Paranormal Hunters

Chapter 1: The First Night of Terror

"Come here, little Slugger," a familiar voice called out. Six-year-old Isaiah looked up from his toys, his eyes wide with anticipation. It was his father, a tall and reassuring figure, beckoning him with a warm smile.

But before Isaiah could respond, the scene shifted, and the comforting presence of his father vanished like a wisp of smoke. He found himself in the dimly lit reception area of the Wic clinic, the echo of his childhood reverie still lingering.

The clinic's old clock chimed its eerie tune, signaling the beginning of Isaiah's first night shift. It was a night like any other-or so he thought.

As Isaiah settled into his seat behind the reception desk, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease that always accompanied him in this forsaken place. The Wic clinic was a labyrinth of memories, a place where the past lingered like a haunting specter.

Bri, his coworker and friend, gave him a tired but knowing smile as she prepared for the night's work. "Remember, it's not just the living we have to worry about here," she quipped in her usual joking tone.

Dunn, the grumpy veteran of the night shift in his 50s, muttered something about "damn lights" and disappeared into the shadows of the clinic.

The clinic itself was a strange amalgamation of two worlds-a part functioning as a Wic office, while the other part of the clinic remained locked away, a grim reminder of its former life as a mental hospital. The closed-off section had become a place of urban legends and whispered tales, a place where children had gone missing, never to return.

Isaiah's shift began promptly at 10 PM and would stretch through the long night until 7 AM. As he settled into his new role, the gravity of his responsibilities weighed on him. It was his very first day on the job, and every minute counted. He was doing this not for himself, but for the sake of his family, especially his girlfriend of five years. The prospect of making ends meet wasn't glamorous, but it was a paycheck, a lifeline for the people he loved.

Isaiah vividly recalled the moment he stumbled upon the job offer. Freshly fired from his previous job, he was desperate for employment, feeling like he had hit rock bottom. In a moment of urgency, he hastily submitted his application. It was an act of hope amidst despair. Days went by, and he had almost given up when the phone rang, interrupting his despondent thoughts.

On the other end of the line was a voice introducing itself as Ms. Thorn, the clinic manager. Her words cut through the darkness of his uncertainty. She had seen his application and wanted to know more about him. As he began to share his story, it was the start of an unexpected journey-a path he had urgently sought, one that led him to the night shift at the clinic. The memory of that pivotal call played like a vivid flashback, a turning point in his life.

As the hours passed on his first day, Isaiah's fatigue began to set in. He'd found ways to cope, often relying on cigarettes and the occasional caffeine boost to keep himself awake.

The flickering lights overhead, an ever-present annoyance, seemed to dance in rhythm with the palpable tension that clung to the air. Isaiah went to an open window to light a cigarette, a crutch he'd come to rely on during these lonely nights. "I miss my dad," Isaiah said, his voice filled with grief. "It's been a over a year now, but he still feel the pain."

Bri looked up from her phone and nodded in understanding. "I can't imagine how tough that must be for you, Isaiah."

Dunn, as gruff as ever, remained unfazed and continued his work.

Just as Isaiah was about to dismiss the chilling breeze as a draft, a faint, almost imperceptible whisper echoed through the corridor. It was the voice of a child-a voice lost in the vast emptiness of the clinic.

Isaiah's voice trembled as he asked, "Did you hear that?"

Bri glanced at him, confused. "Hear what?"

Dunn, however, scoffed. "Probably just the wind."

But they all knew it was more than that. Isaiah had heard of the legends of the five ghost children who haunted the clinic, each representing a stage of grief, and suddenly, those legends seemed all too real. Isaiah grabbed a flashlight. "I'm going to patrol the long hallways of the clinic."

Bri and Dunn both nodded in agreement, no concern etched on their faces.

Isaiah grabbed his flashlight because they didn't keep the lights on at night, and he ventured into the darkened hallways.

In the dead of night, Isaiah ventured deeper into the wing of the Wic clinic. Their flashlights pierced the inky blackness as they passed by rooms, the corridor seeming to stretch into eternity. Each footfall echoed ominously, their presence the only disturbance in the ghostly silence that enveloped them.

As Isaiah delved further into the darkened corridors, his heart pounded with each step. The rhythmic creaking of the old floorboards seemed to echo the distant cries of the clinic's tragic past. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched by something unseen.

His flashlight flickered, casting eerie shadows on the peeling wallpaper that lined the walls. Isaiah's breaths came out in shallow, nervous puffs as he continued his solitary patrol. He remembered the stories about the children who had disappeared here, their spirits forever trapped in this forsaken place.

Suddenly, Isaiah's flashlight beam caught a glimpse of something that sent a chill down his spine. In one of the doorways, he saw a fleeting silhouette-a small figure standing motionless in the darkness.

"Hello?" Isaiah called out tentatively, his voice trembling. But there was no response, only an oppressive silence that seemed to smother him.

As he approached the doorway, the figure became clearer. It was a young girl, her pale skin and strawberry hair illuminated by the faint glow of the flashlight. The girl looked familiar, but Isaiah couldn't recall where he had seen her before.

Isaiah's heart raced, and he took a step back, his mind racing with fear and disbelief. This couldn't be real, he thought. But there she stood, an apparition of sorrow and mystery, lost in the eternal night of the clinic.

The ghostly girl slowly raised her hand, pointing a frail finger towards the closed-off section of the clinic. Her lips moved, but no sound emerged. It was as if she were trying to convey a message from beyond the grave.

Isaiah swallowed hard, his curiosity overcoming his fear. He had to know what lay beyond those locked doors, and he had to uncover the truth behind the haunting of the clinic. But as he took a tentative step towards the closed-off section, the girl's expression changed, her face contorted with a mix of sadness and warning.

He couldn't ignore the feeling that he was being drawn into a web of darkness and despair, one that he might never escape.

Isaiah had entered a night of terror unlike any other, and the mysteries of the clinic were about to reveal themselves in ways he could never have imagined.

Isaiah's alarm jolted him awake at 7 am, signaling the end of his night shift. He had survived the night of terror, and as the early morning light filtered through the clinic's windows, he couldn't help but feel a mix of relief and unease.

As he made his way back to the reception desk, his mind raced with questions about what he had seen and experienced during those long, haunting hours. The encounter with the girl, so familiar yet distant, and the mysterious message she had tried to convey haunted his thoughts.

Bri and Dunn were already there, looking tired but relieved that the night was finally over. Isaiah couldn't help but wonder if they had experienced the same chilling encounters he had.

"Morning, Isaiah," Bri greeted him with a weary smile.

Isaiah nodded in response, his exhaustion weighing heavily on him. He needed to go home, get some rest, and make sense of the night's events. But one thing was clear-his journey into the mysteries of the clinic was far from over.