The Warden Of Nightmares

Chapter 8: Behind the Door

The door creaked open, its groan echoing through the empty halls like a warning. Liliana hesitated for just a moment, her breath caught in her throat. The air inside the room felt different, thick with an unsettling stillness that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

A faint, dim light filtered through the cracks in the curtains, casting eerie shadows that danced along the walls. The room was smaller than she expected, the walls adorned with peeling wallpaper that seemed to flake off in the quiet. A bed sat in the center of the room, its thin mattress barely visible beneath a threadbare blanket. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic, but beneath that, something deeper—something metallic, like rust—lingered.

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Liliana’s gaze was drawn to the figure in the corner. A man, hunched over, sitting on the floor with his back pressed against the wall. He was motionless, his head bowed low, but she could feel the weight of his presence in the room. His clothes were ragged, torn in places, and his hands were clasped tightly together as though holding onto something invisible.

Liliana’s pulse quickened. She took a careful step forward, not wanting to startle him, but the floor beneath her feet betrayed her—one of the floorboards creaked under her weight.

The figure stiffened, his head snapping up in one swift movement. His eyes gleamed in the dim light, wide and unblinking. They were a strange shade of gray—almost silver, but unnaturally so, as though reflecting the moonlight outside. His gaze locked onto hers, intense and unsettling.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the soft hum of the lights above them, the buzz almost mocking in its calmness.

Finally, the man’s voice broke the silence. It was low, hoarse, as though he hadn’t spoken in years. "You shouldn’t have come."

Liliana’s heart skipped a beat. The way he said it—like a warning—sent a chill crawling down her spine. "I needed to speak with you," she said, her voice steady despite the sudden surge of fear that clawed at her throat. "I’m Liliana Costa. I’m here to understand why you’re being kept in isolation."

The man laughed—a short, bitter sound that seemed to echo off the walls. "Isolation," he repeated, as if the word were foreign to him. "You think I’m the one in isolation, little girl?"

He shifted, slowly getting to his feet, and for the first time, Liliana could see the full extent of his appearance. His movements were fluid, almost unnaturally so, like a predator sizing up its prey. His body was tall and lean, but there was something about him that made her feel smaller, vulnerable in his presence.

He took a step closer, and the oppressive air in the room seemed to tighten around her.

"You’re wrong," he said, his voice now a whisper, barely audible. "This place... Ravenhurst... It’s not what you think. The truth is buried deep beneath this place. And you’re digging in the wrong direction."

Liliana’s mind raced. The whispers, the strange things she’d heard—was he referring to them?

"What do you mean?" she asked, though her voice trembled slightly despite her efforts to remain composed. She knew he was dangerous, but something about him drew her in, a compulsion she couldn’t explain.

His lips curled into a smile, but it was anything but reassuring. "It’s not the patients you need to fear," he said. "It’s the ones who run the place. Whitmore... the doctors... they’re all part of it. They're not here to help you—they’re here to control you."

A knot twisted in Liliana’s stomach. The name "Whitmore" sent a ripple of discomfort through her. Hadn't Mr. Whitmore seemed... off, when she first met him? A part of her had brushed it aside, but now, hearing this man speak, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something far darker was unfolding behind the polished facade of Ravenhurst Sanitarium.

She took another step forward, despite the increasing sense of danger. "Why are you being kept here?" she asked. "What are you hiding?"

The man’s expression darkened, and his hands trembled. "I’m not hiding anything," he said quickly. "I’m the one who tried to stop it. They put me here because I was too close to the truth." He let out a bitter laugh. "You think they want to help the people in this place? No. They want to use them."

Liliana’s mind was racing. He was rambling now, but there was a raw truth in his words that she couldn’t ignore. Could he be right? Was Ravenhurst more than just a sanitarium? Were there darker forces at work here?

As she looked into his eyes—those piercing, silver-gray eyes—she realized something: He was terrified.

He was trying to warn her.

She swallowed hard, taking another step closer. "What do you know about the experiments?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

At the mention of the word “experiments,” the man flinched, his entire body going rigid. "Don’t speak of them," he hissed, his voice rising in panic. "Don’t—"

Before he could finish, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed down the hallway, harsh and sudden, like a jarring note in the otherwise still room. The man’s eyes went wide with fear, and in one swift motion, he backed away, his form melting into the shadows of the room.

Liliana froze, listening to the footsteps draw nearer. Her heart raced. She didn’t have much time.

"Listen to me," the man whispered urgently, his voice now desperate. "You have to leave. They’re coming. You’re not safe here. None of us are."

The door slammed open behind her, and a harsh voice called out.

"What are you doing here?"

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To be continued…