Can I ask something?

We had a small flash mob for #halloween, with players choosing creepy images from the #art_project #Hi_from_reality, based on Ol Albireo's arts.

They told me I had to pick a picture from the chosen ones and write a scary story about it... on the day of the finale)))))

The piece came to me whole. As you can see, elements from other pictures found their place here. But it wasn't intentional. It just happened that way. Here's the picture again. Feel free to write your own stories about it.

Can I ask something?

She rubbed her eyes, but the corridor remained the same. Rough-textured. That's what she called it. An endless corridor. No, it only became endless if you tried to escape it; otherwise, it wasn't. It just ended in darkness. Terma looked out the window. If you looked from the inside, there were always green trees outside. Always. Terma had counted the days once. Up to four hundred. Just to be sure. And for all four hundred days, through the window, she saw a green courtyard. But that was only if you looked from the inside.

If you found yourself outside—sometimes it was possible if you were running an errand for a nurse or doctor—that green courtyard looked different. Charred. And the hospital looked charred too. The trees that were green from the inside were black on the outside.

But at least she found her teddy bear. There, by the wall, next to a pile of charred debris.

Terma figured it out immediately. The hospital had burned down, long ago. And they were ghosts, bound to this place. Once she realized this, she stopped being afraid at night. What could frighten a ghost? It became clear that the darkness at the end of the corridor was the void. That's where the nurses took the ghosts, covered with white sheets. Terma didn't know how or why ghosts died. She'd read that some could live for centuries. When she realized everyone in the hospital was dead, she talked about it with the doctor.

"Can I ask something?" said Terma. "About the rules. Since I know now, maybe I can know the rules."

The doctor, a tall man with beautiful dark blue eyes, smiled. Terma could tell by the crinkles around his eyes, because the rest of his face was hidden behind a mask. The mask was always smiling. All hospital staff wore such masks—with painted warm, friendly smiles. This used to frighten Terma because she thought there were evil grins under the masks. But now, knowing they were ghosts like her, she thought maybe they just had charred faces they were hiding.
"The rules remain the same, Terma. Obey the nurses and doctors. No going outside without permission. No running in the corridors."

"Why? We're all dead, aren't we? Why can't we?"

Doctor Kahir, or Sabir Rakhmetovich, stood and walked to the window. He looked out, naturally seeing the summer courtyard and green trees. Artificial. Because trees can't stay green for 400 days. But charred ones can.

"We're not dead, Terma. We're stuck, but not dead."

And she felt afraid again...

Sabir Rakhmetovich explained to her—since she already knew—that the hospital hadn't just suffered from a fire. It was a terrorist attack, a common thing in the modern world. Some people, to make other people share money, kill third parties who have nothing to do with the conflict.

The radium in the pool first poisoned whoever it could, then caused an explosion.

That too wasn't such a rare thing—well, an explosion, well, radiation, sad of course, but similar things happen constantly in the world.

Everyone followed safety protocols, the hospital staff tried to evacuate patients, even after the explosion, even during the fire. But when hell dissipated, it turned out all that chaos had been in vain.

Some staff died instantly in the explosion. Didn't even notice it. And those who died a bit earlier, from radiation, didn't even feel the explosion and don't remember the evacuation.

More precisely, they didn't die—somehow the explosion transferred them... somewhere. Because in the outside world, they didn't find a single body in the hospital.

But sometimes, suddenly, the darkness at the end of the corridor starts demanding a sacrifice.

And they would give it one. The weakest or the most rebellious. Now you understand why obedience is necessary?

But they don't know how the Darkness—that's what they call it—distributes those it takes.

"Distributes?" Terma asked then.

"You see," here Sabir Rakhmetovich rubbed his eyes, "we have a connection to our familiar world. And sometimes, suddenly, in the hospital—they built a new one after the explosion—someone appears. The one we gave to the Darkness. But not all appear. Understand? The Darkness is an exit, but we don't know where to. We're studying it. We're trying to establish contact. We're trying to punish those who did this. Those are the rules. Since you know now."

Terma wasn't sure then whether to be afraid or not afraid again...
She turned toward the Darkness at the corridor's end.

More than a month had passed since that conversation, Terma counted. All this time, she'd been studying too. Walking through the hospital, following nurses' and doctors' orders, trying to help Sabir Rakhmetovich, and talking to the Darkness whenever she passed through the corridor.

The Darkness never answered. Either it couldn't hear or it despised Terma.

The girl, each time she found herself in the corridor, moved closer to the Darkness.

Now too she stepped toward it and was just about to speak when a stern voice cut her short.

"Drakovskaya! What are you doing there?!"

Sister Lisaveta. Flexible, long, thin, as if made entirely of slender twigs. Hair long, dark, obedient. And her eyes were long and dark too. The mask smiled warmly, but the eyes didn't. And her voice didn't match that warm painted smile at all.

"I... I'm going to see Sabir Rakhmetovich! He called for me," she quickly added before the nurse could say anything.

"Let me accompany you," she said, a bit softer.

"No, you go ahead, you have work to do, I won't get lost," Terma smiled as carefreely as possible.

