Echoes of the Forgotten

The asylum’s crumbling facade loomed like a gaping maw against the stormy sky. Rose’s flashlight was all but useless, the darkness pressing in like a living thing. "We should call for backup," Tom urged, his breath ragged. "No, not yet," Rose snapped. "We’re running out of time." As they moved deeper into the ruin, the air grew thick with a sickly sweet smell, like rotting flowers and rusted iron. Her fingers brushed against graffiti-stained walls, and the echoes of children’s laughter—or was it crying?—seemed to seep from the very stones. "Did you know this place was shut down after the fire?" Tom whispered, eyes wide. "They say the patients were never fully accounted for." A sudden noise—a thud followed by a dragging sound—sent shivers racing down Rose’s spine. She raised her gun, heart pounding. "Show yourself!" she demanded. From the shadows, a figure emerged. But it wasn’t human. Its emaciated form, patchy skin, and hollow eyes told a story of suffering too deep for words. "Help..." it rasped, voice breaking. Rose lowered her weapon, kneeling beside the creature. "What happened here?" Before it could answer, a violent tremor shook the building. Dust rained down, and distant screams echoed through the halls. "We need to get out!" Tom shouted. As they turned to flee, Rose caught a glimpse of old photographs scattered on the floor — faces twisted in agony, names etched into memory, and a name that froze her blood: 'Sarah Gates'. "This... this can’t be," she whispered, terror tightening its grip. Outside, the storm had turned to an unnatural stillness. The whispers returned, now urgent and insistent. "You belong to us..."