After midnight had passed, only about thirty minutes went by before Collingwood Hospital fully transformed into a real labyrinth of horrors, populated by ghosts. During those thirty minutes nothing critically new happened—only endless footsteps echoing above the lobby where they were gathered, and distorted voices drifting from one of the corridors.
From time to time, doors slammed somewhere deep within the hospital, the sound spreading through the empty halls. Every time it happened, one of the Ghostfacers flinched or let out a startled squeak.
Alex, Emmet, Dean, and Sam didn't react at all. They were used to manifestations like this and had long stopped worrying about such "little things."
While Alex and Sam watched the camera feeds set up by the Ghostfacers, searching for the Red Door Alex had mentioned, Dean and Emmet kept an eye on the three empty corridors converging toward the main lobby.
The only thing irritating Alex were the two idiots—Ed and Harry—who wouldn't stop filming their "show." Their shrill comments and desperate attempts to look like stars annoyed not only Alex but everyone else as well—especially when they screamed like two schoolgirls at every door slam.
Alex was about to remind them that it wasn't people watching their broadcast, but ghosts, when Sam interrupted him. Sam tapped his shoulder and pointed to one of the basement cameras.
The image was rapidly distorting, turning into static and flickering waves, and harsh crackling sounds came from the speaker. Sam zoomed in, and the noise only intensified.
The sound immediately drew everyone in—they all crowded around the equipment table.
"What's happening? Is this what you were talking about? Has the hospital started changing?" Dean asked, placing a hand on Alex's shoulder.
"More like the opposite," Alex shook his head.
"Then explain!" Ed demanded, putting on a look of self-importance. "We're filming all this! Without our equipment you wouldn't see anything!"
Alex rolled his eyes and took a drag on his cigarette.
"Fine, for the especially gifted. In places like this, everything starts the same way. First, they wear you down—noises, shadows, interference. Gradually you start getting scared, and fear in places like this is food for the local inhabitants. The more you fear, the weaker you become. Then someone disappears, someone dies, and the rest just lose their minds. And eventually they become new patients of this hospital."
"You've been in places like this before?" Spruce asked, pointing the camera at Alex.
"Yeah. And there are hundreds, maybe thousands, of them around the world. Cursed hospitals, houses, tunnels, subway stations… there are even entire cursed districts," Alex said, flicking ash to the floor.
That was enough for Ed and Harry to keep running their "show." Alex, Sam, Dean, and Emmet exchanged glances—looks reserved for hopeless idiots.
Alex glanced toward Chris—who, like an obedient intern, was holding a light for Ed and Harry while Spruce handled the camera.
Ignoring them, Alex turned back to the screen—Sam was already rewinding the footage frame by frame. Distorted silhouettes flickered among the static—figures with blurred faces, disappearing too quickly to examine.
Calmly, Alex explained that it was all part of the pressure. Fear. Tension. Preparation before something bigger.
It became clear that looking for an exit through the cameras was useless. So they decided to split up and explore in person. Alex would go with Dean, and Sam would go with Emmet. In case something went wrong, each pair could pull the other out.
They chose two corridors opposite each other. Before they left, Alex warned the others:
"If you cross the lines—you're on your own. I'm not running to save you. If you want to die like idiots—be my guests."
With that, he and Dean headed down the left corridor.
The hallway was dark, and Alex tossed glow sticks behind them, leaving a faint glowing trail. They checked every room, but all of them were empty—as if scrubbed clean.
And then both of them stopped—at the far end of the corridor, a door began to open with a long, drawn-out creak. Alex and Dean raised their shotguns, ready for anything.
They moved forward slowly. The beams of their flashlights cut through the darkness. Reaching the door, they carefully peeked inside.
The room was empty. Only an overturned wheelchair stood there, one wheel slowly spinning with a weak, whining squeak.
Dean stepped in first and stopped the wheel with his finger.
"You know," he muttered, giving the chair a light kick, "I've noticed something. Wherever there are ghosts, there's always a damn wheelchair around. Sometimes I feel like ghosts actually enjoy riding them."
"Like in that old comedy movie? The one where the guy in the wheelchair chased a ghost?" Alex asked, slinging the shotgun over his shoulder.
"Exactly! Haven't seen it in years, but that scene was great. Alright, let's keep moving… before this thing decides it wants to take us for a ride," Dean smirked as he left the room.
