The Tenth Ward

by Rockwell Scott

  A rack of charts tipped off the desk and crashed to the ground, sending papers everywhere.

  “That’s enough, Thomas,” Rand said. “Just talk to me without being destructive. You have my attention.”

  “Holy moly,” Harold breathed into the radio. “I saw that.”

  The door to the stairwell that Katie ran into earlier opened. He turned in time to catch a small figure disappear through it before it fell back into place.

  “The door just opened and closed by itself,” Harold said.

  “Looks like I’m heading for the stairs.”

  Rand followed the apparition to the stairwell. He stood in place for a few minutes, waiting for further instruction.

  Up or down?

  Someone fell from above, like they had leapt from the upper story, their body disappearing in a flash past Rand’s line of sight and startling him, causing him to jump back.

  Rand rushed to the rail and looked down, but the jumper had vanished.

  Down.

  No matter how softly he stepped, his footsteps clanged and echoed through the narrow room. Round and round, down the stairs, on edge, waiting for the next sudden appearance of the apparition. He kept a tight grip on the cold handrail. Rand had encountered a spirit or two that enjoyed sending hapless victims tumbling down steps—falling victim to it more than once.

  The radio gave a sharp burst of feedback.

  When Rand came around to the sixth floor, the sign unhooked and fell, turning into a nine. He paused. It swung back and forth on its remaining screw, squeaking, until it came to a halt.

  “Why’d you stop?” Harold asked.

  “He wants me on six.”

  There was silence for a moment, and then Harold came back in a burst of static. “That’s out of bounds.”

  “I never assumed he’d take me to a public area.”

  “You don’t have badge access.”

  As soon as he said it, the door creaked open by itself.

  “Thomas does. Can you check if I’m clear?”

  “Hold on.”

  Harold disappeared for a few minutes. As Rand waited, he stared at the door, waiting for something else to happen. The room on the other side appeared abnormally dark for a hospital ward.

  “No one’s around,” Harold said. “Place is usually quiet after hours. But here’s the thing: the power’s out.”

  “Power’s out?”

  “Yeah. Sixth floor is on generator power. Same as the tenth. But wards seven through nine are fine.”

  “That’s not the storm, then.” Only the places where Thomas has been are affected.

  “Just be careful, Rand.”

  Rand opened the door all the way and went into the sixth-floor corridor. As Harold had said, the hallway was dark, only lit by the scant backup lights.

  A second later, the door to the stairwell slammed shut behind him. Rand pressed against it, but it didn’t budge. Locked. Or something was holding it closed from the other side.

  “You should be able to open it from that side,” Harold said.

  “It’s stuck.”

  “Wait a minute. I can give you remote clearance from here. Okay, try now.”

  It still would not budge. “Don’t worry about it. That way is going backwards.”

  “Yeah, but I’d like to know you have a path out of there if you need it.”

  “We’re moving forward. What’s on this floor that I—”

  When Rand turned, there was someone on the far end of the corridor. With the backup lights, it only appeared as a black figure. A child’s silhouette, his hand gripping an IV pole.

  Rand froze. It was the longest the apparition had appeared to him, and it had changed form. Now it presented itself as a patient.

  “Rand?” Harold said.

  “Are you seeing this?”

  “Seeing what?”

  “He’s staring right at me.”

  “I don’t see anything. But…”

  “But what?”

  “The video feed is distorting. I might lose you.”

  The presence is stronger now.

  “Thomas,” Rand called down the hall. His clear voice echoed all the way. The dark figure did not react at the name. Nor did he move.

  Rand took one step forward, wondering just how close he could get to the apparition. But as soon as his foot landed, the boy turned and walked out of sight around the corner. The IV pole’s wheels squeaked as he went.

  “Thomas, wait!” Rand broke into a run, but when he rounded the corner, the boy had disappeared.

  “I know where he’s taking you,” Harold said.

  Rand brought the radio to his mouth as he slowly proceeded down the hall. “Should I be afraid?”

  “Don’t go, Rand,” Harold said. “Turn back. Your time’s up, anyway.”

  “I can’t do that. I’m close.”

  “I’m begging you. There has to be another way.”

  A boom sounded on Rand’s left, as if something heavy had fallen over. It had come from the other side of the door he’d just passed.

  The sign on the wall said MORGUE.

  22

  Rand’s breath caught. I should’ve known.

  “I see what you mean,” Rand said into the radio. “I’m guessing I need badge access.”

  “Of course.”

  “Help me out, Harold.”

  “Rand…”

  “For Georgia.”

  The man was silent for a long time, and Rand wondered if their connection had been broken. But then, without a word from Harold, the badge scanner near the door handle blinked from red to green.

  The light flickered on when he entered, motion activated. A metal examining table stood in the center of the room. Shelves of square boxes lined the walls like drawers in a filing cabinet. Each had a label with a name and identification number. Rand shivered—at first because the place gave him the creeps, but then he saw his breath frost in front of his lips, and he knew he was not alone in that small room.

  He circled back to the door and pushed against it. Stuck. Trapped inside. And this time, there was nowhere else to go.

