The Night Shift

It was half past the 11th hour, and the graveyard shift had begun years ago, according to the nurse's watch, or so it felt. Jerron had worked the overnight shift a small handful of times, and having only worked at the Hospital three weeks, he thought it unnecessary to tell his superiors about his nyctophobia - a very severe fear of dark spaces. But now, as the dull lighting of the ward corridor magnified the shadows around him, and he could almost feel them creeping up his loose-fitting uniform pants, he realised in hindsight that telling his boss could have saved him the month of nightmares sure to come.



He rounded the corner and, as his line of sight was directed purely at his own feet, almost crashed head first into the steel gate that separated the current ward from isolation. The security guard behind the first gate was barely roused from his sleep as Jerron shuffled towards it, unwillingly. He wasn't quite sure why he picked up a nursing job at an asylum, he was sure that the city's hospital would've hired him within the month, but money happened to be an issue that, like time, waits for no man. Even if that man asks very politely, and begs it not to make him work at Ravenhearst. It wasn't that Ravenhearst was a necessarily bad institute, but it had a certain reputation in the outside world, for not having the most welcoming of staff.



Jerron pressed the buzzer on the wall beside the gate, waking the security guard hesitantly from his slumber, not seeming to appreciate Jerron's need to get into isolation at this hour, and if it were up to Jerron, he wouldn't be going near it. Another buzzer sounded, and the gate groaned with age as the latch inside of it slid open, and Jerron moved inside. The setup of the gates to the I.W had a disturbing resemblance to a prison, which was rather fitting, in his opinion. People sent to Ravenhearst Asylum were rarely ever seen again, but those in isolation had an ice cube's chance in hell of returning to civilization. Jerron wasn't sure if this was due to the arrangements made by the admittees, or simply because Ravenhearst was the place to send those who were too far gone.



As he was patted down by the security guard half-arsed-ly, he looked out into the ward he just came from, as a reassurance that his own shadow wasn't plotting to stab him in the back, and to quash the dreadful feeling that he was being watched. Jerron wasn't thinking straight enough to frown disapprovingly at the guard for his lazy shake-down and wonder how many others could have had concealed weapons on their person passing through this gate. He stroked the hairs on the back of his neck down and nodded his absentminded thanks to the security guard, who grunted back and returned to his small box, to open the second gate for Jerron. As the gate clicked open, Jerron couldn't help but feel as though his last line of defense had been shattered, and all those waiting beyond to crush him were warmly invited in for a cup of tea, and maybe some biscuits.



Isolation, the place of no return, gleamed in the poor lighting as its unnaturally pristine walls met Jerron's gaze with an uncomfortable shine. The layered scents of the halls were barely masked by the off-lemony smell of powerful cleaning agents, used to wipe off blood, dirt, and human waste that the patients dragged along the surfaces when being transported from room to room. Even with thick layers of steel between Jerron and those in their shoebox cells, he still felt all but safe, and the hairs on his arms and neck had begun their ascent, trying so desperately to leave Jerron's body and flee from the asylum. Jerron seconded the feeling.



He started his round of double-checking locks and patients, cursing the seemingly small budget of the institute. If they had even a smidge of a larger budget, they could have employed actual guards who did the night shift, instead of underpaid nurses. The ward was mostly quiet at this hour, less the scratching and low moaning that came from a cell every so often. Not that it helped much, it meant that he stood out. Jerron approached the second door on the right and peaked between the bars of the small slit in the door at about eye height. He shivered involuntarily as he saw a small shadow curled up in a ball on the floor, wriggling around in a dark puddle of what could only be blood or filth. Or both.



He almost felt sorry for these people, if that is even what they were anymore. As much as Jerron hated to admit it, being locked up in a place like this changed people, took away their humanity. Those left behind became empty husks of their former selves, shuffling through life because they can do nothing more. It never helped to think about such things as this hour, though. Not just because Jerron was helpless to do anything about it, but also because he found it terrifying to be looking inside cells where there were no people, in the dark, with strange noises, and the cold drafts winding up his ligaments.



Jerron turned the corner, his eyes floating from door to door as he checked the locks as efficiently as possible while being the nervous wreck he currently was. Such was natural for Jerron; being in an enclosed, dark space with nothing but the inhuman noises around him to keep him company. A scuttling came from the left, Jerron's eyes darted instinctively towards the source, keeping them trained on the door opposite him as his hands fiddled with the... Open lock?



Jerron's mouth opened and closed awkwardly for several seconds while his brain tried to comprehend what he was looking at. Obviously, it was a lock to a cell door that was meant to be firmly clamped around the handle. Yet, here it was, dangling lazily from the door instead, unclasped and unsecured. Jerron blinked back into reality as he realised what this meant, was there an escape? Was he safe? Questions upon questions flooded his mind, the most prominent being: Where was the patient now?



Distant giggling echoed through the corridors, reaching Jerron's perked ears, and sending his body into red alert. If it wasn't for the pure adrenaline coursing through his veins, it would have been his preference to run as fast as he could out of the institute, and curled up in  a tight ball in a corner somewhere. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately for Jerron, there was an apt amount of the aforementioned adrenaline surging through him and, through the gripping fear and anxiety, he mustered the strength to follow the eery laughter.



As Jerron edged closer to the end of the corridor the laughter grew louder, sending shivers up his spine, and returning the hairs on the back of his neck to an upright stance. A ball of saliva slide down Jerron's throat noisily, and he began taking smaller steps towards the source of the jitter inducing noises; A small wooden door tucked away to the right of the dead end, looking completely out of place amongst all the metal and concrete. Jerron swallowed again as he approached the door, the hollow giggling undoubtedly coming from behind it. He looked around cautiously before reaching a shaky hand out towards the handle.



The chortling stopped abruptly, as Jerron's  fingers, warm with sweat reached for the cool metal, drawing away sharply at the sudden cold of it, unnatural in the dank environment of Isolation. A loud, aged creak came from the hinges as a door that was not often opened, did just that, and the nurse hoped with all his might that the fear he felt in his heart was nothing more than mere imagination. A musty scent wafted into his nostrils, reactively making him put a hand to his face in an attempt to rid himself of nausea. But still it came, and Jerron's stomach turned, the smell of something he could only describe as rot. As if a pile of corpses had been left there to decay and were well past the stages of rigor mortis.



A veil of repulsing stench wrapping around Jerron's face, and pulled him towards the darkness. The door shut behind him slowly as he reached out to the dwindling light fruitlessly. The giggling recommenced, this time filling his skull cavity with its hollow humour, and Jerron's screams fell on unhearing ears.