The Holding Floor
Every sin waits for its turn.
Moonlight slipped through the blinds in narrow bands and crossed the hospital room. Machines clicked in steady intervals beside the bed.
Cold air drifted from the vent and settled across the tile.
Under the thin blanket, his chest rose in short, uneven lifts. A chill pressed along his arms when his body shifted against the sheets. He pushed himself upright and held the edge of the mattress until the springs stopped moving.
The wires along his skin tightened when he moved. He worked them loose with slow motions and let each one fall against the tile. The IV slipped out of his hand, leaving a colder patch across the skin where the needle had been.
He rubbed the spot with two fingers before sliding them to his wrist. The skin felt slow under the touch, almost dull. A steel cuff hung from the bed rail with a thin glint of moonlight. The second cuff stayed locked to the metal bar.
He tapped the metal once.
His jaw tightened while he studied the cuff. “What is this,” he said. His breath stayed close to the words. His fingers brushed the rail before he let his hand fall away.
He slid his legs over the bed and stood. The tile pressed its cold into his bare feet. His balance shifted until one hand found the wall and held there.
The door sat slightly open with a thin strip of hallway light cutting across the floor. Cool air slipped through the gap and lifted the edge of his gown. He paused at the threshold with his palm on the frame.
A soft tap moved across the distant tile outside.
He leaned toward the gap and watched his breath form a brief cloud in the cold air. His shoulders rose with a slow inhale. “Hello,” he whispered toward the opening.
His fingers closed around the edge of the door and he pulled it open. The hallway stood in front of him with a stillness that made him pause.
The cold in the corridor reached him first, lifting the edge of his gown as he stepped out. He looked both ways through the quiet wing, his breath catching once before he eased it out again.
His hand stayed on the frame until he shifted fully into the hall.
Dim lights stretched ahead in uneven intervals. Some bulbs held steady, while others flickered with a weak, slow pulse. Their glow scattered across the tile in thin broken shapes as he followed the wall.
His palm stayed against the paint while he moved forward. Each step landed with a soft tap, and the air from the vent rolled along the floor toward his feet.
He paused once, listening, then continued when nothing answered.
A supply cart waited near the first doorway with its wheel turned sideways. The frame rattled when he passed, a sharp metal tap echoing into the hall. His shoulders tightened at the sound before he forced them lower.
He reached the next room and leaned toward its small window. The bed inside sat untouched, its blanket pulled flat and smooth. A paper cup rested near the sink with a dried ring around it.
His breath left him in a short exhale.
The nurses station sat farther ahead, a single lamp spreading a pale circle across scattered gloves and folded folders. He touched the counter to steady himself before leaning closer to the empty chair.
“Where is everyone at,” he said, the words quiet and meant only for himself.
He straightened, letting his eyes trace the deeper stretch of the wing.
“Anyone here,” he called, his voice carrying farther this time.
He pulled a folder toward him and opened it partway. A faded class roster filled the page, rows of names sitting unevenly across the paper. His thumb stayed braced on the corner while he scanned it.
A soft scrape crossed the floor behind him.
He turned, keeping one hand on the counter. The stretch of corridor behind the station sat still and empty. The scrape had already died out.
A quick laugh floated from deeper in the wing. It struck the wall once. It slipped into the vents. His fingers tightened around the folder before he placed it back on the desk.
He stepped into the darker end of the hall. A rolling chair faced that direction, the seat slightly turned as he passed. His gown brushed the armrest, and the chair shifted a few inches.
The vents released a steady hum while the lights dimmed and rose again. He paused with his hand on his knee before pushing himself upright and moving forward.
Something shifted near a doorway ahead. It stayed low to the tile and vanished inside the dark room. He leaned toward the opening and watched the empty space.
A child’s drawing lay along the baseboard. Crayon lines shaped a yellow bus with small figures in its windows. He crouched toward it and reached a hand out slowly.
A faint scrape moved through the corridor.
He rose without touching the paper, his shoulders tight as he backed into the wall. The cold surface steadied his stance while he listened.
A dull thud landed two rooms ahead.
“Hey,” he said, his voice low with a sharper edge.
The wing held still.
A tight quiet settled through the corridor while he kept his back against the wall. His breath came in slow, careful pulls as he watched the dark stretch ahead. He pushed himself upright and straightened his stance.
A single footstep landed behind him.
He turned fast, one hand sliding along the wall for balance. Another footstep followed the first with a quicker beat, then a third that came even sharper. The sound moved toward him in uneven bursts across the tile.
A thin laugh slipped between the steps.
He pushed away from the wall and ran. His feet struck the tile with short hard taps as he moved past the empty rooms. The vents pushed colder air toward him with every stride, trailing along the hem of his gown.
Lights snapped off behind him in a fast line.
The darkness chased his movement as he sprinted toward the far end of the wing. A faint glow pulsed ahead and pulled his focus forward. He lowered his shoulder and pushed harder when he recognized the color.
An exit sign glowed at the corner.
