The monsters

Just what happened 30 years ago

Jonah, the sweet man with blue hair and gentle brown eyes held the boys hand, comforting as the boy weeped into his waistcoat
"It's okay... let everything out, it's alright" he comforted, and the boy looked up at him, brown eyes meeting a sole amber eye
"Hijo, can you explain what happened?" Jonah questioned, as the boy composed himself
"Okay.... Where do I start?" He asked, and the young therapist warmly smiled
"How about in the hospital?"

A black room
That's all there is
Absent of light, hard to navigate
However... a noise was heard, waiting for the men. Distorted, but it sounded like a young girl screaming Ayuda yo. Help me
"Garcia, Escucha" the priest in training noted, as they silenced, listening
"¿Que es eso?" The blonde man, Garcia, questioned "la niña?"
"¿Es necesito mirar?" The priest in training questioned, as the ordained men looked at each other, unsure
"Es... necesito, amigo. ¡Arriba Arriba!" The leader ordered, running towards the noise, Garcia following closely behind
"Martinez, this is why people die in supernatural horror movies..." the trainee complained "we watched a whole marathon of them!"
The torches lit up the way, as the men stepped through the darkness. A soldier with priests stepping through the long abandoned
"Sammy, Que pasa?"
The man scoffed, looking at his superior
"Esto no me gusta"
"Yo también, niño. But we have to do this, right? The girls missing, only place the police aren't brave enough to check. While this place is known for sinners to come her to fuck imps of hell, there's nowhere else we can think of" Garcia explained, swinging his arm over the young mans' shoulder, pulling him close
"It's why you're here. SAS trainee and priest trainee, it's good experience for both, plus it'll keep us safe"

The men kept heading towards the sound. Everett Garcia- a man with a punk-like behaviour, blonde hair always tied messily into a low ponytail, soft purple eyes. A tall frame, standing at 6ft 5, and fair skin. He always dressed in a steampunk style, normally fitted with a cravat and a pocket-watch too. Despite him appearing violent, he had a side of compassion and gentleness. 23 years old, he took the young Samson under his wing and raised him like a brother, normally playing some sort of game with eachother or watching some badly made horror movies for 'shits and giggles' as he commonly said. Maximus Martinez was the other man- a natural leader, more serious then any other priest he met. A cassock was always worn alongside a cross necklace. Short black hair was always kept neat, and his glasses always polished, at the age of 28, he was one of the best and always had a plan
Then there was Samson, 16 years old and a notorious punk around the area. Training to be SAS, he carried a gun on him with all the fittings, but he couldn't help but be unnerved with the situation. Black and red hair flowing loose, his sole amber eye focusing around him
"Max, I really don't feel safe" Samson spoke up "even I know a bad idea, and I do crack"

The air was thick with soot and dust, a recent ritual was nearby. Sulfur filled the air, it was an unpleasant smell but they had to keep persisting through the decrepit walls and breaking doors
"There is no way people actually like coming here to get freaky with imps, it is the last place I would think of doing that" Samson pointed out, kicking a door open and pointing his gun through the entrance
"Well, it's kind of illegal to bring imps around your house, Samson. They don't like it definitely, but police rarely come here to search. Drugs, sex and general crime happens here all the time, as im sure you know"
Samson scoffed at this, rolling his eyes before looking at his watch and taking out an audio recorder
"My name is Seminarian Lieutenant Samson raiden, I am with Father Everett Garcia and Father Maximus Martinez, we are in Seville, Spain exploring the abandoned hospital. The date is Wednesday 6th June 1984 and the time is 03:48 military time. We are investigating the west wing on the 2nd floor. What we are doing has not been approved by the Vatican. A young girl named Iris Maria has not been home for 2 days and it's our job to find her. Over"

They pushed forwards into the darkness, rounding corners to find the source of the noise, closer and closer to the source. Ayuda yo ayuda yo por favor. Repeated over and over, the voice becoming more evident. Samson had never spoken to her directly, but he was familiar with her lively and high pitched but gentle voice, a kind girl who loved talking to her SAS father. A sadness fuelled her voice, shaking and trembling of fear as she inhaled sharply after every audible cry. Iris Maria, she was nearby
"She's close, I recognise the voice!" Samson exclaimed, pistol still in hand as he hugged the wall, getting close to the wall. She's stopped crying, chanting Ayuda yo, now chanting something else
"Salte de aquí, Salte de aquí"
Get out of here, get out of here
Desperation filled her voice, as she sped up chanting and it got harder to understand what she was saying, messing up words. She raised her voice as he turned to face where the noise was coming from, before her speech turned to language he had never heard none of her family say before
"¡vete a la mierda. vete a la mierda!"
Fuck off, fuck off.
He had never heard that language from her father, and he was military, just what was the cause of this language in a 6 year old girl?