Horror Thriller Box Set 1

by Amy Cross

  "Mr. Jenkins!" I call yet again as I slam the cupboard door shut, my voice echoing along the lonely corridor. Figuring he might be scared, I decide to try another approach. "Mr. Jenkins, my name's Juliet," I call out loudly. "There's no need to be scared, I'm just looking for you so I can help you get back to bed!" I start walking toward the next door. "It's cold in here! Don't you want to come back to your bedroom?" I pull the door open and find myself looking in at a bare, abandoned room. This was clearly home to one of the residents in the past, but all the furniture has been moved out. "Come on, Mr. Jenkins," I mutter under my breath, "let's just get out of here."

  I walk along to the next door, which opens to reveal yet another empty room. Sighing, I move on and check all the doors, but once again I come up with nothing. I find the old rec room, dusty and abandoned, but there's still no sign of Mr. Jenkins, and I'm starting to think that maybe he didn't come this way at all or, if he did, maybe he's left and gone back to the main part of the building. Figuring I need some help, I decide to try calling Lizzie again, but her phone rings and rings without her picking up. Just as I'm about to cut the call off, however, I realize I can hear something nearby. I turn to look along one of the corridors; somewhere in one of the other rooms, I can hear a phone ringing.

  I cut the call on my phone, and the ringing stops. I redial Lizzie's number, and I hear the other phone ringing nearby again. Feeling slightly creeped out by the situation, I cautiously walk along the corridor, getting closer and closer to the ringing sound. Eventually I come to a brightly-lit, open-tiled room that seems to have been some kind of bathroom for this ward. There are some showers on one side of the room, and there are a couple of toilet cubicles along with some sinks, and there's a large drain in the middle of the floor. I step through the door, and the ringing is definitely coming from in here. At first, I can't quite find the exact source, but eventually I realize there's a phone lodged behind a grating on the wall. It doesn't take much effort to get the cover off the grating, and I carefully remove the ringing phone.

  When I press the green button to accept the call, I pause for a moment before speaking into my own phone.

  "Hello?" I say, immediately hearing my voice coming from the other phone.

  I take a deep breath, trying to understand why Lizzie's phone would be hidden behind a grating in the abandoned part of the building. I turn and glance around the bathroom, but there's no sign of anyone else in here. I try to tell myself that it's just some kind of weird coincidence, and that I've made a mistake, but something doesn't feel right about this situation. I carefully put Lizzie's phone back in the slot behind the grating, before replacing the cover and taking a step away. For a moment, it occurs to me that I should just go back to the main part of the building and look for Lizzie, but I can't help thinking that maybe she's nearby. I turn to walk away, and -

  "Fuck!" I shout as I realize there's an old man standing behind me. I step back, my heart racing, and it takes a moment before I realize this must be the elusive Mr. Jenkins. He's standing just inside the doorway, staring intently at me. "Sorry," I say, trying to calm myself down, even though my heart is racing.

  He doesn't say anything. He just stares at me, almost as if he's looking straight through me. I glance over my shoulder, trying to work out what he's looking at.

  "I've been trying to find you," I say, hoping to get him talking. "You're supposed to be in bed. Don't you want to get back to your room?" I wait for him to answer, but he just keeps staring at me. "Come on," I say, stepping toward him and putting a hand on his arm. "I'll take you back to your room."

  "Who are you?" he asks suddenly, his voice sounding deep and dry.

  "My name's Juliet," I reply, forcing a smile. "I'm here to help you."

  "Did they hire a new night girl?" he asks.

  "Yeah." I pause for a moment. "Come on, let's get you back to bed," I add, gently pulling on his arm. "You're gonna get cold if you stay through here. Like, pneumonia or something."

  "I knew they'd hire a new one," he says, refusing to budge. "They just bring in some kid and set her loose on us with no training. It's not right."

  "I guess not," I say, "but let's get you -"

  "What's your name?" he asks, interrupting me.

  "Juliet," I reply.

  "Juliet?" He pauses for a moment. "That's not a bad name. Better than a lot of the names people give their kids these days."