  “Stuck again, Harold,” Rand said into the radio. “Maybe you can head down this way and let me out. I have a feeling by the time you get here I’ll know what I need to know.”

  Rand looked around the room again, waiting for Thomas to make his next move. “I’m here. Show me what you want me to see.”

  Silence.

  “I’m losing my patience with you. Enough of these games.”

  A loud, crashing sound came from behind him.

  Rand whirled and saw the walled-in office of the morgue through a glass window. Everything had been swept off the desk and onto the floor by an invisible force.

  “Trash the place if you want, Thomas, but you’re not scaring me.”

  The hair rose on the back of his neck. He got the unmistakable impression he was being watched.

  And when he turned, the apparition stood on the other side of the examining table, maybe six paces away. It was the boy from Georgia’s picture, and he wore a simple hospital gown and gripped an IV pole with his right hand. A single line ran from his vein to the dripping bag that dangled above him. He stared at Rand with a blank expression, almost a glare.

  “You don’t need to be afraid,” Rand whispered. “I’m here to help you.”

  The boy didn’t budge. Rand still held the recorder, ready to pick up any speaking that came from Thomas.

  It was then that Rand realized he’d never heard back from Harold.

  “Harold,” Rand said into the radio. “Are you there?”

  “I’m here.”

  Thomas continued to stare at Rand, holding impossibly still.

  “I need you to come let me out. We should be done by the time you get here.”

  “Can’t do that,” was all he said. The radio gave static feedback so thick it was hard to discern Harold’s words.

  Rand licked his lips. “Why’s that?”

&nbs
p; The feedback grew, and Rand tried to adjust the channel. It didn’t help. The whole time, he kept an eye on the apparition, waiting for it to make a move.

  “Harold, I’m losing you.”

  “Randolph Casey,” Harold said through the noise, and his voice no longer sounded like his own. “Why don’t you go fuck yourself?”

  Thomas turned and put his back to Rand. His untied hospital gown hung open, revealing a gaping wound from Thomas’s head to the top of his buttocks. His flesh was open, showing his bloody spinal cord, his guts, his organs.

  And Rand knew he was in the presence of evil.

  “In the name of Shindael,” the radio said in a dark voice, and then he began speaking a language Rand had never heard before. It was not Harold. The entity before him was speaking through the radio.

  “Leave here!” Rand shouted at Thomas’s back. “I command you—”

  Thomas’s head twisted around. His eyes glowed blood red, and his face contorted in a grimace.

  The voice on the radio spoke faster and louder, jumbled and nonsensical words. Rand drew back and threw the radio right at Thomas, but the boy batted it away with impossible speed and strength. It shattered against the wall of freezers.

  The drawer it hit sprung open by itself. Then another. Followed by a third.

  Thomas’s face no longer resembled a human, but a creature. Red eyes, razor teeth, and scaled skin replaced the guise of an innocent boy.

  The drawers opened with such force that the bodies flew from their tables, landing on the floor like stiff, frozen blocks. Naked corpses rained around the room, tossed about by an invisible force.

  A table containing a neat arrangement of medical instruments leapt an inch off the ground and fell. Rand spotted it just in time. He gripped the examining table and toppled it onto its side, dropping behind it.

  An instant later, the instruments were flying right at him. Razors, speculums, needles, and scalpels. Their sharp points clanged on the other side of the examining table, some soaring over and hitting the wall behind him.

  Although the radio was smashed, the entity still shouted at him in the unknown language. It had changed from Harold’s voice to one that spoke with a growl, barking from a creature that did not exist in the natural world. It got so loud that Rand had to cover his ears, feeling like his eardrums would burst at any second.

  He couldn’t hear himself scream or speak or think. Could not put together the words needed to command the entity to leave.

  The lights in the morgue flickered, and then blew out in a rain of sparks, plunging him in darkness.

  And in that moment, the oppressive force of the creature in the room with him was too much. He’d never felt such weight, such despair, such evil. His only thought was that this must be what it was like for an insect as it was crushed.

  And Rand knew he’d lost. It had happened so quickly, and—despite all his knowledge and experience—he’d finally met his match. Whoever this monster was, it was not Thomas, and it was stronger than Rand had ever anticipated.

  Hands gripped Rand’s arms, which he was using to cover his face. He knew the creature had grabbed him and would now drag him to hell, or eviscerate him, or dismember him. Maybe all three. He fought back against the strong grip, knowing eventually he would lose.

  “Rand!”

  It knew his name.

  But Rand also knew its name. It had told him on the radio. “Shindael!” he shouted. “I command you to leave, Shindael!”

  Cold palms gripped his face. “Rand!”

  Rand slowly opened his eyes and blinked. Harold came into focus, the big man kneeling over him.

  And as Rand regained his composure, the tension left his body, but he still shivered and trembled.

  “What—”

  His mouth was desperate to move, but he could not form words.

  “Come on,” Harold said. “Let’s get you out of here.”

  The next thing Rand knew, he was scooped up like a baby, surprised by Harold’s strength, then he was thrown over Harold’s shoulder and carried away. Rand tried to protest that he could walk, but it only came out in a jumbled mess.

  Because, in that moment, his brain could only process one singular name.

