Chapter 1

In the late autumn, a reporter entered Eastborough's abandoned St. Mary's Hospital. Armed with an old lamp and a silver cross, he uncovered a buried evil, innocents tortured, souls trapped, and a vengeful spirit. One night of terror, a truth he could never speak.

*****

In the late autumn, three years ago, at the foot of Ostville near Eastborough, there stood St. Mary's Hospital, abandoned for three years.

It was supposed to be a church hospital, but back then, it had more scandals and fatal incidents than any other foreign hospital in the city. Word was, one winter's night, three years ago, a sudden plague swept through the place.

Overnight, patients, nurses, the priest, and doctors all vanished without a trace, leaving the air thick with medicine and blood, and eerie, unexplainable wails echoing through the halls.

For the next three years, nobody dared go near that cursed ground; not the bravest beggar would step inside. If they heard crying or laughter from within, they'd bolt in terror, leaving behind whatever scraps they'd managed to scavenge.

*****

My name was William Carter, an intern reporter at the Morning Post in Eastborough. The paper was struggling back then, and Wade Lambert, the editor-in-chief, thought I was young and gutsy.

He tossed me a story and said, "Go check out St. Mary's Hospital and write an exclusive that would rock Eastborough. William, if you pull this off, you're a full-time reporter. If not, don't bother coming back."

I had graduated back then, full of youthful ambition and desperate to find my footing, so I agreed without a second thought. Looking back now, I realized how foolish and fearless I was.

I had no clue what kind of bone-chilling terror was waiting for me as I stepped into that abandoned hospital.

The day before I left, I headed to the Southside flea market to pick up a sturdy kerosene lamp. The abandoned hospital had no electricity or running water, so I'd have to rely on that lamp for light at night.

The stall owner was a wrinkled old man named Emerson. As I was choosing a lamp, Emerson caught sight of my notebook, which had St. Mary's Hospital written on it.

His face went pale, and he grabbed my wrist, his voice rough. "Hey, are you going to that place?"

I paused for a second, then nodded. "Emerson, I'm a reporter. I'm going there for some reporting, to write a story."

Emerson yanked his hand back like he'd touched something filthy, waving his hands frantically. "No, no, you can't go there. If you do, you won't come back." He leaned in, his voice dropping to a terrified whisper.

"My nephew was a caretaker at that hospital three years ago. Before the plague hit, he sent a letter home, saying something was off. He kept hearing women crying at night, and when the lights were out, he could see shadows moving across the windows.

"The next day, he vanished. No one ever saw him again, alive or dead. People said he got tangled up with whatever's haunting that place and became one of the lost souls trapped there."

My heart skipped a beat, and a chill ran down my spine, but I forced myself to sound calm. "Emerson, there's no such thing as ghosts. It's all rumors."

Emerson sighed, "Rumors? This isn't gossip. Not long ago, a businessman from out of town didn't believe in any of that. He brought two bodyguards to the hospital, hoping to find treasure, expensive imported medicine, and gold or silver jewelry left behind.

"But what happened? All three of them went in and never came out. Three days later, someone found one of the bodyguards' bodies outside the hospital walls. His face was ghostly pale, eyes wide open like he'd seen something unimaginably terrifying.

"And there was a thin mark around his neck, almost like he'd been strangled with hair. The other two? No one's heard a thing about them since."

With that, Emerson pulled an old lamp from under the counter. It was made of copper, with some faded carvings on it, clearly from years ago. "This lamp was used by a nurse at St. Mary's Hospital back in the day.

"Someone found it in the hospital and sold it to me. If you're really set on going, take this with you. It might keep some of the bad stuff away." He paused, then pulled out a silver cross from his pocket.

"And this, wear it, and it might keep you safe for a while. Remember, no matter what you hear at night, don't turn around, don't answer.

"No matter what you see, don't get close, don't look it in the eye. You have to get out of that place before dawn, or you might never make it out."

I took the kerosene lamp and the silver cross, my fear growing stronger by the second. But thinking about what Wade had said and my dream of becoming a reporter, I gritted my teeth, paid the money, and turned to leave the flea market stall.

After I'd walked a long way, I could still hear Emerson shouting behind me, "Hey, think twice. Don't risk your life."