethan swept his beam across the room, the hum spiking in his skull. “Don’t know. Radio said ‘face their wails, free them.’ Maybe they’re trapped—part of the signal.” Shadows flickered at the edges, not the tendrils from before, but figures—vague, human, drifting between the beds, their cries cutting through the air.

One shadow lunged, a woman’s form—gaunt, eyeless, her mouth stretched wide in a scream. Ethan dodged, the key flaring, and she recoiled, dissolving into mist. More surged forward, their wails deafening, and Sophie swung her wrench, a clang echoing as one vanished. “Ethan!” she shouted, backing toward him. “Plan?”

“Working on it!” he yelled, scanning the chaos. His light caught a rusted console in the center—wires spilling out, a speaker crackling faintly, the eye symbol carved into its base. The locket burned in his pocket, and he remembered the carousel—how the key stopped it. “There!”

He bolted for the console, shadows clawing at his heels, and slammed the key into the slot. The hum spiked, a shriek tearing through the room—not the shadows’, but something deeper, angrier. The figures froze, their wails softening to sobs, and a voice broke through—his mom’s, faint but clear.

“Ethan?” it whispered, crackling from the speaker. “You’re here… too loud… free them…”

“Mom!” Ethan’s voice cracked, his hands trembling on the console. The shadows shimmered, their forms sharpening—men, women, faces hollow but human, staring at him with empty eyes. The locket flared, and he yanked it out, the photo glowing—his parents in this room, surrounded by the broken, their expressions grim.

“Free who?” he shouted, but the speaker went dead, the hum fading. The shadows sank into the floor, their sobs trailing off, and Lydia Kane appeared—crimson dress stark against the decay, her gaze heavy.

“You heard,” she said, voice low. “The broken—the lost your parents tried to save. They’re part of it now.”

“Part of what?” Ethan demanded, pulling the key out. A small disk clattered from the console—a rusted tag, etched with Patient 0. “The signal?”

Lydia nodded, her form flickering. “The Haven’s voice. It traps them—feeds on them. You’re letting them out, piece by piece.”

“Then help me,” Ethan said, stepping closer. “Get them back.”

She shook her head, fading. “I can’t. But you’re close.” She vanished, leaving the tag in his hand, the asylum silent.

Sophie exhaled, lowering her wrench. “Well, that was a hell of a cry-fest. You okay?”

Ethan stared at the tag, his mom’s voice echoing. “Yeah. They’re here—part of the lost. We’re freeing them.”

“Then we keep going,” Sophie said, her grin returning. “Next patient?”

Ethan nodded, the tag heavy in his pocket. “Next patient.” The Haven’s cry was quieter now, but he knew it wasn’t done—not until he found them all.