Ghosting

3

Thomas awoke to the sound of someone crying.

He laid in bed for a few moments, listening to it and thinking. He'd always sworn he'd never be the person in horror movies who went to investigate the weird noise, but...

Ah, screw it.

As quietly as he could, socked feet making almost no noise, he snuck across the room and into the dark hallway, grabbing a flashlight because the electrical still didn't quite work. He followed the noise down the stairs, through the front room, and into the warden's office.

It was coming from behind the tapestry.

Careful not to disturb the line of salt that made a small semicircle, he pulled back the tapestry to find a heavy metal door. After a few minutes of searching for a key, he found it hidden on top of the doorway. It took several tries and a well-placed kick to make the door open with a shriek.

He tried the lights a few times, but they were permanently burned out, so he activated his flashlight. The stairs creaked tremendously as he descended them, and the crying grew louder, as if the source was crying harder. When he finally reached the cold tile floor, he swept his flashlight across the room, only to stop about halfway.

In the centre of the room was a wooden chair in a permanently reclining position, leather straps hanging off it, ready to tie down another victim. An ancient control board stood a yard away, connected to an empty basin and what looked like headphone, a staple-shaped piece of metal connecting two mouldering sponges.

An electroshock therapy chair.

Thomas stared at it for a few moments. The control board was fried, not from time but as if it had overloaded...

What had happened down here?

He swept the beam of his flashlight across the room, freezing when in landed on the corner.

Someone was huddled in the corner, curled in a tight fetal position with its back to Thomas. Its body was shaking as it sobbed, oblivious to Thomas and the flashlight.

"Um... hello?"

The thing stopped crying abruptly. Slowly, it rose to its feet, still facing the corner.

"Hi... um... my name is Thomas-"

The flashlight was knocked from his hand as the thing lunged at him with a screech, Thomas barely reacting in time to stop its nails from slicing his throat. Its teeth snapped mere inches from his face, and Thomas could only stare at it, terrified.

When Thomas looked into its face, he knew he was looking at something completely and utterly unhinged. Its eyes were unnaturally wide, pupils barely even a pinprick of black. Its jaw hung open and it screamed in a way that could only be described as demonic and oh Jesus Christ-

"Deceit, no!" Virgil got the thing in an impressive flying tackle and someone- Patton- yanked Thomas to his feet and rushed him up the stairs and out of the basement. Virgil followed quickly, taking a protective stance in front of Thomas and growling. The thing stopped at the top of the stairs as if it had hit a wall, shrieking and pounding against it. That went on for a few moments until it realized it couldn't penetrate the salt barrier, after which it gave Thomas a murderous look before flying- literally flying- back into the shadows.

Virgil let out a deep breath, shoulders relaxing, and Logan checked over Thomas for any injuries.

"I told you... not to go... into the basement," Virgil growled, looking livid.

"What was that?!" Thomas demanded, horrified. That thing was in his house-

"Deceit," Logan informed him, watching the doorway nervously. "The demon."

Patton nodded. "He's been here longer than any of us. We don't even know how he died."

"He would have killed you," Virgil snapped, "He's the one who killed Logan, so we keep him locked down there," he took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "Thomas, you have to promise me you won't go down there. He. Will. Kill. You. And if the salt line gets broken..." The ghosts shared a grim look. "There's no telling what he would do."

"Promise us," Remus ordered, his gaze hard as he watched a shadow move in the doorway.

Thomas shuddered, heart pounding in his chest. "No problem."