Short Stories
21
turned around and lead her out of the room, patting her reassuringly on the back.
“Can we leave yet?” she whispered.
I shook my head. No. I knew it was here, and I had to find it. I had been here before, but not this far back into the abandoned hospital. I had an incomprehensible feeling that it was close, and I wouldn’t be leaving now. Not even for Mary. I didn’t understand what her problem was in the first place. It wasn’t scary here.
I walked farther down the hallway, picking up speed as I realized that I knew exactly where it would be. Mary ran along behind me, trying to keep up. I turned down the hallway, and noticed how Mary’s flashlight light was bouncing around the walls as she ran, annoying my eyes. I wanted her to turn it off, but I knew she wanted it. She needed it, and I wasn’t going to tell her that she couldn’t use it. However sociopathic I might be, I wasn’t mean. Not to Mary, at least.
I turned another corner and realized that it was a dead end. That was fine—because I saw the room it was in. I slowed to a stop in front of the door and waited for Mary to catch up to me, breathing heavily.
“What are we doing back here?” Mary shrieked hysterically.
I ignored her. It was just behind this door. But I couldn’t leave Mary here in the hall alone, so I stepped off to the side and indicated that she open the door.
“Since when have you needed me to open doors for you?” Mary grumbled, reaching out to turn the handle. It didn’t budge. She tried in vain to turn the doorknob, but it wouldn’t comply. I motioned kicking the door down, and Mary looked at me as if I was crazy.
“I’m not going to kick it down!”
I nodded. Of course she was going to kick it down.
Mary glared at me then rammed shoulder-first into the door, the decomposing wood crumbing and leaving the doorway open. I clapped and stepped in, Mary following me closely.
It was here. I knew it.
This was the office of a very clean, organized doctor. I crouched down, pulling open filing cabinets and drawers, rummaging through folders and papers.
I found it. It was a certificate.
I handed it to Mary.
“What…?” she asked, confused. “Why, it’s a…death certificate.” She paused, eyes wide, and looked up at me. “It’s yours.”
I nodded. Of course it was.
-BROOKE P.