WARNING: Graphic details.
This article contains graphic descriptions some readers may find disturbing.
August 9, 1965
The steel door opened slowly, revealing a plump nurse. The woman, dressed in white as though she were an angel, pursed her lips and looked the girl up and down.
“578. Come with me. It’s time for your treatment.”
The hydrotherapy treatment room was in the basement, secluded in the west wing. The skinny girl was stripped and bound by her wrists in the shower stall. Facing the wall, her nude figure trembled. She knew this treatment well. The jet of icy cold water hit her like a thousand knives. She screamed in pain, pulling against the restraints, scraping her feet on the uneven floor. After what seemed like an eternity, the water stopped. A passive voice broke the silence.
“You are done for today, 578. Get dressed.”
Her feet hurt badly, but the doctor ignored her as her blood swirled down the drain.
November 18, 1965
The infection had spread to her whole body. For more than a month now, the girl had been in extreme pain, shivering, and sweating. She was no longer able to eat or stand up, and yet she was still subjected to the icy showers. At 6:57 that night, the girl drew her final breath. She was hastily buried on the hospital grounds, her grave marked by nothing but a number: 578.
January 15, 1968
The three girls finished cramming their ski gear into Olivia’s Ford Rambler only moments before the sun began to set.
“Oli, are you sure we shouldn’t just crash here one more night? It’s already pretty dark,” Kennedy said as she ventured hesitantly, worried about the trip ahead.
“Don’t worry Kennedy, I got this!” Olivia said. The three set out on the snow-covered roads.
Danger often lurks near the foolhardy. The small car crashed, leaving the girls stranded in the cold wilderness of a January night. First moments hung in dazed silence. The girls could already see their breaths in the rapidly cooling car.
“Oli, what are we gonna do?”
“I don’t know Nicole, but we either freeze in here or start walking,” Oli answered.
The three shivering forms slowly made their way along the deserted road, illuminated by nothing but moonlight. A small path opened on their right, marked by a large sign. Ignoring their better judgment, the girls made their way down this small path, quickly breaking through the thick covering of trees into a clearing. To their right, lines of small metal plaques marked the ground, shining in the moonlight. A large brick building with more windows than one could count loomed in front of them, crowned by a massive, perfectly centred dome. As the girls made their way up the snow-covered stone steps, they saw remains of a sign on the door.
“Closed indefinitely,” Olivia read. “I wonder why?”
“Look, it’s dated 1965. That’s only three years ago,” said Kennedy.
With a last glance at each other, the girls ventured in. The paint on the walls was chipped and peeling, broken glass littered the floors, decay already claiming the abandoned building. The hallways were lined with doors, each one numbered. All six floors were alike. As they made their way back to the main entrance, a narrow set of stairs caught their attention.
Down the stairs they discovered a haunting landscape. Surgical tables lay in various states of disrepair, separated by torn and moldy cloth. Further into the hall, metal wheelchairs sat dusty and untouched. Large knives and pointed objects sat amidst hammers and other tools in glass cases. A long corridor revealed bare rooms with metal chairs, all equipped with restraints and rusted with age. Further, they noticed a room lined with bathtubs, each covered with a thick cloth. Opposite this, a tiled room similarly lined with rusted showers, also equipped with restraints, sat silent.
“We should go back up,” exclaimed Nicole hurriedly. Kennedy nodded with equal panic and urgency. All three girls headed back up to the main floor, but as she left, Olivia thought she saw a figure standing in the room.
It was far too dark and cold to keep walking in hopes of finding shelter, this would have to do. The girls decided to sleep in the reception room until the morning. Olivia could not forget the figure. Once her friends were asleep, she ventured back down the long hallway leading to the stairs. Her fingers trailed the rough wall as she walked, making her way down the staircase. Ignoring the horrors surrounding her, she ran to the tiled room.
“I know you’re here. I saw you.”
A girl appeared, as if out of thin air, and approached Olivia. Her feet were bare and she wore a white dress far too big for her small figure. Her red hair was matted and dirty, crammed into a messy braid.
“Nobody has been here in three years… Do you know how lonely that is?” she asked calmly.
“Why didn’t you leave?” countered Olivia.
“I can’t.” The girl paused, then added, “I’m Beth.”
“I’m Olivia. Why can’t you leave?”
“My family put me here, and I didn’t get out in time.” The girl’s voice was flat and her cryptic answer puzzled Olivia.
Beth then explained that she was a patient at the Pine River Institution, the now-abandoned hospital they were standing in. She had died within these walls and she could never leave. The building had been closed soon after due to disrepair and mistreatment of patients. Olivia slowly backed up towards the door. Beth ran at her and hugged her tightly, pushing her against the wall.
“They called me 578,” she whispered. “Nobody ever leaves. Ever.”
Before Olivia slipped away, Beth pressed her lips to hers in what seemed like an eternal kiss.
When the sun rose, the two girls looked for their friend. In the tile room, they found her lying lifeless, pale and cold. There was not a single wound on her body. Her lips were covered in blood, as though death had kissed her. A trail of bloody letters marred the tile.
She can never leave, and neither can you.
Featured graphic by Sara Mizannojehdehi.
