Paul Quimio

Literary Focus 40S

Mr. McCaffrey

December 14, 2009

A Hospitable End

Lightning danced in the air, brightening the darkness. Heavy drops of rain pelted

the ground, the buildings, the cars, and everything else that lay under the vast heavens.

Wandering the empty streets, was a ragged middle-aged man. He wore and old, dirty

coat, with jeans that had been worn far too many times. Homeless and with no where to

go, he sought to find shelter in the terrible storm. As the rain pounded against his face,

he glanced up to see an old abandoned hospital, St. Demetria. The old dilapidated

building emanated a sense of malice, but the man did not notice. His only concern was

to escape the rain.

He walked up to the entrance of the hospital, flickering lampposts lighting his

way. Stepping onto the rain soaked steps, the man approached the door. He sighed

with relief when he found that the doors were unlocked as he pressed the rusting bar of

the door forward. The hinges creaked as he slowly pushed the door open and walked

into the dim lobby. The lightning outside was one of the only sources of light, and with it

he observed his surroundings. He saw a grimy reception desk, with remnants of old

discarded papers littered across its counters. It was covered in dust, much like

everything else in the hospital. There was an empty gift shop to the right. In it he saw

old shelves, left there since the abandonment and a carpet that was beginning to smell

of mould. The hospital itself had a dank and clammy smell to it, most likely due to the
storm raging outside. Feeling thoroughly content with the environment, he proceeded

down one of the hallways.

As he took his first steps, bolt of lightning rattled outside, and he saw a set of

footprints left in the dust of the hallway opposite of him. Assuming that they were left by

someone of a similar situation to his own, he continued on his way. He ambled along

the hallway, hoping to find a place to rest for the night. A gentle creaking could be heard

from somewhere in the hospital, and with the lightning illuminating his surrounds every

few seconds, the man felt an ominous feeling. He began to quicken his pace to find a

room in which to sleep, until he heard a violent crash. Instinctively, his head snapped

back to check to see if anyone was behind him. He saw nothing out of the ordinary, so

he continued to search.

Eventually he found an open room with an old hospital bed in it. On the wall was

a barred window (as all of them were), from which the storm could be seen. The room

was dusty and unkept, but the man had slept in much worse conditions. He stepped into

the room, and as he was walking towards the bed, he heard a faint whistling. It wasn’t

the whistling of the wind outside, but rather, it was the whistling of a human being.

Although he had previously thought that it was a man taking shelter as well, his curiosity

drove him to find out who it was. The whistling grew louder and louder, so the man

peered of the room’s window. As he gazed outside, he found the whistling man, walking

down the hall with his back turned to him. The whistler was holding a glistening object in

his hand. The man strained his eyes to see what the object was. He fell back in alarm

once he found out the source of the glint. A knife, stained with red, was being skillfully

twirled within the hands of the whistler.

 Unfortunately, the sound of his falling caused the whistler to turn around. Within

his eyes was a sense of controlled insanity, and his face was plastered with a slight

smile, as if he was smirking at his own private joke. “Well well. It seems that the storm

has brought some entertainment,” murmured the whistler with a smirk. With a skip and a

gleam of excitement within his eyes, the whistler began to search for the source of the

noise. He meandered about the hallway, glancing into each room nonchalantly. The

man, filled with terror, fled from the room while the whistler was at the other end of the

hallway.

His footsteps echoing throughout the entirety of the hospital, he ran blindly,

hoping to escape the terror of the whistler. Stopping to catch his breath, he heard the

whistle again. The whistle was cheerful, and was accompanied by slow footsteps. It was

as if it was a game, and the man was simply being played with. Sweat poured down the

man’s face, as the whistling grew louder and louder. For a second time, he ran for his

life, his feet kicking up clouds of dust from the unswept floors of the hospital. His

breathing became heavier and heavier, but his unadulterated terror fueled his body to

move. His mind muddled from fear, he could not find the exit from that God-forsaken

hospital. He only found himself lost. In this, he found despair. He continued to run,

hoping that eventually he would find a way out. As he stopped to rest, he listened to the

rain drumming on a window on the wall. The terror was beginning to wane, until the

accursed whistling was heard again.

Again he ran to escape from the sound of that whistle of death. His legs, aching

from running, were about to collapse, but he forced his body to move. He threatened

himself in knowing that getting caught meant getting killed. As he fled, he heard the
whistling cease. Even so, he continued to run until he reached a dark hallway. It was

there that he decided that he would hide. He entered one of the dark rooms, hoping that

he would be able to survive until the morning. Locking the door, he crouched behind the

door, looking outward. The darkness of the room hid him, and comforted him. In the

darkness, he was safe from the whistler. Then he felt a chill run down his spine. He

looked into the darkness of the room, but could see nothing. Then suddenly, lightning

flashed, and horror filled the man. The whistler was calmly standing in the corner of the

room, grinning from ear to ear. In that instance, the whistler’s eyes gleamed with

sociopathic content. Then, out of his lips came the words, “My my. I hope you had

appropriate accommodations from the storm. Now I think it’s time to say good night, sir.”