#mri

It’s the tail end of October, when the days shrink down to thin slices of cold sunlight. The late autumn air is sharp and crisp. It’s carrying the scent of wet, dying leaves; it stirs a strange feeling inside you, a mix of melancholy and restless hunger for something more. An adventure, perhaps... or something darker.

And why not? You’re young, curious and like everything weird and unusual. For you anything out there is a story, and this one could be a story about the unfortunate abandoned hospital at the end of a broken road. Folks say this place is haunted, but maybe no one’s ever dared to find out for sure. You're certain it is time for you to solve this mystery for good.

You ease your way inside. The door gives a long, miserable creak as it opens, as if it hasn’t been touched in decades. The paint, once green, is almost gray now; it hangs in shreds, peeling off the wood like dead skin. The air in the hallway hits you, stale and thick, smelling of dust and something sour. You pull out your flashlight, clicking it on with a soft snap, and the narrow beam cuts through the dark, scanning over pockmarked walls and the occasional room. But, of course, you don't see anything but empty beds, rusty buckets, piles of ragged fabric left to rot. No signs of ghosts or ghouls - or anything remotely interesting, for that matter.

You explore for ten minutes, maybe more, telling yourself you’ll see something any second now. But after the seventh empty room, you start to think there's no mystery at all. Pretty expectable, isn't it? Or what, did you really think you’d find anything but dust, broken glass, and busted syringes? With a sigh, you turn to go, shaking your head.

You take a step into the hallway, flashlight slicing through the shadows, and that’s when you hear it: a low, dry crrrk-crrrk. At first, you think it’s the old building settling. But then it comes again, irregular and jittery, like static: crick-crack, crick-crick-crack. The sound’s sharper now, that unmistakable staccato of a Geiger counter ticking.

Your heart beats faster. You swing the flashlight in the direction of the noise, but there’s nothing there, just the same hollow walls and chipped paint. Crick-crack-crick. Louder now, closer... For a sick, sinking moment, you wonder if there’s something radioactive buried here, and shake your head in disbelief.

"It doesn’t make any sense," you think. "I don’t even have a Geiger counter." But your mind, stubborn as a mule, wrestles to make sense of the nonsense, to catalog that weird crackle and shove it into some drawer that fits. Maybe you’re just hearing things? The building is old, there could be some pipes. It's always the pipes that make the most uncanny noises.

But the thing making that sound... it doesn’t care whether you understand or not.

You run forward, not watching where you're stepping, and a rusty bucket clatters across the floor. You fumble as your flashlight slips from your hand, the beam ricocheting off the walls and scattering shadows like startled birds. You crouch to retrieve it, fingers scrambling over the filthy, dusty tiles. And that’s when you see it, illuminated by the flashlight laying on the floor.

Feet.

They're human, but wrong. Slightly translucent - and shot through with slowly swirling masses of black and red liquid, twisting just under the skin. You look upward, and you make out the outline of a woman in a tattered, filthy hospital gown. Her body consists of that liquid, contained within the thin walls of her grayish skin. Everywhere but her head. It looks like an MRI scan, flickering between 2D and 3D, a nightmare too strange for your eyes to comprehend. Empty white orbs stare down at you, soulless and wide. She has no lips, but her mouth peels back, revealing a row of long, black teeth: it almost looks like a smile. She leans in, and before you can scream, rushes towards you - and the world plunges into darkness.

...You wake up in your own bed, the morning light spilling through the curtains. What a horrible nightmare you just had! Head feels so heavy, it hurts with this annoying, pulsating, throbbing pain deep within your brain. You feel feverish. You got sick, perhaps? It would explain the dream, so realistic - and so ephemeral at the same time.

With a sigh, you brush your palm through your hair, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep... but your fingers snag on something. A clump of hair. You pull it free, bewildered. Since when have you started balding? Confusion morphs into unease as you glance down at the skin of your hand, red and sunburn. Sunburn in October? In this area?

"I should definitely see a doctor," you think, an anxious knot tightening in your stomach. "But not in this abandoned hospital." Nervous chuckle escaped your lips, as you tried to calm yourself down with this silly joke. "I will never go there again, whether it's a dream or not."