The Warden Of Nightmares

Chapter 7: Beneath the Surface

Liliana entered her office with a sigh, the weight of the day pressing down on her. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, taking a moment to let the silence settle around her. The whispers from earlier still echoed in her mind, haunting her with every step she took through Ravenhurst Sanitarium. The building seemed alive, its very walls vibrating with secrets that no one dared to speak of openly.

She walked to her desk, sitting down with a tired breath. Her first official round had gone smoothly, but there was an unease she couldn’t shake, something more than just the strange voice she had heard. The patients at Ravenhurst weren’t the only ones with fractured minds.

She opened her notebook, flipping through the pages where she had jotted down observations and notes from her rounds. Each patient she had encountered had their own story, their own struggles, but it was the one patient she had yet to meet who troubled her the most—the one who had been isolated in the east wing, away from the others.

The reports on him were vague, filled with cryptic language and strange references to events that didn’t quite make sense. Mr. Whitmore, who had given her the orientation, had mentioned him in passing, but Liliana’s gut told her that something wasn’t right.

The voices from the hallway earlier had felt like a warning—a reminder of something that was waiting for her, just beyond the surface. A chill ran down her spine as she recalled the words: "The truth is waiting."

She couldn’t ignore it.

There was something pulling her toward that south wing. Something she wasn’t supposed to see, or perhaps, someone.

Her fingers hovered over the desk, pausing on the phone. She could call in a request for more information about the isolated patient, or better yet, visit the south wing herself. But she hesitated. Whitmore had been clear in his instructions—remain professional, keep to the schedule, and avoid unnecessary disturbances. The south wing was off-limits for a reason, but Liliana knew she couldn’t just let the truth remain hidden.

Instead, she decided to go to the east wing. It was an area that seemed less restricted—an odd choice in a place full of secrets, but it was a decision born from her own curiosity. If she couldn’t go where Whitmore had warned her away from, she would find another way to get answers.

Liliana grabbed her coat, her resolve hardening. She would make her way to the east wing. The sanitarium was filled with shadows, both literal and figurative, and she wasn’t about to let them swallow her whole.

She left her office, walking through the empty hallways, the sounds of her footsteps echoing louder than usual. The sanitarium felt emptier tonight, as if the patients were asleep and the staff had all gone home. But there was something wrong with the quiet—an absence that hung in the air like an unspoken threat.

As she neared the east wing, she noticed the lights flickering above her. Ravenhurst had always had a tendency to play tricks with the lighting, but tonight it seemed more pronounced. The flicker was almost rhythmic, as if the lights themselves were trying to communicate. The eerie silence of the hallway felt oppressive now, each shadow stretching longer than it should.

She reached the door that separated the east wing from the rest of the sanitarium. The door was old, its wood chipped and faded with age, but it was sturdy—locked with an iron bolt. Liliana hesitated for a moment, her hand resting on the cold metal.

Was this where the truth waited?

With a breath, she pushed the door open, the squeal of rusted hinges sounding unnervingly loud in the silence. Beyond it lay a darkened corridor, the faintest glow of moonlight spilling through the windows at the far end. The walls were lined with patient rooms, each one sealed off with a heavy door and a brass plaque that was too tarnished to read.

A low hum of electricity buzzed overhead, filling the silence as Liliana stepped forward, her boots muffled against the old carpeting beneath her feet. As she walked, she noticed that the air in the east wing was different—thicker, almost suffocating. It made her feel as though she were being watched, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling.

Finally she reached the room of that patient she met earlier.  It was locked with a heavy bolt.

Liliana took another breath, steeling herself for what she might find. She approached the door and knocked lightly, almost as if asking permission to enter.

For a moment, there was no answer. Then, the soft sound of shuffling came from the other side, followed by the faintest voice.

“Who’s there?”

It was the patient's voice, strained, weak. Liliana’s heart skipped a beat.
“I’m Liliana Costa,” she said, her voice firm despite the flutter of uncertainty in her chest.

“I’m here to speak with you.”

The sound of shifting on the other side of the door stopped. Then, a sharp intake of breath.

“Come closer.”

The voice was softer now, more insistent. But there was something about it that made Liliana hesitate, a flicker of fear crawling up her spine.

Was she ready to uncover what lay hidden behind this door?

With a deep breath, she unlocked the bolt and pushed the door open.