Nightmare

by Robin Parrish

  It's said the island was haunted long before people ever inhabited it. Before Europeans discovered the New World, Native Americans held to the belief that the island was occupied by evil spirits. They called it Devil's island, and it was used as a place of imprisonment almost as soon as it was found by the living. Native American tribes banished tribal lawbreakers there for years or even the rest of their lives, depending on the severity of their crime.

  Jordin rented a private boat to take us to the island and gladly paid the exorbitant sum of money required to have the place entirely to ourselves overnight. I warned her against sending the boat away, along with our park service friends, suggesting that we might want someone else on the island with us in case things went wrong. But she was growing more and more independent of late, despite what happened at the church in New Jersey, and argued the only way to control our environment was to limit human access. In the end, I agreed, and she paid each one of them to sail away into the sunset, leaving us completely alone on the twenty-two-acre island.

  The dilapidated main cell house was arranged in four long rows of cells, called cell blocks, each assigned its own letter-A, B, C, and D-with a corridor running between them. The corridors were lined with cells on both sides, while catwalks above held more cells on the second level.

  We wandered for hours through the terrible, fascinating old building, winding up in the primary corridor between Cell Blocks B and C. Anyone who's seen photos ofAlcatraz is probably familiar with this famous hallway. The men who were imprisoned here nicknamed it Broadway.

  Four hours passed without anything happening at all. At some point in that time, we grew tired of walking and decided to camp out in the center of the Broadway corridor. No matter how many times I came here, I was always impressed with the creepy feeling it imparted so easily on all who visited, and I could tell Jordin was feeling it, too.

  The oppressive atmosphere of Alcatraz saturates the air like a toxin. The rusted, eroding interiors are especially eerie at night, when the island's decades of history seem to come alive in the mind's eye. It was always easy for me to imagine the likes of Al Capone or George Kelly-both of whom had made a laughingstock of other prisons by paying off guards and continuing their illegal businesses from behind bars-languishing in a place with such extreme security as this. Its accommodations could only be described as barbaric, and they were made worse by the knowledge that no escape from this place was humanly possible.

  At precisely 1:17 a.m., the silence was broken by the loud echo of a cell door sliding open somewhere in the building.

  We were both on our feet at once, and I had to remind my heart to slow down. This would mark the true start of our investigation, and we had several more hours to endure. I'd never make it through the night without a heart attack if I couldn't keep this under control.

  Jordin's flashlight and video recorder were in hand as she silently swept the cell block, searching for the door that had shut. But my eyes fell to my backpack on the ground and the Valium inside that could give my heart a chemically induced calm, if needed.

  No. I wouldn't use it unless I was in much worse shape than this-like, only if an actual heart attack were imminent. I was young and strong, with big plans for my life, and I was not about to become a junkie.

  We quickly realized that the sound was too far away to have been in this corridor, and Jordin seemed to have a hunch about where the echo might have emerged from. She motioned for me to follow and walked deeper into the facility, away from the main entrance.

  Her flashlight bobbed back and forth as she scurried through the dark hallways, and she turned left at the end of the hall. I had a suspicion about where she was going, and it was quickly proven right. Two corridors down was D Block, site of the most extreme and intense punishments.

  It was a segregation ward, where the most unruly of prisoners were sent for "treatment." Forty-two miniature cells spread out over two floors, thirty-six of which were made to hold just a single prisoner. The remaining six were even worse.

  Five of these were collectively known as the Hole, and being sent there meant solitary confinement in what amounted to little more than a hole in the ground, with dual containment doors, and a sink and toilet. The sixth cell was a steel-encased room called the Strip Cell, and it was the worst punishment Alcatraz had to offer. Prisoners sent here were stripped naked and left inside for days in pitch-darkness. Conditions were cold, sleep was all but impossible, and the prisoner's diet was heavily restricted.

