It was a hot, stifling summer evening, the air thick with a kind of quiet tension that the group couldn't shake. School had just let out for the break, and what was meant to be a carefree start to their vacation turned into something far darker. The gang—Jeremy, John, Jamie, Shane, James, and Celine—had gathered outside the infamous Blackveil Asylum, an old abandoned hospital on the outskirts of town. The stories they'd heard about it over the years were enough to send chills down anyone's spine, but none of them had ever seriously thought about going inside. Until now.
Jeremy, always the one to push things to the limit, was grinning widely as he gestured toward the rotting gates of the asylum. "Come on, it's just an old building. Nothing's gonna happen."
John, usually the voice of reason, stood a few feet back, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His eyes darted nervously over the decaying building. "Are you serious? This place has been abandoned for decades. People say it's haunted, cursed even. There's no way we're going in there."
Jamie, ever the provocateur, rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. You're not scared, are you? It's just an old hospital. You really think there's some ghost in there waiting to jump out at us?"
Shane chuckled, but there was a slight hesitation in his laugh. "Yeah, man. It'll be like a spooky sleepover. What's the worst that could happen?"
"I don't know about you guys, but I'm not spending the night in there," John muttered, his voice low. He wasn't thrilled, but the rest of the group seemed determined. Even Celine, the shyest among them, couldn't argue.
They'd made the decision. They were going in.
By the time they reached the crumbling building, the sun had dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the overgrown yard. The air was thick, humid, as though the world itself was holding its breath. They stepped inside, flashlights shaking in their hands as the darkness closed in around them.
The walls were covered in grime and the floors creaked underfoot. It smelled of old rot, damp wood, and something deeper—something that clung to the place, a memory of suffering that had long since faded into dust. Every step they took felt heavier, as if the asylum itself was alive, watching them.
It wasn't long before they realized they were no longer alone.
"Shane?" James called out, his voice echoing through the vast, empty hallways. "Where'd you go?"
They had gotten separated in their search, as people often do when curiosity gets the better of them. But when they found Shane, they didn't expect what they saw.
He was slumped against the wall in a narrow hallway, his body twisted in unnatural angles, eyes wide open in shock. Blood pooled around him, staining the cracked floor beneath him. His throat had been slit, and his stomach had been sliced open with surgical precision. A grotesque, twisted smile seemed to mock them even in death.
Jamie screamed, the sound raw and chilling. "No… no, no, no!"
Celine froze, her heart racing in her chest. The sight of Shane's mutilated body was enough to steal the air from her lungs. This wasn't a prank. This wasn't some sick joke. Someone was out there. And they were hunting them.
The group backed away slowly, their footsteps echoing as they tried to make sense of what had happened. But as they turned to leave, the door they had entered through slammed shut with a deafening bang. The darkness around them seemed to press in, thickening, suffocating.
"We need to get out of here. Now," Jeremy said, his voice unsteady for the first time. "This isn't a joke anymore."
But no matter how many doors they opened, they couldn't find their way out. The halls twisted in impossible directions, each turn leading them deeper into the nightmare. Panic set in as they realized the asylum was playing tricks on them.
It was when they found Jeremy that everything truly sank in.
His body was hanging from the ceiling, bound in ropes, his limbs contorted in painful, unnatural positions. His throat had been slashed, and the blood had pooled on the floor beneath him. His eyes stared out, wide and terrified, as if caught in a final moment of disbelief. The body was a grotesque mockery of life.
"No… no!" Jamie screamed, backing away from the sight, her breath coming in panicked gasps.
Celine couldn't breathe. The room spun around her, her heart pounding so loudly she could hardly hear anything else. She wanted to scream, but no sound would come out.
"What is this? What the hell is happening?" John whispered, his voice breaking.
They were being picked off one by one.
The others tried to hold it together, but they could see it in each other's eyes: the terror. The hopelessness. They knew the next death was coming. They didn't know who it would be, but they felt it, the cold hand of fate tightening around their throats.
Jamie was next.
They found her body in the same position as the others. Her throat had been slit, blood pooled on the floor, and her eyes were frozen in a look of horror. Her body was positioned carefully, almost artfully, like she was being prepared for something.
John, shaking with grief and rage, swore under his breath. "We need to get out of here. We have to—"
But it was too late.
By now, they were being hunted. Celine could feel it, the ever-present presence of something watching them, stalking them from the dark. It moved faster than they did, and the asylum was its playground. Every hallway led them further into madness, and every door seemed to bring them closer to death.
Then, in the darkest, most twisted corner of the asylum, they found him.
The killer.
He stood there, the tattered remains of a plague doctor's mask covering his face, his eyes gleaming with a strange, unsettling calm. In his hands, he held a long, curved autopsy knife, its blade glinting in the dim light. His movements were slow, deliberate, like he was savoring the moment, savoring the fear in their eyes.
John charged at him, but the killer moved with an unnatural speed, dodging his attack with ease. He grabbed John by the throat, lifting him off the ground, and in one swift motion, slit his throat.
Celine froze, unable to move, her body locked in place by the sheer horror of it all. The others were gone. It was just her now.
The killer turned his gaze to her, and she could see the twisted smile in his eyes. "You're the last one," he rasped, his voice hoarse, like it had been years since he'd spoken.
Celine's heart raced, but something inside her snapped. She couldn't die here. Not like this. She grabbed a jagged piece of glass from the floor, holding it tightly in her trembling hand.
The killer lunged at her, but Celine was faster. With all the strength she could muster, she plunged the shard of glass into his chest, twisting it deep into his body. He staggered back, gasping, his blood staining her hands.
For a moment, she thought it was over. She thought he would fall.
But he didn't.
Instead, he grinned, the smile widening, even as blood poured from the wound. "You think you've won?" he rasped, his voice low and menacing. "This… this is only the beginning."
She didn't stop. She drove the glass shard deeper, twisting it until his body jerked and went limp.
Celine stood over him, her body trembling with exhaustion. The killer was dead. But the nightmare wasn't over. It couldn't be.
She didn't know if she'd made it out alive. She didn't know if there was anyone left to save her.
But she had killed him.
And for now, that was all that mattered.