BLACKWOOD ASYLUM

Part 1: The Road to Blackwood

The road stretched endlessly ahead, swallowed by thick, creeping fog.

Orion's hands gripped the wheel tighter than necessary. The drive to Blackwood Psychiatric Hospital took him far beyond the city limits, where the streetlights no longer reached, and the air felt different—heavier.

Every instinct screamed at him to turn back.

But he had gone too far to stop now.

The deeper he drove, the worse it became.

The trees lining the road bent inward unnaturally, as if watching him pass. The mist curled against the windshield like reaching fingers.

And then—

The headlights behind him.

Orion glanced at the rearview mirror.

A car. Black. No license plate.

He exhaled sharply. They had followed him.

The same people who had erased the case files, who had watched him at the cemetery, who had warned him to stop.

But it was too late.

He pressed his foot on the gas.

Blackwood Asylum was waiting.

And so was the truth.

Part 2: The Man Who Followed

The asylum gates stood wide open, rusted and broken, like a mouth waiting to swallow him whole.

Orion parked just inside, his pulse hammering.

Behind him, the black car stopped at the entrance. The headlights shut off.

No one got out.

The figure in the driver's seat just sat there, watching.

Orion forced himself to move. He grabbed his flashlight, stepping into the overgrown courtyard. The building loomed ahead—tall, skeletal, windows shattered into jagged grins.

The asylum had been abandoned for over a decade. But as Orion walked up the steps, something made him stop.

The door was already open.

And inside—a light was on.

Part 3: The Voices in the Walls

The air inside smelled of mildew, rust, and something else.

Something rotting.

Orion moved cautiously, his flashlight cutting through the darkness. The entrance hall was filled with old patient files, scattered across the floor like fallen leaves. Faded photographs of long-dead patients stared up at him, their eyes hollowed by time.

Then—

A sound.

A low, distant murmuring.

Not words. Not quite. More like the echo of conversations that should have died years ago.

He followed the sound, deeper into the asylum.

The walls were covered in scratches. Desperate, uneven.

Like someone had tried to claw their way out.

His flashlight flickered.

And in the brief second of darkness—

The whispers stopped.

Something breathed behind him.

Orion spun around—

Nothing.

But now, in the silence, he could hear it.

The unmistakable sound of a door creaking open.

Somewhere inside the building.

Part 4: The Patient Files

Orion found the old records office tucked away behind a collapsed hallway.

The cabinets were rusted, files half-burned, as if someone had tried to destroy them.

But one drawer remained locked.

He pried it open with a crowbar from the floor. The lock snapped. Papers spilled out.

His breath hitched.

Case files.

The names—they matched the missing women.

Eleanor Finch. Margaret Holloway. The girl from CASE #0043.

Each file contained the same disturbing detail:

"Patient was declared deceased, but revived under unknown circumstances. Condition unstable. Removed from records."

Removed from records.

Orion's pulse pounded.

Someone had been covering this up for years.

And then—he found it.

At the very back of the drawer.

A file labeled:

PATIENT #0043

His hands trembled as he flipped it open.

Inside—

A photograph.

Of a young boy.

With dark hair. Sharp features. Familiar eyes.

Orion's own eyes.

Part 5: The Boy Named Orion

His throat tightened.

The file was old. Yellowed. The ink smudged in places.

He scanned the details, his heart hammering.

"Patient admitted under unknown circumstances. No recorded family. No birth certificate."

"Patient exhibits signs of dissociation. Frequent memory loss."

"Patient insists his name is Orion Blackwood."

No.

That was impossible.

He wasn't a patient here. He had never been here before.

Had he?

His hands shook as he flipped to the last page.

A single note, scrawled in hurried handwriting:

"Subject is not what he appears to be. Keep him contained."

Then—

A sound.

Something shifted behind him.

A chair scraping against the floor.

Orion turned—

And the door to the room slammed shut.

Part 6: The Room That Was Locked

Orion rushed to the door, yanking at the handle.

Locked.

A heavy, suffocating silence filled the air.

Then—

The lights flickered.

The room shifted.

The peeling paint darkened, the air thick with the stench of antiseptic and blood. The abandoned records office wasn't abandoned anymore.

Orion's breath came in sharp, uneven bursts.

He was inside Blackwood Asylum.

But not now.

Then.

The whispers returned. Louder. Clearer.

And just outside the locked door—

A shadow moved.

Part 7: The Patient Who Never Left

Orion backed away from the door.

The whispers were getting closer.

Then—a knock.

Slow. Deliberate.

He held his breath.

Another knock.

This time, the door creaked open.

Orion stepped back, his pulse hammering—

A figure stood in the doorway.

A boy.

Thin. Pale.

Dressed in a tattered hospital gown.

His head tilted. His lips curled into a slow, knowing smile.

And when he spoke—

He had Orion's voice.

"You were never supposed to leave."

Part 8: The Truth Behind the Door

Orion couldn't move.

The boy stepped forward.

Orion's own reflection, frozen in time.

"They erased you," the boy whispered. "But not completely."

The room shifted again.

Now Orion was standing inside a hospital room.

An old restraint chair sat in the center.

The walls were covered in scratch marks.

Like someone had tried to claw their way out.

And written over and over, in his own handwriting—

"YOU WERE NEVER HERE."

Orion's breath shuddered out.

His head spun.

Memories he didn't remember having clawed at the edges of his mind.

The whispers surrounded him.

And the boy—his other self—was still smiling.

"Welcome home, Orion."