  I followed Jordin at a fast trot, which was as quick a movement as I dared. Rounding the final corner to enter D Block, we soon came to a stop facing Cell 14D, one of the five "Hole" cells. 14D was infamous among paranormal investigators, but it wasn't the only cell here with an open door-some had been left open, others shut, by the park rangers before they left the island.

  "Why this one?" I whispered, fishing out my own flashlight and peering inside the dank little room.

  "It was closed before," she whispered back, her features set and grim.

  I did a quick back-and-forth down the block, unable to determine how she could know that. We'd marched through here twice earlier in the night, but all of the cells looked largely the same to me, though the cells in the Hole had much narrower doors. Maybe that was why it stood out in her mind.

  Or maybe...

  Someone did her homework.

  "What do you know about this cell?" I asked. "14D?"

  "I know it's famous for high levels of paranormal activity," she replied.

  "And you're sure this very famous landmark just happens to be the cell door we heard?"

  "You may have been sleepwalking while we toured the build- ing,"Jordin pointed out, with just a hint of condescension, "but I memorized every detail of this place as we walked through. And yes, the fact that 14D is famous made me pay closer attention to it when we passed by. I'm positive it was shut."

  It was good that she'd noticed, no doubt. But it also pointed to her growing obsession. Looked like I wasn't the only one in danger of becoming a junkie, only Jordin's drug wasn't one you swallow. A part of me wondered if she'd made up her mind that she was going to become good enough at this that she wouldn't need me anymore.

  Whatever, then. I was ready to be done with this stuff anyway. Jordin was a big girl, and if she wanted the baton, I would pass it on with no regrets.

  "Ow! "Jordin yelped, not bothering to whisper. Her cry echoed around the building just like the clanging door had. She put a hand up behind her back, flinching as she did.

  "What's wrong?" I asked.

  "My back!" she cried, turning in place in futility. "It's on fire!"

  "Let me see."

  I reached down and pulled up the bottom of her sweater, and I almost gasped but I caught myself. A large round patch of skin across her lower back was inflamed in a bright scarlet red, like a carpet burn or a welt. And that wasn't all.

  "Something scratched you," I explained, leaning in with my flashlight to examine it up close. There were four marks, arranged in a parallel pattern as if a person had dug into her flesh with their fingernails and dragged them all the way down her back.

  "It stings!" she howled.

  "The entire area is enflamed," I explained slowly, trying to remain as calm as possible, for both our sakes. "I think we may want to consider leaving now."

  "Why? What is this?" she said. "What's happening?"

  I debated not telling her, because I had a feeling that the truth, which would terrify a normal person, might only spur on her obsession further. But her life was in danger, and she needed to know.

  "In most cases where something makes direct physical contact this way," I said, "the person bearing the injury usually winds up with an attachment."

  Jordin pulled her sweater down and turned to look at me. "What's an attachment?"

  I tried to remain as even-keeled as possible as I replied, "It means some-thing has taken a special interest in you. It's attached itself to you, and will remain fi
xated on you until you leave, and possibly beyond, if the bond between you is allowed to strengthen. In a best-case scenario, it would be one of Alcatraz's less-thancharming former prisoners. Worst case? Something similar to the church."

  Jordin turned away, her wide eyes examining the area around us, as if she was trying to find the spirit that had suddenly grown interested in her. "I can't decide if that's awesome or if I need to pee."

  I rolled my eyes, furious now. "It is not awesome! Attachment cases can end in outright possession if they're demonic, and this one's already shown an intent to hurt you! We have to get you out of here before something worse happens!"

  Jordin was about to reply when we heard a very faint sound. Some kind of tapping noise, and it was close.

  She spun and shined her light into the open Cell 14D. Though I tried to stop her, she brazenly walked in and searched for the source of the sound. It took her only a moment to determine that it was coming from the left wall, or rather, whatever was on the other side of it.

  The cell next door was open, as well, and she walked around into it, approaching the same wall from the other side. There was nothing in the cell that I could see that the sound could have been coming from.