Alex chuckled and followed him back into the corridor. Taking a marker from his pocket, he drew an arrow on the wall, marking the direction they were heading. He knew perfectly well that the hallways would shift and rearrange themselves from time to time. The ghosts were still invisible—for now—until the activity reached its peak.
Dean kept pulling out his EMF reader, but it wouldn't stop buzzing. Full scale, endless beeping—the device was useless. Dean just shook his head in irritation and stuffed it back into his pocket.
Wandering through the dark passages, they reached a fork leading in three different directions. No matter where they looked—each corridor was long, grim, and identical, one more unpleasant than the other.
"And where now?" Dean asked, shining his flashlight down all three paths. "I kinda didn't bring a map of this place with me."
"Hold on, I'll figure it out. No map doesn't mean I don't know how to navigate places like this," Alex said, crouching down.
He closed his eyes and activated his magical sight, carefully examining each of the three paths. And what he saw surprised him exactly as much as he expected—which was not at all.
All three corridors really were almost identical. The central one led to a spacious but completely empty room. The left one led toward a staircase going up. The right one ended in a dead end… though behind it there was another passage, but they had no way of breaking through to it.
Tapping his finger against the floor, Alex weighed their options. He glanced back—and realized that the corridor they came from had already changed. And fast. Now it no longer led to the main lobby, but to the therapy wing. What else could he expect from a place like this—you were never allowed to simply go back the way you came.
"Are you gonna be long?" Dean asked, gripping his shotgun tighter. "Standing here feels… I don't know. Uncomfortable."
"Don't rush me. You think this is easy? When I ended up in the Dark Place, it took me around forty minutes to understand where to go and where the next door would appear. We're going left," Alex said, rolling his eyes and getting to his feet.
"By the way… what was it like, that Dark Place?" Dean asked as he walked beside him. "I didn't understand a damn thing when you tried explaining it last time."
"The Dark Place is like a massive house with an endless number of rooms. Large ones, tiny ones, weird ones. And the doors can be anything: a hole in a tree, an elevator, a floor panel, a window… I even had to crawl under a bed once to get to another location. And the funniest part is—I crawled out through a closet," Alex said, lighting a cigarette.
"Man…" Dean shook his head. "I mean, I've been in Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven… I've been thrown around all over the place. But even to me that Dark Place sounds like some serious crap."
"Well, at least I know the Winchester brothers died so many times you could make a show called 'The Most Ridiculous Death of Dean and Sam,'" Alex snorted.
"Just not a show," Dean huffed. "One Archangel already pulled a prank on us and shoved us into dumb TV shows. That was a nightmare worse than Hell."
"Well… at least you were forced to play roles. I usually got blown up or crushed by something," Alex muttered.
Dean clapped him on the shoulder with a knowing grin—he understood that feeling all too well.
As they continued down the corridor, Alex told stories of the time a tentacle had struck his chest or when a giant octopus dragged him underwater. Dean, of course, couldn't resist joking about how Alex was apparently afraid of tentacles now.
To that, Alex shot him a deadpan look and replied,"At least I haven't been torn apart by hellhounds."
Dean burst out laughing and gave Alex a light punch on the shoulder.
Talking about the worst moments of their lives unexpectedly brought them even closer. The dark corridor, the strange sounds around them, the footsteps—it felt like they had known each other forever. Their friendship was starting to strengthen on its own.
Finally, they reached the end of the corridor. A narrow staircase leading upward stood before them. They exchanged glances and began to climb, cautiously peeking around every corner—just in case the ghosts decided to move into an active phase.
At the top, an old peeling door awaited them. Dean tried to open it—without success. He rammed it with his shoulder a couple of times, but the door didn't budge.
"Looks like a dead end," he exhaled, stepping back and rubbing his shoulder.
Alex was about to nod when a sound echoed down the corridor, like something metallic hitting the tile. He and Dean exchanged a quick glance, hurried down one flight of stairs—and saw that one of the metal doors, previously closed, was now wide open. A wheelchair had slammed into it.
Alex recognized the chair immediately—he had deliberately left a mark on the seat.
He dug into his pocket and pulled out a small coin."Let's test something…" he muttered, tossing the coin right onto the seat.
The moment the coin touched the fabric, the chair twitched, as if alive. A second later, it shook violently—and suddenly began ramming the metal door with full force, as if trying to break through it.
"What did you throw in that thing?" Dean asked, watching the chair furiously batter the door.
"Just a metal coin. Who would've thought it would react like this? Looks like I made it angry," Alex said, raising an eyebrow.