He reached the door beneath it and threw his shoulder into the bar. The metal held firm without a shift. He pressed again, harder this time, but the door stayed locked in place.
A weak light flickered beside him.
An elevator waited with its doors open and a dim glow inside. He moved toward it with a stumble and caught himself on the frame. His hand hit the close button with a sharp tap while he stepped back toward the rear wall.
The doors pressed inward a few inches, then slid apart again with a dull grind.
The sounds closed in from the hall.
Footsteps gathered near the entrance, mixed with another thin burst of laughter. The lights outside blinked once, then died, leaving only the flickering elevator glow.
He hit the button again.
The doors strained forward, trembled, and rolled back apart. A dark shape crossed the opening, low and quick, disappearing before he could fix on it. His breath rose in tight lifts as he pressed himself farther into the corner.
The doors snapped shut.
The elevator lights flickered twice, then shifted into a deep red glow. He lowered himself along the wall until he reached the floor, both hands pressed against the cold metal.
The elevator began to descend.
The car slowed until the floor stopped beneath him. Its red glow flickered once across the walls before the doors slid open. A hallway waited outside with emergency bulbs casting a dull red line along the ceiling.
He stayed pressed to the corner for a moment. Then he pushed himself upright and stepped toward the panel. He hit the button marked L with a fast tap, then pressed it again when nothing moved.
The lights inside the car shut off.
Only the faint red glow from the hallway stayed lit. He looked toward the darkness above him and pressed the button a third time, but the panel stayed dead. He placed a hand on the frame and stepped out of the car.
The hallway air carried a colder weight. Old stains ran down the walls in uneven streaks. The tile felt damp under his feet when he shifted forward.
“Hello,” he called, his voice low and steady.
The sound dropped into the distance without echo.
He moved deeper into the hall, one hand tracing along the cold paint. The red pulses overhead stretched long shadows across the tile. Something shifted near the elevator, and he turned back quickly.
No one stood there.
He faced the far end again and noticed a gurney near an open doorway. A sheet covered most of a small frame beneath it, lifted slightly by the draft moving through the hall.
The fabric twitched once before settling flat.
He approached and stopped at its side. His hand hovered above the sheet, then lifted the corner with a slow pull. The shape underneath shifted in a single tight motion.
He stumbled back and struck a metal tray behind him.
The crash carried down the hall in a long echo.
Shadows moved near the far wall. They paused in a loose cluster before slipping out of view. He backed toward a nearby room and kept his eyes on the hallway.
He slipped inside and closed the door behind him. Cold air settled across the tile in thin currents that drifted between the gurneys.
Metal refrigerator doors lined one wall in two stacked rows.
A soft crackle came from a radio on the counter.
He touched the dial and the broadcast sharpened through the static. A reporter spoke about a school bus crash, noting the number of children lost in the collision. The next line broke through the noise with more clarity.
“Authorities reported the driver showed signs of alcohol impairment.”
His hand stayed on the table while he listened.
A floorboard near the door creaked.
He turned in time to see the handle shift once. A small knock followed near the bottom edge of the frame. Another knock joined it in a slow uneven pattern.
The lights flickered.
Shadows gathered beneath the door and stretched toward the center of the room. He grabbed a rolling cart and braced it against the handle with both hands. The knocking rose into firm presses along the glass pane.
The pane strained in its frame.
A thin crack climbed through the glass, splitting the surface into two jagged lines. Small hands pressed harder against it, their prints climbing higher in quick, uneven smears.
The cart slid from the pressure and scraped across the tile.
He stepped back with both palms raised. The refrigerator doors behind him rattled in a sharp rising rhythm. One door snapped open with a hard metal pop.
A small foot dropped from the dark interior.
Another door swung open beside it. Then another. Covered gurneys shifted as the shapes beneath them sat upright in stiff motions. Cold air drifted between the rows while the figures turned their heads toward him.
He pressed his back to the far wall. His chest lifted fast.
The cracked glass gave way in a sudden split. Children’s figures stepped through the opening with slow, dragging motions. Their gowns brushed the floor as they crossed into the room.
Their pace quickened.
He turned to run and slammed into the last untouched gurney. The frame toppled under him, sending metal crashing to the floor. The covered body slid off beside him with a heavy drop.
The sheet slipped away on impact.
He lifted his head.
His own dead face stared back at him in the red glow.
“No… no… this can’t be.”
The words broke in his throat.
The radio cut through the static behind him.
“The driver later died in police custody at the hospital due to his injuries.”
He dragged himself backward along the tile. His hands scraped against the floor as the children closed in with small reaching arms. Their layered voices rose around him in uneven tones.
The lights flickered hard and dropped to full darkness.
A sharp snap cut through the room.
Then a ragged scream tore through the dark. It rose once. It broke into a long strained cry.
When it stopped, a faint child’s laugh lingered as the final sound.
Cut Deeper is a collection of cinematic horror stories for voice and shadow. Some rise from memory, others from invention. Each one leaves a mark.
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