Every muscle in Nathan’s body screamed at him to move—to do something, anything—but he was frozen. His fingers trembled as they reached for his phone, his mind shouting for help, but his body refused to obey. He couldn’t look away.
The figures moved slowly and precisely, each shift twisting Nathan’s stomach into knots. The terror wasn’t just physical—it was the impossible reality of what he was seeing. These things shouldn’t exist, yet they were undeniably real.
Seconds stretched into agonizing hours as Nathan sat in his car, eyes glued to the screen. The shadowy figures crept through the morgue, their silence more unsettling than any noise. His breath was shallow, his mind racing to grasp the truth of this nightmare.
Then something changed.
One figure reached into a morgue drawer and pulled out bottles of formaldehyde with deliberate care. Nathan’s eyes widened. What were they doing? Why?
The other two figures joined, gathering boxes of PPE kits and stacking them methodically. The realization hit Nathan like a shockwave: these weren’t aimless hauntings—they were operating with purpose. They were preparing to leave.
Fear twisted into urgent confusion. He had to stop them. But how?
His mind scrambled, heart hammering as the figures neared the hallway. Instinct surged—he started his car, sped to the exit, and slammed the vehicle across the door to block it.
Panic took hold. Alone, outnumbered, and terrified, he knew he couldn’t confront them by himself. The only choice was to get help.