"Oh really? I thought it was just happy you tossed it a couple of coins," Dean said sarcastically.
"Well, there's a plus—this thing can't go up the stairs," Alex noted with satisfaction.
"True," Dean nodded, smiling too.
…And that's when they both made the crucial mistake. Their words in places like this always seemed to work against them.
No sooner had they said it than the chair, which had been furiously ramming the metal door, suddenly stopped. It slowly turned toward them.
The smiles on Alex's and Dean's faces vanished instantly.
And with good reason—the chair lifted into the air and lunged straight at them. Alex managed to shove Dean aside at the last second, and the chair shot past, crashing into the wall and leaving a deep dent.
"Aha… 'can't climb.' Perfect," Dean grumbled, getting up from the floor.
"Listen, I didn't know the local ghosts were so sensitive. But since I'm such a kind and well-mannered guy, I'll return the chair to its rightful owner," Alex said, letting out a heavy sigh as he pushed the chair back down the stairs.
The chair clattered and flipped until it finally came to rest at someone's bare feet.
Alex and Dean looked up at the same time.
Before them stood a man in a hospital gown, his head bowed. When he slowly lifted his face, they saw empty black eye sockets, continuously streaming blood. It was the ghost of a patient who had suffered under the inhumane experiments of the local doctor.
He let out a horrific, hoarse scream and lunged forward. Dean, acting on instinct, fired salt straight into his chest.
But the ghost… did not disappear.
It simply flew backward, tumbling down the stairs, and collapsed on the floor, writhing in convulsions as if in real pain.
Dean squinted:"Uh… why didn't he disappear? Usually, after salt to the chest, they either dissolve or flee—not… this."
"I think it's because we're basically in their world right now," Alex said, watching the writhing ghost thoughtfully. "Here, they're closer to 'real' beings than mere spirits."
"Great…" Dean muttered. "Alright, we'll think about this later. Looks like our new friend's coming to his senses. And I really don't like that sound."
From the end of the corridor, a rising, multi-voiced, unpleasant noise was indeed coming.
Alex, still watching the writhing patient ghost, also heard the strange, escalating sound and realized: it was time to get out of here. The only sensible option was to head back up to the closed door.
Wasting no time, Alex and Dean dashed up the stairs. Reaching the door, Alex pulled the "Blue Rose" revolver from behind his back, shot a couple of rounds into the hinges, and kicked it forcefully. The door swung open, revealing yet another long, inky-dark corridor.
At that moment, a new, far more disgusting sound came from behind them—like something dragging its bodies across the stairs. Alex and Dean turned their heads and saw pale hands emerging from the walls, ceiling, and floor. Dozens of hands reached toward them, curling in spasms, clawing at the stone.
They didn't wait to see what happened next.
Alex and Dean bolted into the new corridor. They raced past closed rooms, from whose cracks ghostly fingers reached out, trying to grab their clothes. Alex activated his magical sight to maintain some sense of direction, but even that became insufficient—the Collingwood Hospital was literally coming alive, becoming more aggressive, as if it could sense their presence and react to it.
Doors slammed shut in front of them at the last second, but Alex kicked them open while running, preventing the "house" traps from triggering.
"Which way?! And faster, they're actually catching up!" Dean panted, barely keeping up.
"Right. Catch your breath?" Alex asked, glancing at him.
"Yeah! I can go like this for a while!" Dean lied, straightening and picking up speed.
They turned right. At the next bend, a faint strip of white light appeared at the end of the corridor. It could be their only chance to reach a safer area.
Alex and Dean accelerated.
Meanwhile, in the hall where the Ghostfacers team remained, no one dared step into the dark corridors. When rapid, sharp footsteps sounded, Chris was the first to peek out of the doors that had previously led outside. He saw Alex and Dean running… and the shadows swiftly pursuing them.
"Faster! Faster, they're right behind you!" Chris shouted.
Ashley, Maggie, Ed, Harry, and Spruce ran after them, eyes wide with terror.
But when Alex and Dean were only two steps away from the hall, the double doors suddenly slammed shut right in front of them—the hospital had changed again.
"Don't even think about it!" Alex shouted and kicked the doors.
But behind them was no longer the hall—it was the physiotherapy room, with peeling walls, dim lamps, and a strong smell of dampness.
Having no choice, they ran inside and slammed the door shut behind them. At the same moment, something heavy struck the door from the corridor—then again, harder, and a third time.
