Kogan followed the real estate agent through the dim hall and into an interior courtyard. The building rose around them in a four-story hexagonal ring. At the center stood a smaller hexagonal structure, connected to the outer ring by five covered walkways.
They crossed the courtyard into the central building and stopped at a five-way intersection. Without hesitation, Bethany turned down the first hallway on the right.
“This wing housed the more… challenging patients. Watch your step,” Bethany warned, gesturing to a section of buckled flooring
Kogan pulled his mother’s leather journal from his coat and flipped it open.
Floor damage, Level 1, he wrote quickly.
Floor damage, Level 1.
It felt reassuring, as if he and his mother were tackling this project together.
They rounded a corner, and Kogan froze.
A rusted gurney sat abandoned, its leather straps hanging like shriveled arms.
Are you alright, Mr. Mendez?
Bethany’s voice sounded distant, muffled, as if through a wall.
Kogan swallowed hard. A flash—his mother, screaming, strapped to a bed—hit him like a wave. He gripped the journal tighter, dragging in a shaky breath.
His pen scratched over the page.
Remove medical equipment.
"I’m fine," he muttered. "Let’s continue."
Bethany hesitated, her gaze flitting toward the gurney before she nodded.
As they moved deeper into the building, the air grew colder—stagnant and damp. Dark patches crawled up the walls, spreading like rot in swirling, almost deliberate patterns.
Have you
ever seen mold grow like that?
Kogan glanced at her, noting how she wrapped her arms around her body like she was trying to hold herself together.
He made another note, Extensive mold remediation required.
Bethany leaned in, trying to peek at the page. “What are you writing?”
What
are you
writing?
Kogan snapped the journal shut without looking at her. “Just keeping track of things that need attention.”
Bethany let out a small, nervous laugh and smoothed her blouse. “You’re certainly thorough,” she said, eyeing the journal. “What is it you do for a living, Mr. Mendez?”
I'm
an actuary.
His attention split between her and a worrying crack in the ceiling.Bethany blinked.
A
what now?
Actuary. I analyze
risk and uncertainty—
predict financial outcomes, that kind of thing.”
Oh!
Numbers. Smart
guy, huh?
She raised her eyebrows with a grin, clearly fishing for a reaction to her flattery. Kogan didn’t bite.
Is there a Mrs. Mendez? Any kids?
No.
Girlfriend?
No.
Boyfriend, perhaps?
Bethany let out a soft, awkward chuckle.
Kogan turned to study her face. There was no judgment there—just the same irritating curiosity.
Also no.
Kogan made it clear the conversation was over. Bethany laughed again.
Well, I'm surprised! A handsome man like yourself—someone's bound to snatch you up soon.
Why, if
I were ten years
younger—
BZZZZZ
A low droning buzz filled the air. Bethany’s words caught in her throat, and her face drained of color.
Do...
do you hear
that?
Terror etched across her features. Kogan stilled.
A low, droning rumbled from the walls, reminding Kogan of buzzing voices and urban legends he’d read about earlier. He forced the thought away. He wasn’t frightened by a ridiculous ghost story. He was in control.
It's probably just old wiring.
He muttered, scribbling in his journal. Electrical inspection - urgent.
The sound deepened, vibrating through the floor. Bethany’s eyes were locked on the dark hall ahead, wide and unblinking.
Shall we continue?
Kogan asked, sharp with impatience.Bethany jolted.
Mr. Mendez…
I… I
really think you should reconsider this purchase.
Why? Because of some faulty wiring?
She shook her head, her professional mask crumbling.
There's something
here. Something terribly...
wrong.
That’s what I’m here to see. So I can fix it.
Some things can't be fixed with a fresh coat of paint,
The lights flickered above them. Bethany let out a strangled gasp.
Mr. Mendez, I'm so sorry, but I can't... I can't stay here any longer.
You can’t be serious.
I’m sorry!
Bethany's heels clattered against the cracked floor as she turned and bolted, disappearing into the shadows.
Hold on! What about the paperwork!?
But she was gone.
And he was left with the only thing he could ever count on—himself.