  "Thanks," I say, "but -"

  "This is where it happened, you know," he continues, pointing across the room. "Right over there."

  "Where what happened?" I ask.

  "The girl who died," he replies, frowning at me. "Don't you know anything?"

  I follow his gaze, realizing he's pointing at the floor on the opposite side, over by the showers. "Yeah," I say, "I mean, I know there was a nurse who died here, but I didn't know where it happened." I take a deep breath, not really sure what to say.

  "It was right there," he says, still pointing at the wall. "They found her in that exact spot. Right there." He pauses for a moment, as if he's lost in thought. "Do you know who actually found her, though? Do you? It was me." He sniffs. "I used to be on this ward, before they shut it down. This all happened months ago, but I still remember it like it was yesterday. It was late at night, just like it is now. I heard a noise somewhere nearby, like someone getting all upset, and I got out of bed to see what was wrong. By the time I got through here, it was all over." He stares across the room. "It's not right, you know."

  "You found the body?" I ask hesitantly.

  He nods. "She was a pretty girl," he continues, "but there was so much blood. You don't realize how much blood there is in a person, not until you see it drain out all over the place. It was everywhere. You know the worst thing? They never even cleaned it all up properly. I'll show you." He suddenly lurches forward, tottering unsteadily on his stiff legs, and I follow him, keeping hold of his arm in case he falls. "Right here," he continues, pointing down at the tiles. "You see? Right there. You see it?"

  I look closer and see a dark stain in the grouting between some of the tiles. "Is that blood?" I ask.

  "Course it is," he says. "They hired in this outside company to come and clean up the mess, but they didn't do a very good job, did they? They should have picked up everything and thrown it away, but they just wiped it all down, collected their fee, and left little bits of her in the cracks."

  "Yeah," I say, a little lost for words, "Maybe we should get going."

  "It's not right," Mr. Jenkins continues. "They should have cleaned up properly. It's not respectful. Do you think it's right?"

  "No," I say, staring at the stain between the tiles.

  "And you know what's even worse?" He pauses for a moment. "After they'd finished cleaning up, they put all the waste in black bags and left it in the back yard for a week. I saw it every day and I always knew what it was. Tissues and towels soaked in her blood."

  "Come on," I say, still trying to get him to come with me. "It doesn't help to stand here in the cold and think about bad things, does it?" As soon as the words leave my lips, I realize how inane I must seem. I wish I could think of something meaningful or powerful to say. "I'm sure it was very sad," I add, "but you need to rest."

  "When I found her," he continues, resisting my attempt to lead him away, "I went to get some help. I knew it was too late, but I thought maybe there was a chance. At first, no-one believed me. They thought I was a stupid old man, imagining things. One of them even told me I was having a flashback to the war. Eventually I got one of the nurses to come with me, and finally she believed me when she saw it all with her own eyes."

  "Who did it?" I ask.

  "What do you mean?" he replies, frowning. "Don't ask stupid questions. She did it herself."

  I stare at him. "She -"

  "Right here," he says, interrupting me. "There was always something a little bit off about her. Something in her eyes. It was like she was always a bit sad, even when she was happy. I still never thoug
ht..." He pauses for a moment. "It's not right when someone does that. She had her life ahead of her, and she threw it away."

  "Come on," I say, gently leading him to the door. "You should get back to your room."

  "I've seen some things in my life," he continues as we slowly walk away from the room where the woman died. "Never seen so much blood come out of one person, though. And the look on her face was... That's gonna haunt me for the rest of my days. Not that I've got many days left, but you know what I mean. All that blood, and she was just staring straight ahead as if nothing was wrong, almost like she was relieved it was over."

  "It sounds horrible," I say, glancing back at the empty room as we slowly walk along the corridor. Thinking back to the grating and remembering the phone, I feel a cold chill rush through my body. "What was her name?" I ask.

  "Jennifer," he replies. "Jennifer Mathis."

