Sharon’s note: There are no new stories. That’s okay. We never really get tiered of hearing the old ones, as long as they’ve got a new coat of paint. I’ve consumed a lot of stories, whether it’s a book I’ve read or a movie I’ve watched. Very few plot twists surprise me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy them. Sometimes it’s fun to know what’s happening before the main character. Or think we do. Warning: Are you sure you know what’s going on, or is the author messing with you?
“Ouch! Don’t pull my arm out of its socket.”
Kathy pulled me down the stairs and into the nearest hallway at just shy of a run. The small circle of illumination from the flashlight danced over the walls so fast I couldn’t tell where we were going. Five or six turns later, I managed to rip my hand out of hers. She turned back, that manic smile still plastered on her face.
“I thought you wanted to see the asylum.” Her eyes darted behind me, and whatever she did or didn’t see made her relax a little. I glanced back, but all I saw was the sucking darkness.
“I do, but I won’t see a lot if we’re sprinting through it.” I shined my light over the hallway. The floor here was basic white tile, and the walls were a perfect match. Only the ceiling was different, pale yellow wood. It was so quiet I could hear my breathing echoing back at me. “Where are we?”
“I was going to take you down to the morgue.” She crossed her arms. “Do you want to see it or not?”
Against my better judgement, I was intrigued. “Did anything cool happen down there?”
“It’s where they kept and incinerated the bodies.” Her eyes rolled upward as she thought for a second. “It’s where McBride’s deforemed son lived. His room is mostly undisturbed.”
I bit my lip. If I was going exploring, there were so many places I wanted to see, but . . . it was a morgue in a haunted asylum. I had to. Besides, McBride’s son was his own story. “Okay, let’s go. Slower this time.”
She turned and led me on with a wave. My light stayed trained on her back. I didn’t want to risk losing her, even in the straight shot of the hallway. How she was managing to find her own way without the benefit of a flashlight, I had no idea.
“How often are you here that you know this place so well?” Even the scuff of my feet on the tile was shockingly loud, so I had to talk to fill the silence.
“Oh, I can’t stay away. I first came here on a bet, and it was so cool I kept coming back to explore.” She trailed a hand over the smooth white wall. “This place is practically home.”
My eyes narrowed as I took in the tattered state of her clothes. “You don’t live here, do you?”
She snorted. The end of the hall came into view. There was a set of large metal elevator doors that took up most of the wall, with only enough room for a small door next to it. “No. Come on, we have to take the stairs.”
I hesitated as she opened the door into what looked like an endless void. “Are there still any bodies down there?”
She gave me her first real smile. “Only one way to find out. Come on, scaredy cat.”
Gray Matters: The Works of Sharon and James Gray 