Her friends had dared her to enter the ward. She was young, brash, invincible—foolish. Her breath chuffed out. Teenage pride.
The wind wended through the shattered halls; a remnant of laughter, and a memory of screams.
A shriek of tortured metal and the scent of old blood rise into the air where her hands settled on one of the bed frames rusting in the gloaming.
Her eyes skimmed the scarred floors, littered with detritus.
In the corner, empty liquor bottles surround a wilted mattress. Mostly hidden by a shred of faded blue denim, her skull stares back at her.
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alt="The Mannequin People by Michael J. Stiehl"
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>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Gator by Randall Andrews"
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width="1200"
height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Rude Awakening by Richard Lau"
class="motion-reduce"
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width="1200"
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>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="136694 by S.F.J. Painter"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>