  "That's a nice name," I say, guiding Mr. Jenkins along the corridor. He seems very old and frail, and I'm worried he might fall and break a bone.

  The rest of the walk back to his room is slow but uneventful. I steer the conversation away from the horrific events surrounding Jennifer Mathis, and onto Mr. Jenkins and his life before he came to Crestview. He tells me about his time in Vietnam, and about the jewelry business he used to run in New York, and he talks about how he was married until his wife died a few years ago, and he says his children don't come to visit him very often since they live too far away. By the time we finally get back to his room on the red ward, I feel like I know his entire life's history. Glancing at my watch, I realize that it's taken us almost an hour just to get here.

  "So can you promise me you'll stay in your room this time?" I ask, holding his arm as he carefully sits down on the side of his bed.

  He smiles. "You wanna stay with me? Keep me warm?"

  "I think you'll be okay," I reply as I help him get his legs up onto the bed. "Is there anything you want before I go? A glass of water?"

  He shakes his head. "I'm okay."

  I stare at his for a moment, and he smiles back at me. "Are you tired at all?" I ask.

  "Hell no," he replies. "How can I be tired? All I do all day is rest!"

  "Good night, Mr. Jenkins," I say, pulling the door shut. As soon as I'm alone in the corridor, I take a deep breath. Turning and walking back toward the rec room, I pause for a moment to close the door that leads to the abandoned ward. I still don't quite understand how Kenneth managed to get the padlock open, especially after the way Mr. Taylor kept telling me how important it is to keep all the doors and windows locked. Feeling a vibration in my pocket, I pull out my phone and see that Lizzie is calling. Pausing for a moment, I think back to the phone hidden behind the grating, and then finally I accept the call.

  "Hey," I say, "I just -"

  "Help me..." she whimpers, sounding as if she's crying.

  "What's wrong?" I ask, trying not to panic. "Li-"

  "Help... I need... someone to..." Her voice trails off.

  "Where are you?" I shout, running along the corridor before I come to a halt and look back at the door to the abandoned ward. "Lizzie," I shout, "where are you?"

  Chapter Four

  Eleven years ago

  Standing by the door, I watch as my father talks in hushed tones to Dr. Martindale. They're definitely talking about my mother, and they have very serious faces. I like Dr. Martindale most of the time, but unfortunately he's usually the one who has to deliver bad news, and it seems like lately there's been a whole lot of bad news. My father always keeps the worst of it from me, but I'm pretty sure I know what's going on. Today, though, something seems to be different. As my father talks to Dr. Martindale, I can see that they're both sadder than ever, and this time I don't think they're going to be able to hide anything from me.

  "Come and sit down," my father says eventually, walking over to me and taking my arm so he can guide me to the sofa.

  "Hello, Juliet," Dr. Martindale says, smiling as he turns and walks away. He usually stops and talks to me for a minute, but today he seems to want to get away as quickly as possible. There's a very serious look in his eyes, and I can't help thinking that my father's going to tell me something I don't want to hear.

  "Can we go in and see Mom now?" I ask as I sit on the sofa.

  "In a minute," my father says, sitting next to me. "Before we do that, though, I want to talk to you for a minute, because..." He pauses for a moment. His eyes look different, as if he might be about to cry at any moment. "You're going to have to be very strong, Juliet," he continues eventually. "You're going to have to be brave, braver than a girl your age should have to be. I'm going to have to be brave too. And your Mom... she's going to have to be brave, but in a different way." He takes a deep breath, and for a moment he seems to be lost in thought.

  "Can we go in and see her now?" I ask.

  "In a minute," he replies. "Juliet, do you remember when we talked about how your Mom's treatment might go well, but it might not? Well, leukemia is a very nasty illness and it doesn't give up easily, and it takes a lot of luck to beat it. Sometimes we can't be lucky, and it looks like your Mom isn't going to be one of the lucky ones." He stares at me. "Do you understand what I'm telling you, Juliet?"

  I nod. It's true: I do understand what he's saying. He's saying that she's going to die, even though he hasn't actually used the word 'die' yet. I guess he thinks I'm too young.

