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Literature Text
He'd checked the book out from the school library. He'd told the librarian that it was for an assignment, but the simple truth of the matter was that it just looked interesting. But there were certain subjects that tended to get odd and concerned looks from teachers and staff when you started getting into them for fun. Like the odd fascination with serial killers and cults, haunted landmarks tended to turn heads in the wrong way.
Wilbur Park's room was dark, lit only by the 20 watt bulb he kept in his lamp so his parents couldn't tell he was still awake. But it was just bright enough to read by, making the old pages look like yellow parchment. The book was a small one – 100 pages at most – but it was full of history about the Oakbridge Hospital out on Hayden Island. Crammed into those 100 pages were the hospital's full history, from its initial brick-laying as a timber-baron's private house, to its conversion during the White Plague, and the fire which led to its eventual infamy. 86 patients dead, all locked in their rooms with no hope for escape.
Wilbur read, totally engrossed in the grotesque history of the place. Everything about it had been handled so poorly, it was no surprise that the building grew to harbour a festering evil throughout its entire foundations. He was so involved with the narrative that he didn't notice his dim light slowly growing even dimmer until he heard the creak of the closet door. Wilbur sat up quickly, glaring straight at the closet door that now hung ajar.
"No," he said quietly.
The door seemed to waver for just a second, but when it didn't open any further, Wilbur began to let down his guard. He looked back down at his book again, and almost immediately, the closet door creaked again.
"Stop it!" Wilbur snapped, looking up at the closet again to find the door now standing halfway open. "I'm gonna put a lock on there, and you're gonna suffocate," he threatened, pointing an angry finger at his closet.
Something huffed quietly on the other side of the door. So quiet, Wilbur almost missed it under his own grumbling. He glared at the door, almost daring it to move again. It was a staring contest that grew more tiresome by the second, until the door jerked again.
"Mom!" Wilbur shouted, staring straight at the black void on the other side of the closet door.
He didn't look away even as he heard his mother's steps coming down the hall. Only when she opened his bedroom door and turned on the light did he even dare blink.
"Wilbur," Sandra Park said tiredly.
Wilbur looked up at her and shrugged dramatically. "There's a thing in my closet!" he said, pointing.
Sandra shook her head and sighed. "You're eighteen years old," she said.
"Well, I didn't put it there, did I?" Wilbur asked, getting up from his bed and grabbing his pillow and blanket.
"Are you sleeping on the couch?" his mother asked.
"Yeah," Wilbur said. He turned off his bedside lamp and made quick tracks to his bedroom door. "There's a thing in my closet. I can't sleep in here."
His mother sighed again and stepped out of his way. "I'll call someone in the morning," she said. She turned to face Wilbur again and took his glasses from his face, folding them carefully before sliding them into his hand. Then, she held out her hand expectantly. For a moment, Wilbur pretended to not understand, but it quickly became clear that she wasn't going to stand down. He shuffled everything he was holding around, eventually managing to dig his book out from the mess of everything else, and handed it over.
"Go to sleep," his mother commanded, tossing the book back onto his bed before turning out the light.
"Well, that was just unnecessary," Wilbur said.
"Sleep," his mother repeated.
Giving up, Wilbur trudged out to the sofa.
Wilbur Park's room was dark, lit only by the 20 watt bulb he kept in his lamp so his parents couldn't tell he was still awake. But it was just bright enough to read by, making the old pages look like yellow parchment. The book was a small one – 100 pages at most – but it was full of history about the Oakbridge Hospital out on Hayden Island. Crammed into those 100 pages were the hospital's full history, from its initial brick-laying as a timber-baron's private house, to its conversion during the White Plague, and the fire which led to its eventual infamy. 86 patients dead, all locked in their rooms with no hope for escape.