Dean started looking around in panic."I need a minute! Hold the door!" he yelled.
Alex braced his whole body against the door, feeling it shake behind him. Dean jumped to the heavy cast-iron bathtub and began dragging it toward himself.
"HELP ME!" he roared.
Alex grabbed the edge of the tub, and together they pulled it to the door, barricading the passage. The door continued to be battered, but the tub held.
Dean sat on its edge, breathing heavily. Alex lit a cigarette, trying to organize his thoughts. He was worried about Sam and Emmett—what if they were in a similar situation right now?
Squinting with one eye, Alex used his tracking magic. His vision popped out into another corridor—ghosts were chasing Sam and Emmett too, but their situation wasn't as catastrophic as Dean's and Alex's.
"Well, we're in deep… Hopefully, Sam and Emmett are okay. Or did all the local ghosts just decide to chase only us?" Dean muttered, catching his breath.
"I'm popular, sure… but not so popular that all the ghost patients want a group hug at once," Alex smirked.
"Popular, huh? Alright, superstar, what's next? I don't want to know how much longer this door will hold before your fans break it down," Dean said, getting up from the tub and readying his shotgun.
"We're on the third floor. Physiotherapy department," Alex said, flicking the ash from his cigarette.
Dean shone his light around the room."Really? To me, this looks more like a shower room."
"One hundred percent sure," Alex snorted. "Those idiots put a camera here just to watch the tub."
"Why? Hoping to catch a ghost taking a warm bath?" Dean chuckled.
Alex shined his flashlight into the far corner.
There stood an old bathtub, casting a shadow across the room… filled to the brim with dark, almost black blood.
"No. Rumor has it that one of the patients ended her life here—in this tub," he said quietly.
Dean looked at the bathtub Alex was pointing to and only then noticed it was completely full of blood. Gripping his shotgun, he stepped forward, but Alex laid a hand on his shoulder and shook his head. Dean nodded in understanding.
Alex activated his magical sight—and saw a female figure in the blood-filled tub. The ghost lay motionless, blood streaming from her slashed wrists, her empty eye sockets staring directly at them.
But the next moment, the surface of the blood bulged. Long black hair emerged, instantly wrapping around the woman's body and yanking her down. A loud splash followed—the thick red liquid spilling over the edge, splattering the tile.
Dean spun sharply, raising his shotgun and aiming at the bathtub, now half-empty.
"Did you offend a ghost again?" he whispered.
"Maybe it's him who's offended that I didn't let you get closer," Alex replied in the same quiet tone.
Dean just snorted—he could clearly see that Alex hadn't done anything and was just as surprised as he was by what was happening. Alex, meanwhile, thought about something else: Zhang Ya was becoming more and more… jealous. And apparently, her jealousy extended only to other ghostly women.
Noting that for himself, they left the physiotherapy department and stepped into the corridor. Exchanging a glance, they moved forward—this time more cautiously, trying not to provoke another chase.
Walking down another dark corridor, Alex pondered: as soon as they found the right doors, Zhang Ya could consume this astral hospital along with all its inhabitants. She could do it at any moment, but Alex wanted to show Sam and Dean his skills—so it would be easier for them to work together in the future.
They turned another corner and entered a long corridor with windows barred by grilles.
Dean stepped closer and tried to make out something in the darkness."I can't see a damn thing. Just pure darkness," he said, squinting.
"You're just not looking the right way. You need the correct angle," Alex remarked.
"What do you mean? It's a window, Alex. You usually just look straight through it," Dean said, rolling his eyes and pointing at the window he was staring into.
"In places like this, everything depends on the angle of perception. Peripheral vision, you know. Like, you're walking down the street, glance into a shop window, and there's a ghost behind you. Come here, stand where I am." Alex tapped his finger on his chin, then gestured for Dean to step forward.
Dean raised an eyebrow, approached, and stood in the right spot. At first, he only saw darkness again—and looked at Alex with obvious skepticism.
Alex rolled his eyes, grabbed Dean by the chin, and slightly turned his head.
Dean exhaled sharply—on the other side of the window, another corridor was now visible, and in it stood a hospital orderly ghost with empty black eye sockets.
When Dean stepped back, the image vanished, and the window was just a window again, darkness behind it.
Continuing on, they heard voices ahead and quickened their pace. Around the next corner, light spilled from below—they were close to a safe zone.
But the moment they stepped forward, a doorway suddenly opened in the middle of the corridor—and an empty wheelchair rolled out neatly, blocking their path again.
