The Redwood Asylum: A Paranormal Horror by L.A. Detwiler (recommended reading txt) 📕

Chapter Eleven

Iwanted so desperately to keep on driving when I approached my apartment, the tiny, decaying building a formidable sight in the still-dark street. It sat at the end of the road, an old, yellow house converted into two apartments. The other apartment was inhabited by a middle-aged man who apparently travelled often because he was never home. The creaky, giant building seemed to always just house me. Loneliness pervaded again.

I sighed, my hand grabbing for my bag. My whole body thirsted for sleep after a long shift, but I knew it would not come. I eyed the stack of drawings in my bag, considering what would happen if I left them in the car. A dropping sensation clinked in my stomach as I considered what might happen if I took them in. I thought of Red’s visit, of 5B’s eerie words. Then again, wasn’t it too late? Wasn’t I wrapped up in this sinister web of secrets and hauntings already?

My head was spinning with all the considerations and possibilities. Paranoia was quickly spreading, and I tried hard to dismiss it. Still, it was impossible to squelch the rising fear after all that had happened and all that I feared was about to be uncovered.

Four children, two of which so far seemed marred by horrific crimes. That had to be it. 5B had to be a killer. Didn’t he? But how couldn’t anyone have figured that out by now? And who were the children?

Then again, there was always the possibility they weren’t tied to 5B’s crimes but the crimes of Redwood. So many children had passed through the walls of the archaic building. So many had certainly suffered. Perhaps that was the connection. But why 5B? And why me?

I took a deep breath as I walked inside my entrance, hauling the bag and pictures with me. The chilly air chomped into my flesh as I exhaled the stress, the worries, the questions from the week. I wanted to think it was a coincidence that I’d been chosen for this hellish unearthing of truths. Still, at the back of my mind, I knew why it would be me that was picked.

I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping that if nothing else, solving the mystery and figuring out what the terrifying kids wanted would absolve me of the sins I just couldn’t seem to outrun.

***

The water pelted my skin as steam rose in a swirl around me. I inhaled the humid air, washing away the strangeness of the day as my eyes closed and I sank into myself. I let the shower inundate my skin, an ablution of all of the bad things that had soaked in. Refreshed after a long moment, I let my eyes open and my mind refocus.

I stared straight ahead at the off-white tile in the shower as the water rained down. One hand massaging my neck, my ears perked up. A light tapping sound caught my attention. I squeezed my eyes shut, certain it was just the old building settling or one of the neighbors rattling about. I shoved down the thought that the neighbors in the old house were rarely home; most days, the house on Willow Lane was inhabited only by me and my dark memories.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Rapid fire now. It was of a human quality, and my skin prickled as I turned to look out the steam-covered shower door.

A streak on the glass, a swiped handprint. My heart thudded wildly as the streak claimed skin. The hand was unmistakably human, dirty, and real. My scream pierced the bathroom air as I scurried to shut off the water and backed against the corner.

Two hands now pressed on the glass. Both caked in filth and horrifying. I was pressed against the tile wall, trying so hard to make myself small and invisible. And then his shrieking visage pressed against the glass. Even through the steamy haze, it was identifiable.

The eerie eye sockets with worms dripping down, curled on his face. The dirt streaks and mud dripping from every inch of his skin, mixing with the steam-covered glass and streaking it. His gurgling noise as he tapped on the glass harder now, insistent on something unknown. Sobs racked my body as I planned my escape but all the while, I knew it was futile.

The boy banged on the glass, rattling it and gurgling. I thought he would strangle me. I cursed myself for taking those drawings from 5B. I wondered if I would die right there, naked and alone in the shower.

I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed to be saved by a God who most likely abandoned me long ago, when my soul was blackened by that choice. Was this about me? Was this about her? Or was it about him, after all? My brain leaped over possibilities as the door rattled and shook, the glass precariously warning it was about to crack. I shook, squeezing my naked, wet body tightly and praying for a fast end. Wondering if an end to it all would be such a terrible thing. I would die alone, just like I perhaps deserved.

And then, just as quickly as the ordeal had started, all was quiet. My own cries were the only noise in the tiled bathroom. I looked up to see the dirt streaks were still there, but the being was gone. Or was he? I shivered in the corner, my arms covering my chests as I willed myself to think of the next step.

Slowly, carefully, I peeled myself away from the slick tile wall. My hand shook feverishly as I reached for the door, trying to steady it enough to slide open the shower door. I opened it a whisper, inhaling and holding my breath. Nothing. Quietude. Peace. Still, I knew it wouldn’t last. I knew that whatever the children wanted with me, they weren’t done yet.

Peering out into the steam-filled bathroom, I