  "It's very, very important that you know she tried," he continues. "She tried really, really hard to beat this thing, but as hard as she tried, she couldn't win. Sometimes people just can't manage to get better, even if they really, really want to be well again."

  "Is she already dead?" I ask, interrupting him. Sometimes my father takes too long to get to the point.

  "No," he replies, "not... not right now. But..." He pauses, taking another deep breath. "What we're going to do, Juliet, is we're going to go in and see her and she's going to be very weak. Weaker than usual. She really wants to see you, and she'll be so happy you're here, but she might not be able to express that happiness very well. She might not talk much, or move much, but she'll be very, very happy to see you, okay? And we won't stay long, because she needs to rest. We'll just go in for five minutes and see her. Okay?"

  "Okay," I reply.

  "Okay," he says, standing up and leading me away from the sofa, toward my Mom's room.

  "Dad," I say, stopping and pulling on his sleeve. He turns to me. I pause for a moment, and then I point at the little red spot of ketchup on my shoulder. "I did that earlier. On purpose." As he stares at me with a confused look on his face, I can't help but smile.

  Chapter Five

  Today

  Racing along the brightly-lit corridors of the abandoned ward, I quickly reach the bathroom and come to a halt. For a moment, my brain can't process the things I'm seeing, as if I can't bring myself to accept the truth.

  "Help me..." Lizzie whispers. She's on the floor, over by the showers, and she's covered in blood, some of which has leaked out across the floor in a large puddle that's slowly trickling down into the drain.

  "Fuck," I say, frozen with fear.

  "Help me," she says again, barely able to keep her eyes open.

  "What..." I spot a knife on the floor, with blood smeared on the blade. "What happened?"

  "I..." She stares at me, and I realize she's starting to lose consciousness. "There... I..."

  "Wait!" I say, hurrying over and kneeling on the floor, my knees getting soaked in her blood. I don't know what to do or where to start, and there's so much blood all over the place, I can't believe she's still alive. "Can you hear me?" I ask, forcing myself to stay calm. I reach out and gently turn her face so that she's looking at me, but her eyes seem dazed and tired, and I'm not sure she really understands that I'm here. "Don't fall asleep," I say. "You have to stay awake or -"

  "Cold," she whispers.

  "Is there someone here?" I ask, looking over at the doorway. "Did someone do this to you?"

>   She shakes her head. "No-one."

  "What happened?" I ask, looking down at the gaping wounds in her wrists. It's as if someone has started gouging her flesh away, not just slicing her but actually digging deep. The skin has been torn open, and chunks of ravaged muscle are slopping out, with the bones of her wrists clearly visible. There's not much blood flowing from the hole any more; I guess most of it is already out of her body. "Lizzie, what happened?" I shout, worried that she's losing consciousness.

  She stares at me. "I just... I can't do it anymore."

  "Can't do what?" I ask, fumbling for my phone so I can call an ambulance.

  "It all seems so..." She pauses for a moment. "I tried to stay strong, but sometimes it just feels as if there's nothing left. Everything's so lonely. Tell them I was lonely."

  "Hang on," I say, trying to get my phone to work. For some reason, though, I don't seem to have any signal. I swear to God, when I was here earlier, everything was working perfectly. "I need your phone," I say, desperately trying again and again to get the call to go through. "Where is it?"

  "It's too late," she says, looking down at her wrists. "There's no more blood. It's all out." She smiles as she closes her eyes. "I've waited so long for this moment. All the peace and calm. No more loneliness or emptiness. I thought I'd be alone at the end, but I'm glad you're here." With that, she slowly closes her eyes.

  "No!" I say, gently shaking her. "Lizzie, you have to stay awake. I'm going to go and find a phone, okay?"

  She opens her eyes and stares at me. "Lizzie?"

  "You'll be fine," I say. "I promise."

  She frowns. "My name... not Lizzie."

  I stare at her for a moment. "What... What's your name?" I ask eventually, even though I've got a horrible feeling I know what she's going to say.