Wilbur read, totally engrossed in the grotesque history of the place. Everything about it had been handled so poorly, it was no surprise that the building grew to harbour a festering evil throughout its entire foundations. He was so involved with the narrative that he didn't notice his dim light slowly growing even dimmer until he heard the creak of the closet door. Wilbur sat up quickly, glaring straight at the closet door that now hung ajar.
"No," he said quietly.
The door seemed to waver for just a second, but when it didn't open any further, Wilbur began to let down his guard. He looked back down at his book again, and almost immediately, the closet door creaked again.
"Stop it!" Wilbur snapped, looking up at the closet again to find the door now standing halfway open. "I'm gonna put a lock on there, and you're gonna suffocate," he threatened, pointing an angry finger at his closet.
Something huffed quietly on the other side of the door. So quiet, Wilbur almost missed it under his own grumbling. He glared at the door, almost daring it to move again. It was a staring contest that grew more tiresome by the second, until the door jerked again.
"Mom!" Wilbur shouted, staring straight at the black void on the other side of the closet door.
He didn't look away even as he heard his mother's steps coming down the hall. Only when she opened his bedroom door and turned on the light did he even dare blink.
"Wilbur," Sandra Park said tiredly.
Wilbur looked up at her and shrugged dramatically. "There's a thing in my closet!" he said, pointing.
Sandra shook her head and sighed. "You're eighteen years old," she said.
"Well, I didn't put it there, did I?" Wilbur asked, getting up from his bed and grabbing his pillow and blanket.
"Are you sleeping on the couch?" his mother asked.
"Yeah," Wilbur said. He turned off his bedside lamp and made quick tracks to his bedroom door. "There's a thing in my closet. I can't sleep in here."
His mother sighed again and stepped out of his way. "I'll call someone in the morning," she said. She turned to face Wilbur again and took his glasses from his face, folding them carefully before sliding them into his hand. Then, she held out her hand expectantly. For a moment, Wilbur pretended to not understand, but it quickly became clear that she wasn't going to stand down. He shuffled everything he was holding around, eventually managing to dig his book out from the mess of everything else, and handed it over.
"Go to sleep," his mother commanded, tossing the book back onto his bed before turning out the light.
"Well, that was just unnecessary," Wilbur said.
"Sleep," his mother repeated.
Giving up, Wilbur trudged out to the sofa.
The Oakbridge Sanatorium sits on the western tip of Hayden Island, not far from a once-bustling amusement park, and currently bustling shopping mall. But despite its neighbors, Oakbridge holds a disturbed past of White Plague victims, malpractice, and death. Run-down and forgotten, it's now home to the spirits that roam is crumbling halls. For decades, the City of Portland has been happy to ignore its continued existence, saving the cost of expensive exorcists and mediums required to make the site safe for demolition.
Armed with a Hi-8 camera and a lack of self-preservation, Wilbur Park wants to see what's so bad that the City won't touch it. But when he breaks into hospital one cold November evening, he finds far more than he ever expected.
Armed with a Hi-8 camera and a lack of self-preservation, Wilbur Park wants to see what's so bad that the City won't touch it. But when he breaks into hospital one cold November evening, he finds far more than he ever expected.
© 2016 - 2024 ML-Larson
Comments1
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I like your story - Wilbur is an interesting character, believable and easy to empathize with. The thing in the closet took me by surprise. Given the description and introduction, I wasn't expecting a monster in the closet too, but then, I should have. There's always a monster in the closet 
If I had any criticism, it would be the hook. I like where you start, but I think if you reworded it to be more active and started out with your best lines, it would grab attention better. For example, you could start with "There were certain subjects that tended to get concerned looks from teachers and staff . . ." Overall it was a fun read and I really enjoyed it! I can't wait to check out the rest ^_^
If I had any criticism, it would be the hook. I like where you start, but I think if you reworded it to be more active and started out with your best lines, it would grab attention better. For example, you could start with "There were certain subjects that tended to get concerned looks from teachers and staff . . ." Overall it was a fun read and I really enjoyed it! I can't wait to check out the rest ^_^