"Well, alright," the nurse looked somewhere behind Terma's back and disappeared into the adjacent corridor.

Terma carefully exhaled, waited a bit, and took a step toward the Darkness.

In the blackness, light suddenly flashed, seeming to stretch the darkness and appearing veiled. It was unclear whether the light was swirling or the darkness was. Behind the dark lace, Terma seemed to see silhouettes, as if life was pulsating there, trying to tear through the thin dark fabric and flood into the corridor.

The rhythm of the pulsation was hypnotic. Terma thought she could hear the Darkness's heart beating. Other sounds appeared too—quiet crackling, something metallic and ringing, something soft and hollow. Terma wanted to touch this light, maybe help it break through the veil, so this pulsating light could spread throughout the corridor, the hospital, this place where they were stuck.

She reached out toward the beckoning breath. Of Life. Of course, life!

"Whoop," a man stepped from the darkness into the corridor, catching Terma and turning her away from the Darkness.
"No! No!" the girl screamed desperately, trying to break free.

Immediately nurses appeared in the corridor, as if from nowhere.

"Let me go! Please, let me go! You don't understand!" Terma screamed.

A syringe appeared in Sister Lisaveta's hand, and while the stranger held the girl, the nurse inserted the needle into her shoulder. Terma went limp immediately.

"Where should we take her?" asked the man.

He wore the same smiling mask.

The nurse nodded her head and walked down the corridor, leading the way. The man followed, carrying Terma.

"How is it there?" asked Lisaveta.

"Worse than here," the man said, as if shrugging.

Lisaveta sighed.

"We need to install gates. So this wonderful bestiary doesn't break through to us."

"Alright," the man didn't even turn around, but now iron latticed double doors separated the darkness from the corridor. "Access for staff only. If you haven't got any newcomers."

"Brilliant joke," Lisaveta responded sarcastically.

XXXX

Terma woke up in her ward, in her bed. The window still showed greenery, as if summer was shining outside. She looked around, remembering what had happened, and saw Sabir Rakhmetovich sitting on the bed.

"Awake? How are you?" he asked warmly.

"I..." Terma sat up in bed, pulling her thin legs to her chest. "Sabir Rakhmetovich, the Darkness, it leads out of here, I know for sure, it was calling me, everything there was so... so..."

"Desirable," the doctor said somehow hollowly and thoughtfully.
"Yes," Terma said, embarrassed.

"It does lead out of here, that's true. But the places it leads to aren't always good, understand?"

"And that man?"

"What man?" the doctor didn't understand.

"Well, the one who... who came out of there?"

"Ah, that's Dayan. The facility manager. Now the facility manager. That day he came either to visit someone or deliver something. And when everything happened, he stayed to help us. He could have left, he would have made it. But he stayed. You know what? Let's make a deal—if you want to be trusted, you must not do anything you haven't been told to do."

"Who decides what to do? You?"

"Everyone. All of us. Every morning we gather and discuss what we'll do. If you want to help, come too. But if you do something else on your own, out of curiosity, or if something seems like a brilliant idea and you don't share it with anyone, decide to implement it yourself, we'll have to send you to Block 20."

Terma shuddered. Even walking past Block 20 was terrifying. Constant screams or some kind of barking came from there.

"What's in there?"

"Those who don't understand the first time. We need somewhere to put them, right? So they don't interfere with others. Do you understand?"

Terma nodded.

"Well, good then," Sabir Rakhmetovich touched her foot under the blanket, got up and left.

XXXX

"Put on the mask," said Sister Rita, the head nurse, and placed a mask with a painted smile on the table.

"Why?" Terma asked.

"Sabir Rakhmetovich says you're part of the staff now. You'll be helping."

"Yes, but I don't need a mask," Terma shook her head.

"Of course you do. Put it on now. Lunch is soon. You'll be dining with us now."

"I don't understand..."

Rita sighed.

"You'll see everything yourself. Terma! Some things are hard to explain with words. We're in such a situation where sometimes you need to obey first and ask questions later, clear?"

"No, not really. I don't understand why it can't be explained with words..."

"Such a pretty little face," Rita sighed, "because you'll get scared and start screaming. And the mask will protect you."

"From what? What will I be scared of?"

"The others."

"Why?"

A beautiful green-eyed nurse peeked into the room. Karina. Terma remembered her.

"Are you coming? Everyone's gathered already."

"I can't deal with every newcomer and explain everything! I'm not a kindergarten teacher!" Rita complained.

"What's wrong?" Karina responded honey-sweet.

"Won't put on the mask," Rita sighed.

"Why?" Karina asked, warmly surprised.

"Keeps asking questions."

"Ah, Terma, the mask needs to be worn because otherwise, patients will be terribly afraid of you."

"Why would they be afraid of me?"

"Because we change. Everyone who works here—changes. And it's unusual."

"What do you mean—change?"

"Yes, you're right, it's like an endless cycle," Karina responded cheerfully and warmly, and removed her mask.
The lower half of the nurse's face was like something from a monster, a long tongue like a tentacle hung to her chest and writhed, the stretched maw full of white and sharp teeth was in constant motion. On the dark leathery cheeks were more eyes—of different colors, all looking in different directions and blinking. And suddenly they all fixed on Terma.