  Shindael.

  23

  Time seemed to skip ahead. The next thing Rand knew, he was in a room he didn’t recognize. Bright lights shone overhead. He was on a mattress, one that was soft but not comfortable.

  His head ached and throbbed. There were people around. Gradually, his clarity and thoughts came back to him and images of the morgue and the entity flooded his mind.

  He shot straight up, only to feel hands on his shoulders, pushing him down.

  “Whoa now,” Harold said. “Not so fast.”

  “Relax for a minute, Rand,” Katie said.

  He looked around. He was in a small hospital room, lying on a stretcher. Only Harold and Katie were with him, and the curtain was drawn over the entrance. He had no idea what time it was, or how long he had been there.

  “Katie,” Rand said.

  “Shh,” she said. “You’ve been hurt.”

  “What…”

  “Our connection cut out as soon as you went—” Harold checked over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “Into the morgue. When I couldn’t get you to answer, I came running. Had a feeling something was off—more off than usual—and I was right.”

  Rand remembered how the entity had impersonated Harold on the radio, and the mysterious language he had spoken. “Thanks for that. I think you saved my ass.”

  “Looked like it,” Harold said. “Never seen a mess like that in my life.” He shuddered. Rand recalled the stiff bodies thrown around the room.

  “Save those security videos for me,” Rand said.

  Harold shook his head. “Already tried to play them back. All blank. Destroyed. Whatever was in there with you took care of that.”

  Katie put her hand on Rand’s arm, a soft and comforting touch. “Rand. What happened?”

  “It isn’t a ghost,” he said, wiping at his face. It was slick and greasy, as if he’d been sweating a lot. “Never was.”

  “You mean—”

  “We have a demonic presence here.”

  Harold looked back and forth between Rand and Katie, confused. “Excuse me?”

  “Makes sense now that I think about it,” Katie said.

  “Yeah. Something strong enough to keep the spirits of the children trapped here. Powerful enough to levitate things around Georgia’s room. Not to mention its ability to mimic Harold’s voice, tamper with electronic equipment, and speak unknown languages.”

  “I don’t get it,” Harold said. “What’s the difference between a ghost and a demon?”

  “Where do we even begin?” Rand’s skull pounded from a headache that had settled in the bottom of his skull. “There is no Thomas. It was a demonic entity pretending to be Thomas. He was trying to gain Georgia’s trust, and he almost did.”

  “Until you came,” Harold said.

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you think you’ll be the new target now?” Katie asked.

  “Most likely.” In all previous cases he’d worked on involving demonic infestations, Rand had become the target of the entity. That was fine with him. As long as the creature no longer concerned himself with Georgia Collins.

  “Where am I?” Rand asked.

  “In the emergency room,” Katie told him. “Georgia’s in the waiting area outside. She’s worried about you.”

  “How nice.”

  “Rand,” Katie said. “What do we do now? We have to get rid of this thing.”

  She was right. And now that they knew they were dealing with the demonic, their plan of attack had to change.

  “We have to cleanse the children’s ward and bless it. An exorcism.”

  “Exorcism?” Harold said, eyes wide. “That’s a real thing?”

  “More real than you’d probably like to believe,” Rand told him. “It’s not just for p
eople, though. We use it to remove these entities from places as well.” Then Rand remembered something. “My recorder. I lost it in the morgue.”

  “You mean this?” Harold held it up.

  “Ah, good man.” Rand took it from him and pressed play. He rolled the recording through the captured audio, hoping the demon’s presence hadn’t ruined the device. The recording was still intact, thankfully. “Listen to this,” he told Katie. He found the part from the morgue, and the heavy, guttural voice came through the speaker. The garbled tongue of an unknown language.

  Katie winced at the demon’s words. “He must have been close. You can hear him without any amplification.”

  “That was the closest I’ve ever been to one,” Rand said, shuddering at the memory. “And this one is powerful.”

  Shindael.

  “And… he told me his name.”

  Katie frowned. “What?”

  “Yeah. You heard me.”

  “Did you command him to tell you?”

  “No. That’s what’s weird about it. He told me on his own, like he wanted me to know.”

  Katie gave him a strange look. “I don’t know, Rand. There’s something off about that.”

  A demon’s name was one of its biggest weaknesses. If you knew it, it was easier to take control over him and banish him back to hell. Demons went to great lengths to hide their names from those who sought to fight against them.

  So why would he volunteer his name so easily?

  The curtain was pulled aside, and a doctor entered carrying a chart of papers. “Mr. Casey, I see you’re awake.” Rand nodded, but said nothing. He wondered what reason had been given for his check-in. “Have you ever fainted before?”

  “No.”

  “I wouldn’t worry too much. Probably just stress and fatigue. Take some time off work and relax a bit. If it happens again, make an appointment with a neurologist. I’ll get your discharge papers ready.”

  The doctor and Harold exchanged a knowing look before he disappeared on the other side of the curtain.

  “Fainting?” Rand asked him.

  “Should I have told him you were attacked by a demon, instead? Besides, he knew why you were really in the hospital tonight.”

  “How many people around here know who I am and what I do?” If the word got around too much, that could interfere with his work.