Adventures Of An Amateur Ghost Hunter: Riverhaven Sanatorium

10 October Cont. - Conclusion: Attachment Severed

Frigid wind ripped, daggers to skin, as gentle mist played phantom. Its miniscule droplets swirled amongst bone-colored fog, a ghastly manifestation in the surrounding torrent. Behind the chain link fence and 'no trespassing' signs, the skeletal remains of Riverhaven towered. Ten stories of broken brick and shattered glass, its hollowed structure appeared to wail, a sight exaggerated beneath the foreboding ambience of the spectral storm.

A collection of vast emotion, trinkets locked inside the chest of time, oozed between exterior cracks along stone. These disjointed sentiments plagued the halls. They absorbed the fabric of reality. I could sense it, even from beyond the chain link fence where I leaned against the hood of Jackson's car. Death did not exist as an end to the tormented souls trapped in Riverhaven. Death . . . was only the spark of a cruel beginning.

Jackson rested beside me, arms crossed and brows furrowed. His eyes flickered back and forth as he gazed at the fence.

"Notice anything different?" he questioned.

Frustration lingered in his voice, arisen by an unseen inconvenience. Licking my lips, I scanned our surroundings in search of anything out of the ordinary. A side by side comparison formed in my mind, mirroring one of those 'spot the difference' images. Yet, I'd never been any good at them and, to me, everything in front of us persisted to be the same.

"No . . . but I'm assuming there is," I mumbled, in defeat.

Jackson smiled and shook his head, massaging his temple.

"Yep, there is. Take a better look." He pointed towards the fence slightly further than the gate. "The hole we slipped through last time has been fixed."

"Oh," I responded, shoulders slumping. "So, how are we supposed to get in now? You got anything to make a new opening?"

"Doubt a knife would cut it. And I seemed to have left my bolt cutters at home. Guess we'll have to climb."

I snorted. "What happened to you always coming prepared?"

Jackson tilted his head towards me, brow arched and lips pursed.

"Hey, I said I tried to come prepared. I never said I always succeeded."

I gave a soft laugh before returning my attention to the fence. Scaling a wall of eight feet tall, matted gray metal—illuminated by the occasional flash of lightning—loomed as a daunting task. Nibbling my bottom lip, I shook my head.

"I don't know if I can climb that, especially while it's wet."

Jackson shrugged, rubbing his chin as he thought to himself.

"We could always . . . walk the perimeter," he mused, finally speaking. "See if we could locate the death tunnel."

"The . . . the death tunnel?" I sputtered. "What the hell is that?"

Jackson smirked, sliding his tongue across his canines.

"I believe the name speaks for itself. But, to explain, it's a tunnel beneath the sanatorium set up to transport the dead out of the building, so as not to disturb the other patients. Almost five hundred feet long, about a forty-five degree angle. It would only take us, approximately, thirty minutes to walk, if we could find it."

"Would it be dark?"

"Most definitely."

"And wet?"

"Highly likely."

"And . . . and you said a bunch of dead people were taken through it?"

"No more than what was already inside Riverhaven. They didn't die in the tunnel, Ally. Come on." Jackson chuckled.