Ghost Story: When We Leave the Diner 2 (special preview)

It’s hard to imagine why they would leave this place in ruins, curse or fear of bad luck doesn’t seem like the logical thing to do. Whether it was money, politics, or something else that caused this town to abandon itself and uproot to further away, I’m sure the fire was just the final straw.

The stillness is what gets to me the most. I can stand most stillness, in the woods, when I’m home alone, it all makes sense there. Here, though, the quiet that permeates through it all is very unnatural. I can feel the life that once lived here, that’s still supposed to be here. I don’t hear any birds, there is no wind in the trees. It all feels so sealed in, trapped in a way.

I try to send pictures to my daughter, but there’s no service. Once I step beyond the fence, the rest of the world goes away.

I come upon what must have been the garage back then. The blue paint is chipping off, but I can see the outline of the red logo above the windows. One of the large garage doors is open, while the other had come apart over time and fallen off. Inside there is still a car that is rusted and collapsed from the floorboard, the sides are buckled and the rotted rubber tires are splayed outwards. Dust, debris and weeds gather in the corners, grown up from the cracks in the concrete floor. In the window there are sun bleached photos of baseball players and newspaper clippings, rusted trophies. There is a nearly disintegrated banner on the floor that reads, “Congratulations, James”.

“Oh, wow, this was where he worked.” I try the door but the handle falls off in my hands. I drop it, letting it clatter on the ground but, because of the silence, it seems so loud. I step away from it, going back towards the road towards the hospital. The closer I get to it, the more I see the effects of the fire. The grounds become darker, the buildings become jagged, charred and faded away. 

The hospital is, perhaps was, in a large ‘L’ shape. The front of the building was all brick with a wide glass door that was now broken, shattered, and hanging off its hinges. I can see in the back where it bends, where it did bend, is all burnt away to nothing. It gravitates upwards to its walls, but nature has taken over. I’m sure inside there is nothing but smoke damage and charcoal walls.

I walk through the broken doors, fully aware this is probably a foolish thing to do, just like walking through this town at all. I step into the lobby, which is left in the chaos it has stayed in since the fire all those decades ago.

“Well,” I murmur to myself. “You certainly always knew how to make an entrance, Mama. Guess you had to start that way somehow.” I take the bag off my shoulders and hold it in my arms. The lobby smells of rot, ash and dirt, the air is cold but somehow my arms and the back of my neck feel hot and muggy. I step closer to the front desk where I can see papers scattered everywhere, a filing cabinet is toppled over and blocking a door.

There’s a second set of doors that lead into the main part of the hospital. Parts of the glass are shattered, but the rest are stained black from smoke and dirt. I test my luck a third time, finding they still open. The hinges crackle and groan from the ages but, as it closes, there is no sound.

The marble floor is pristine and clean, and the scent of ash is washed away by rubbing alcohol and other disinfectant. I look up, seeing pale blue walls, vivid red crosses, and a nurse in an immaculate white uniform coming towards me.

She pushes past me, almost like I am not there. She pulls open the doors, guiding in a wheelchair with a girl sitting in it. The girl is screaming, clutching her heavily pregnant belly. Behind her blood drips on the marble as the wheelchair is taken inside. The doors shut on a man’s arm as he tries to reach inside after her.

The girl wails, looking directly at me as she’s wheeled back. Her young face is contorted in agony, but I recognize her as the girl who picked me up on the road. She continues to look at me, even as she’s wheeled into a room down the hall.