"This chair is going to keep following us? Can it really get offended over a simple coin?" Dean said irritably.
"Maybe it wants more. A couple of cents seemed like an insult to it," Alex shrugged.
"To hell with it! I've had enough." Dean raised his shotgun and fired directly at the back of the wheelchair.
The salt charge hit the back of the wheelchair—the metal clanged dully, and the chair moved back, shaking as if startled. Alex and Dean exchanged a glance and continued on, circling it on both sides—just in case the ghostly "hound" decided to chase them again.
For good measure, Alex kicked the chair, tipping it onto its side.
Approaching the source of the light and voices, they came to the railing and looked down—below was the hall. Making sure they were finally back where they needed to be, Alex and Dean hurried down the stairs, fearing that at any moment the building might distort space again.
Rushing downstairs, they saw Sam and Emmett by the exit doors—the very ones that had slammed shut right in front of them, but now led not outside, but into a long, dark basement corridor filled with thick steam.
Hearing quick footsteps, everyone turned—and saw Alex and Dean, out of breath.
"You've been gone a while," Sam remarked.
"Buzz off, Sam," Dean huffed irritably. "Wanna switch places? Run with me from enraged ghosts, smashing doors and not planning to give up anytime soon."
"Did you manage to find the red door?" Alex asked, sitting down on a chair.
"Luckily, yes," Emmett nodded. "But… well, you know. Getting back will be a problem."
Alex and Dean exchanged knowing glances. They knew exactly what he meant: they had just run somewhere, only to end up somewhere completely different.
While Dean explained to the others what had happened, Spruce wandered around with the camera, filming every second. Irritated, Dean barely managed to stop himself from smacking him.
Alex, meanwhile, stared down the dark basement corridor, completely shrouded in thick steam. Listening to Emmett describe where they had found the red door and how ghosts had immediately swarmed them, Alex was about to ask for more precise directions—but all he got was one description: "A large, empty hall with stained-glass windows."
"I know where that is," Harry raised his hand like a model student in class.
"This isn't class, Harry," Alex said wearily, pointing at the dark corridor. "And isn't it enough that instead of the exit, we're now in the basement?"
"So what do we do now?" Maggie asked, worry in her voice. "There's an exit, but we don't know how to find it."
"We wait," Alex said, pulling out a cigarette.
"Wait? For what? What else could happen in this hospital?" Spruce asked, lowering the camera. "Besides another ghost attack?"
"We wait for a lull," Sam explained, sighing heavily as he sat down. "While we were looking for doors, we stirred up this… ghostly nest. Step over the threshold, and they'll attack again."
Alex, Dean, and Emmett nodded in unison. Emmett, thanks to his vampire hearing, had heard everything happening around them—and had no desire to run into another ambush.
Alex leaned against the wall, slowly taking a drag from his cigarette, his eyes never leaving the dark basement. It seemed to him that the fog down there had grown even thicker.
And then—he noticed movement.
Through the dense cloud, a vague silhouette began to form. Alex squinted—the figure resembled Dr. Arthur Friedkin. But that wasn't what made him tense…
Black mist rose from the ghostly doctor.
"Dean," Alex said quietly, beckoning him over. "Come here."
Dean, sitting on the floor, jumped up at Alex's words and stepped closer. Alex silently pointed forward. Dean followed the gesture—and saw the silhouette of Dr. Arthur Friedkin standing in the thick cloud of steam.
At first, he didn't understand why Alex was even pointing at the doctor's figure, but squinting, he noticed thin streams of black mist flowing from the doctor's silhouette onto the floor, as if alive.
Dean frowned.
Sam and Emmett, noticing that Alex and Dean were staring intently into the dark basement corridor, decided to come closer. When they approached, Alex simply nodded toward the same spot. And within a second, Sam and Emmett understood why the two had frozen, eyes fixed on the depth of the corridor.
"I really hope I'm wrong… but that's not what I think it is, right?" Sam asked quietly, shooting a quick glance at Alex.
"What are you seeing over there?" Ed Zeddmore asked, stepping forward to take a look.
"Don't come any closer! Or I swear I'll kick your ass," Dean barked, whipping his head around.
Ed instantly recoiled and hid behind his sister, Maggie. Ashley and Chris needed only one cold look from Alex to understand they shouldn't even think about approaching.
Making sure the Ghostfacers stayed put, Alex turned his gaze to Emmett and gave him a slight nod.