And she screamed, tearing her voice, ripping her mouth, and losing consciousness.

Rita sighed, Karina smiled even wider, so that her maw extended beyond the boundaries of her face.

"Sometimes it's better to show once," said Karina, returning the mask to its place.

"Such trouble with these newcomers!" Rita put the mask on Terma, not wiping the blood from her face, and patted her cheek.

But Terma didn't come around. Rita waved her hand in front of her face and the smell of ammonia appeared in the room. Terma flinched and opened her eyes, looking startled at Rita. Pressed her palm to her face and felt the mask.

"Well, if you'd put on the mask earlier, you wouldn't have torn your mouth," said Rita, "but now it doesn't matter. It's not important anymore. Come on, we don't know what you'll turn into anyway."

"W-where?" Terma cautiously looked at Karina, "and are you all... all like that?"

"We're different. Come on. It's time for lunch."

"Yes, yes. Give me a minute. I'll... I'll get used to it. Just a moment." Terma sighed.

Well, fine. What of it? They're in a blown-up hospital, died from radiation and explosion. Dead in that world. But locked in this one. And now they're turning into monsters. But they're looking for a way out. Okay. Not bad. They're not evil. They'll find a way out and everything will be fixed. Still better than drearily dragging yourself through corridors, following nurses' prohibitions. Afraid you'll die and be taken to the dark corridor. They've accepted her, they won't hide what's happening from her.

Now, there'll be lunch. At least lunch is something normal.

But Terma was wrong this time too.
The "lunch" was screaming so loudly that Terma thought her head would split.

On the table lay a young man, tied to the table legs, while the hospital staff stood around without masks. Terma shuddered; she seemed to have fallen into hell. She wanted to "join in" with the "lunch," but the corners of her mouth ached painfully and unpleasantly.

"Alright," thought Terma, "alright. They just look like this. Nothing scary about that. Why did they tie him up? Who is he? Are these monsters going to eat him?"

Dayan was here too, also without a mask, but the man had an ordinary face, nothing monstrous—no tentacles or spikes or eyes. A pleasant face, light shoulder-length hair. A completely normal, handsome man.

But he didn't take his eyes off the screaming prisoner. And the others were moving their jaws concentratedly.

"Excuse me, excuse me, I need to ask someone!.." Terma whispered to the nurse standing next to her, "excuse me, it's my first time and I don't know..."

Lisaveta, it turned out to be her, turned to her, her mouth split into a horrifying five-petaled toothed opening seemingly living a separate life from her beautiful long eyes.

"Ah, Drakovskaya. Here," something dark fell from Lisaveta's mouth, like a piece of coal, and plopped onto the floor.

A pleasant smell reached Terma's nostrils and she felt how hungry she was. It smelled divine, like some happy memory. The girl smiled under her mask and complete happiness enveloped her. An old fear of drowning flashed through her head, for some reason, and disappeared.

The man on the table screamed louder, but somehow brokenly, as if choking. But Terma didn't notice this, absorbed in some delicious summer day.

Terma seemed to have entered some wonderful world—she was water skiing, then eating fish soup by the fire with the cheerful nurses and doctors. And they had normal faces. Sabir Rakhmetovich was singing funny songs on guitar, and the others were singing along. And Terma was singing along.

Then everyone went to sleep. Terma fell asleep holding Lisaveta's warm hand. And woke up.

"Everyone finished?" asked Dayan.

"Yes, thank you, yes!" the monsters responded discordantly.

Dayan touched the prisoner's forehead and he finally lost consciousness. To Terma, he seemed somehow exhausted and fragile. Dayan easily untied the prisoner, as he had Terma before, and lifted him in his arms.

"Where are you taking him?" asked Terma.

Some vague understanding was nagging at her mind.

"To Block Twenty, where else," Rita replied.

"Can... can I ask something?" Terma began carefully.

"Listen, why don't you go outside to help Dayan, he was planning to collect leaves, and ask him, okay?" Rita touched Terma's shoulder and ran off, putting on her mask. The others started dispersing too.

Sabir Rakhmetovich also touched her shoulder.

"Yeah," he said, already masked, and Terma regretted not finding him then, in the crowd. But never mind, she'd see him again, there would be the same dinner, right?

Terma understood that something horrible was happening, that they had done something to this person. But despite this, the cozy memory of the evening by the lake continued to envelope her. Block 20. Those who don't understand the first time. Surely he deserved it. He deserved it, right? Sabir Rakhmetovich wouldn't torture someone for no reason. And maybe he's not even human. Maybe he's a monster? And when he told her about Block Twenty then, it was to scare her! Now she'll go collect leaves in the yard and ask Dayan about everything. About the unreal green forest, and about the Darkness, and about Block 20, and about the masks...

Terma felt how for the first time in a very, very long time, she felt calm and good. Only the corners of her mouth ached. She touched her wounded mouth and felt something hard, something like a tooth.

pictures are here: https://albireomkgblogeng.wordpress.c...