  "It still sounds like it's coming from the other side of the wall," she whispered. "Go in there and see if you still hear it."

  I didn't want to go in there and see if I could hear it. I wanted to stop her from getting herself killed. But my feet marched beneath me nonetheless, and soon I was leaning with my ear up against the cement wall.

  "Yeah, I hear it," I said.

  "That's so weird!" she shouted, suddenly enthused. "What if it's a spirit inside the wall?"

  "If it's inside the wall, it's probably just a rat," I pointed out.

  Jordin was unfazed by my logic. "But what if it's not?"

  My jaw clenched and so did my fists as I pushed away from the wall. "All right, enough. If you're going to call every stupid little thing that happens `paranormal,' you're just thrill-seeking and making a mockery of this entire field of study."

  "Oh, come off it, Maia!" she shouted through the wall. "Listen to that sound! That doesn't sound anything like a rat to me!"

  I didn't listen to it. Instead I left the cell and swerved around to the one she was in. "We have a rational, nonparanormal explanation for the sound, so questioning what's rational can only mean you've lost your objectivity. There are paranormal things happening in this place, but that sound isn't one of them. The potentially life-threatening thing that happened to your back, however, is. Get your things. We're leaving. Now."

  Jordin's face had drawn tighter and angrier with each word I'd spoken, and now she looked ready to crack. "And where are we going to go? We're alone on this island, and no one's coming back to get us until dawn."

  "Then we'll camp out under the stars," I said. "It's too dangerous in this place; it would be better to be out in the open."

  I was already marching out of the cell when she grabbed me by the shoulder and spun me around. I was preparing to rip her hand off me if she didn't let go, but when I faced her, she had an index finger to her lips.

  It was only a second before I heard it, too. The sound we'd been hearing, which had sounded so much like a tiny scratching from inside the wall, had morphed into something else while we were arguing. The scratches were gone, replaced by the sniffling and muted sobs of a woman.

  I was forced to swallow my pride-which did not go down smoothly-and admit for the moment that Jordin had been right. Together we slowly approached the wall and put our ears up to it. The crying sound was coming from inside it, all right.

  We left the cell in silence and walked back around to enter 14D, where the sound was even louder. It still came from inside the same wall, but it resonated much stronger in here. Jordin shivered and rubbed her arms, and I noticed that it had become cold enough that I could almost see my breath.

  "Did Alcatraz have any women prisoners?" she whispered as we continued to listen.

  I shook my head. "This place wasn't always a federal prison. It was considered haunted long before Al Capone and his ilk were here. And entire families lived on the island when it was a penitentiary-the families of the prison guards."

  The crying went on for more than ten minutes, and Jordin recorded every second of it on the shiny new digital recorder in her hand.

  Despite my better judgment, the encounter with the crying woman in the walls of D Block had gotten my old juices flowing, and I let Jordin talk me into going down into the Dungeons to explore. But I made her promise we would only stay for a few minutes.

  "The Dungeons" was an unofficial term for the catacombs beneath the main cell block. They were leftovers from the island's storied history before it became a prison.

  I almost immediately regretted allowing this little detour, because Jordin's unfriendly attachment shoved her down the stairs as we descended. I was up front, so she was pushed into my back and we both tumbled down to the dusty rock floor.

  I tried to jump up quickly to cover my suddenly hammering heart, but lost my balance and went back down.

  "You okay?" she asked, eying me suspiciously.

  "Fine," I lied, trying to face away from her as I struggled to steady myself, slow my heart, and catch my breath.

  We had no further incidents down in the Dungeons, but it wouldn't have mattered if we had, because Jordin was no longer paying attention. I caught her watching me sideways again and again as we walked on.

  During the witching hour, things got hairy.

  It started when Jordin began taunting the ghosts of Alcatraz, despite my warnings.

  "Why don't you come out and get us!" she shouted as we patrolled the hallway outside Cell Block B. "Come on! We're just a couple of little girls! You're not scared of us, are you?"

