THE PASSAGE

A NIGHTMARE IN BROOKLYN

Chapter 1

It's a cold, windy evening in early spring as I walk briskly towards the hospital entrance, brushing away locks of stray blonde hair from my face, my heels making an unusually loud tapping noise against the concrete. Up ahead, a woman emerges from the entrance, oddly dressed, eyes downcast, one arm wrapped around herself, the other supporting her weight with a walking cane. As we approach one another, she looks up at me with eyes appearing dead in their sockets, her face as cold as ice, then grabs my wrist, pulling me to a stop.

"Don't jump, child," she says.

She squeezes my wrist so tightly that her nails dig into my skin. Her face reminds me of death, eyes lifeless, a ghostly presence seeping out of every pore of her body. I quickly pull my hand away from her grasp, noticing the almost puncture-like marks left on my wrist.

"Who are you, and what are you talking about?"

I wait a few moments for her to answer as her lifeless eyes appear to stare straight through me, but no answer comes. I look towards the hospital entrance, then back at her, wondering if she possibly escaped from the psych ward. She continues standing there, eyes unmoved, a supernatural look about her.

"Is there something I can do to help you? Can I call someone for you?"

"Don't do it. Don't jump, child."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

She grabs my left hand, then slowly lifts it. With the index finger of her other hand, her spare fingers holding the cane, she circles the stone on my engagement ring over and over, dead eyes still staring at me, an eerie smile on her dark face. Now somewhat frightened by her, I again pull my hand free and turn towards the entrance, walking away from her as fast as possible, wondering if I should contact security.

As I approach the entrance doors, I stop and turn around, curious to see if she has walked away. A cold chill passes through me as I see her still lurking there on the walkway, her gaze cast in my direction. She appears to be in her late thirties, hair up in a bun, dark-skinned, her dress from a much older generation. It is then I notice something even more peculiar about the dress she's wearing; it's short-sleeved. Plus, she's not even wearing a coat, and it's freezing out here.

I look around, seeing a few people coming and going, walking past her, but it's evident that no one seems to be noticing her strange behavior or even her presence. And then, a man walks right through her, as if she isn't even there.

I gasp out loud, then quickly turn and walk through the entrance doors. A gentleman walks past and looks at me strangely, noticing the apparent uneasiness on my face. I try to stop myself but give in to looking back towards her once more, seeing that she has disappeared. I scan the outside area as far as I can, now wondering if she was ever there in the first place.

Looking down at my wrist, I notice the fingernail marks are still visible, the redness slowly fading. I turn my hand over and stare at my engagement ring, and then I circle the stone as she had a few minutes earlier. Don't jump. Did I imagine her there? I look out of the window once more, scanning the area, then look back to the spot where she was. Am I going crazy?

"Can I help you?"

I cringe as I hear the voice behind me. Turning around, I see a female staring at me, probably fifty-something, with short salt and pepper hair, a blue blazer, a lanyard around her neck supporting a hospital name tag, stating that her name is Sheila Morrison. She has an aura that makes me immediately dislike her.

"Um . . . there was this lady outside just now, acting a bit strange. She grabbed my wrist," I say, showing her my wrist. Sheila glances at my wrist, then outside, and then back at me, staring silently.