Strapped to a gurney.
Wearing Raven’s clothes.
Her exact clothes.
Same torn sweatshirt. Same broken lace panties I left on the floor days ago.
The doll is bleeding from the eyes.
Pinned to its chest—a note.
Taped with surgical precision.
She screams less now.
But only for me.
—N
I rip it off and keep moving.
Down the next hall, the lights flicker—not all at once. One by one. A slow strobe of cruelty, dragging my shadow along the wall in fractured, twitching pieces.
The silence isn’t silent anymore.
There’s a hum in the walls. A clicking in the vents.
A soft… dragging sound.
Like something wet being pulled across tile.
Like a body.
Or worse—mybody.
Being reenacted.
Again and again.
I round the next corner and stop.
Another screen.
Mounted on the wall.
Flickering to life the second I step into view.
And there she is.
Raven.
Curled in the corner of a pitch-dark room.
Still naked.
Still shaking.
But whispering now.