  "Stop it!" I yelled. "I've told you not to tease or insult whoever or whatever resides in haunted places."

  Jordin turned to me with a pained, annoyed face. "Maia, get real. We're talking about the very worst elements of society. These were criminals, not tragic victims. Do you seriously think that the prisoners who lived here deserve our respect?"

  A tremendous shaking sound came from somewhere up in the building's rafters. We shined our flashlights up there, along with all of our recording equipment. It was like a group of people were standing up there and rattling and pounding on the I-beams with their bare hands, though we saw nothing.

  I spoke in a soft voice, my eyes still scanning the ceiling. "A lot more people lived and died here than just prisoners. This penitentiary is just one chapter of Alcatraz's long history."

  "It's a big island," remarked Jordin. "Did they all die right here in this one building?"

  I was about to reply when the silence was broken again, only this time by the stifled roaring of an angry mob. It was as if a hotly contested baseball game were going on in another part of the building. I knew we should be chasing after its source, but we just stood there, stunned, listening to the shouting and grunting and fighting.

  Jordin snapped out of it first when the crowd fell silent. "Oh, so all the big bad prisoners are in the house tonight," she called out. "Where ya been, fellas? It's about time we got this party started!"

  In response, a cacophony of sounds erupted up near the ceiling. Banging rafters, fierce, howling winds, shouting voices. The place had suddenly come alive, and we could more than hear it. We could feel it. It was the loudest example of paranormal activity I'd ever heard, like the prison was suddenly full of living prisoners again, and although I was furious with Jordin for instigating it, I was gratified that we at least got the whole thing on tape.

  The thunderous sounds went on for a good two minutes before the building finally fell silent again. I had my hand reared back to smack Jordin when she let out a shout. Both of her hands flew up to the top of her head.

  I turned my flashlight on her and saw three narrow streaks of blood slowly emerging from her hairline and creeping down her forehead.

&
nbsp; "Move your hands, let me see," I said, shooing her hands out of the way.

  She leaned over so I could part her hair and see the scratches. They weren't terribly deep, but they were red and angry and oozing a small amount of blood.

  My face was as hard as stone when she looked back up at me. Hers was unreadable, though she still winced from the pain on her head.

  "You think maybe you're done playing around now?" I asked, not caring about the harsh, unsympathetic tone in my voice.

  She wasn't happy, but conceded a nod.

  We spent the rest of the night outside.

  "You ready for this?" I asked Derek as he zipped up his blue jumpsuit.

  "It'll be a miracle if it works," he replied, adjusting the ID badge hanging from his lapel so that the photo on it was partially obscured. A blue cap pulled down near his eyes completed the effect.

  I lay on the gurney on my back. "It's all we've got," I told him.

  I pulled the white sheet up over my body and waited patiently while they exited the front seat of the ambulance. I took deep breaths to calm my pounding heart.

  The back door of the ambulance was flung open and Derek and Pierre, behaving like they knew exactly what they were doing, grabbed the back end of the gurney and pulled it out until the wheels popped down to the ground. Then they pushed me up the ramp leading to the back of the loading dock.

  I was afraid that procuring the ambulance and disguises would prove difficult, but Pierre had taken the reins for that task. After hiking about half a mile back down the mountain, Pierre found a large rock, about a foot in diameter, and held it over his shoulder, waiting. About five minutes later, the next ambulance came driving through, and Pierre ran out to the edge of the road and lobbed the huge rock toward the vehicle. It was too heavy to get very far, and never actually made contact with the ambulance, but the driver saw it and must've thought it was part of a rockslide, because he swerved madly to get out of the way and ran off the road.

  While the driver and his partner were still stunned, Pierre opened the driver's door and pulled something out of his pocket. The next thing we knew, he was pulling the driver from the vehicle, unconscious. I glanced in the truck and saw that the other worker was similarly knocked out.