Chapter 11, The Cold Night Of Hate

wind+hospital+dark+talking old people=horror

Like fate wanted it, I was the bed directly beside the window, the only window in the room with 8 beds. The worst part is that it was open, not wide but just-just open; big enough for the devil's wind to intrude the safety of my warm duvet. No matter how I tried to lay, the wind, the small breeze entered from some mysterious place and disrupting my sleep. It was pitch-black except for the moon's dim light, and all the nurses where at home or on standby at the ICU.
My wrist watch flashed 01:04. S**t. I turned around, my back facing the cold window this time. It felt better.
02:35. I slept for about an hour and a half. Two beds from mine is an old guy, probably 76 years old. He decided it is time to snore now, and wonderful fate again with its games, I was the only one woken up. A dream is such a wonderful place when you want to be there, rather than in a hospital bed that smells of vomit. I felt the heaviness return to my eyelids as they became too heavy to keep open, and alas, they fell close.
"Jason, Jason wake up!" a hand shook mine hard that I woke up from the dream of ponies and butterflies and pink fairies. My eyes didn't want to focus in the bright morning sun for a while, but got used to it by the time I realised the person who woke me up was a small girl. Not young, just small. When she turned around ready to lead me out the room, I saw the length of her hair. It was pitch black and it hung on her lower back, just above her pants. Her skin was a pale white and her eyes dark brown.
"Where to are we going," I asked in a quiet but low voice still filled with the sleep of 5 minutes ago. She took my hand when I climbed out of the bed. "The needle, wait," I pulled it abruptly out of my arm with a few sprinkles of blood escaping with the sharp needle. The pain shot through my arm and a small shriek left my mouth.
Her hand was cold, rather icy and small. Her footsteps were silent, almost as if they weren't there for some reason. I walked behind her, really close. "Where are we..."
"Shhht," she made the sound with her finger over her lips. Her face was calm, but her eyes showed a different story; disturbance, fear.
We stopped by the entry of the building; there was no one at the receptionist's table, only the phone. The receiver was on the ground. Something wasn't right. I bent down to pick it up when I heard the scream.