Emmett understood without a word. He walked over to Alex's bag, took out a couple of signal flares, and returned to the guys.
Without speaking, he lit one of the flares and threw it into the dark corridor—right at the ghostly doctor's feet.
The flare hit the concrete, splashing crimson light across the floor. Dr. Friedkin let out a scream—inhuman and piercing. His figure instantly dispersed, vanishing in the same moment.
The sound was so powerful that the nearest windows shattered, exploding into dozens of sharp fragments.
"Looks like we finally understand how this doctor is keeping all the ghosts trapped in the hospital… and how he managed to create an alternate dimension," Alex exhaled heavily.
"For God's sake, why again? Why do we keep running into another idiot possessed by darkness?" Emmett groaned, covering his face with his hands.
"And how do we deal with him? We don't have holy oil—it would definitely help. How did you deal with a guy like that last time?" Sam asked, folding his arms across his chest.
"I'm more interested in why this doctor is even possessed by darkness in the first place," Dean frowned. "He died years ago… or did it hit him after the Darkness was freed?"
"In some places the darkness seeped through for decades," Alex explained, rubbing his chin. "Most likely, Dr. Friedkin came into contact with that power at some point. It awakened his own inner darkness. And when the hospital revolt happened, they didn't kill him… he just became more dangerous and stronger."
"And how do we kill him?" Sam pressed on. "From what you told us about Bright Falls, you guys had to go through a ton of work before you managed anything."
"This time it's easier," Alex smirked. "In Bright Falls, Alan Wake split into three parts—the writer, the hero, and the villain. But here, it's just the doctor. We just need to kill him."
"'Just,' he says…" Dean muttered, looking down at his shotgun. "And what exactly are we gonna kill him with? Salt rounds? Regular bullets? I've got a feeling none of that is gonna work here."
Alex smiled, walked over to his bag lying on the table, and pulled out a katana in black sheaths. The metal softly clinked as he drew the blade halfway, as if to show it wasn't just an ordinary sword.
Returning to Dean, Emmett, and Sam, he noticed their expectant looks— all three wanted to understand how a regular blade could kill someone possessed by darkness. Though Emmett already knew without explanation that Alex could handle it easily even without the katana, he still wanted to hear the reasoning.
"With this," Alex said, fully drawing the blade.
"You sure?" Dean took the katana, inspecting the handle and steel closely. "Don't want to insult you, but you definitely can't chop him down with a sword. Though… the blade looks damn cool."
"It's not an ordinary sword," Alex replied calmly. "It was made to kill evil. It probably won't harm Amare, but killing someone possessed by darkness? That it can do."
"And how exactly are you going to pull that off?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically. "You going to run around swinging it like some samurai?"
"Ever played Pac-Man?" Alex smirked. "Same principle. I just need to catch the doctor before the ghosts reach me. And then get back. I've got this."
"You sure about that?" Dean returned the katana to Alex. "I don't want to let you go in there alone."
"It's fine, not the first time," Alex replied confidently, taking off his coat and handing it to Emmett. "Once the doctor's dead, we can get to the exit without trouble… or things could get worse. Maybe the ghosts will get even wilder. So be ready."
"Then be careful, Alex," Sam said, patting him on the shoulder. "We'll keep an eye on things here."
Alex nodded, smiled at his friends, and, pressing the katana to his hip, took off, running into the dark basement. Dean, Emmett, and Sam watched him until he vanished into the shadows.
After running far enough, Alex glanced back to make sure he wasn't being seen. He took a deep breath… and exhaled fire.
In the next instant, he surged forward at inhuman speed, leaving a trail of flames behind him, writhing along the floor like a living thing.
Engulfed in fire, Alex raced down the dark corridor, searching for traces of the possessed doctor. His magical vision flared— ahead stood the silhouette of a patient, barely visible in the dense steam.
While running, Alex drew the katana and lunged. A moment later, he was right in front of the ghost. One sharp swing.
The ghost burst into flames, igniting like dry paper, and crumbled into ash on the floor.
Alex sheathed his blade and continued running, leaving only a streak of fire cutting through the darkness.
To be continued…
(Anyway, I figured there was no point in dragging out the haunted hospital plot; we'd wrap it up quickly and move on to the rest of the story. I just thought Alex and Dean should work together, since I had another job planned for them in the future. Well, after they find out where Crowley and Amara are, and then, you know, the plot gets going.)
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