I love Ghost Adventures, so I thought I'd make a fan fiction and create my own lockdown! Hope you enjoy!!
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-Stacey
Preface:
I had never given much thought as to how I would die. Trapped in Placid Hills Hospital’s psychiatric ward; it was the only thing I didn’t want to think of. I knew deep down that I would die in this bed, in this cold and damp room. Instead I thought of what I would do after I was free of this place. I thought of the rolling green hills dotted with wildflowers in spring. I thought of spending the holidays with my family; opening gifts on Christmas morning.
My name is Emma Brantley. I turned 16 on February 23rd, 1912 and I celebrated my birthday with 200 other people at Placid Hills. I have been at Placid Hills since my parents shipped me from London to Boston to have me admitted when I was just 12 years old.
No one expected me to live for 4 years in this horrid place. I was not expected to live that long surrounded by disease and death. People died every day, every hour here at Placid Hills. They died from scarlet fever, the plague, tuberculosis, even murder and suicide. And then there was the fire. The fire that destroyed the Children’s Ward and took the lives of 36 innocent children.
I wish I could say my story has a happy ending. But it doesn’t. I wish I could say that I escaped this place and the dark things that happened here. But I didn’t. And I never will.
For those of you who haven’t figured it out yet, I died here at Placid Hills Hospital in May of 1912. But I did not die from disease. I did not commit suicide. I was killed by the one man I had ever trusted in this hospital. My one true love, Oliver Campbell, looked straight into my eyes as he drove the knife straight into my heart. The last thing I saw was tears in his eyes before my world was engulfed in blackness.
30 Years Later:
Placid Hills Hospital finally finished construction on its new Children’s Ward. More than 30 years after the tragic fire that claimed the lives of 36 children, young patients are returning here. How I dreamt when I was young that I would one day be free.
You see, I never left Placid Hills. Well not all of me left. My body was transported away a long time ago. After Oliver slayed me, they took my body to the morgue to await shipment back to London. But that never happened. I was buried behind the hospital in an unmarked grave along with about a dozen other bodies.
My spirit has stayed; trapped forever within these walls. I am doomed to walk the halls of this hospital, watching the patients shrivel away and die. Now I will watch these children grow up in the ward; some being able to battle through their disease, others succumbing to the blackness that awaits them in death. It is heartbreaking to see children so young forced into adult situations like terminal disease. If only they knew that I was watching over them.
I wander the hallways of the hospital, looking for him.
“Where are you Oliver? You cannot hide from me forever.” I thought. Oliver Campbell never left Placid Hills either. But his story is not yet over. Oliver is no longer a patient; he’s a doctor.
Oliver Campbell overcame his tuberculosis three months after my death. He left for medical school in the summer of 1913. I didn’t see him again until he returned in 1919 at the ripe age of 23.
How I loathe him. How I loathe Oliver for ending my life and living his without regret. I show him my hatred every chance I get. Maybe I give a whisper in his ear, or cause a door to close near him. Oliver has no idea it is I who haunts him while he makes his rounds. But soon…very soon I will make myself known to Oliver Campbell.
