Sunshine Sanitarium Case Reopened (Not Clickbait)

20251007

Written for Bradley Ramsey's "First Indulgence" event.

Sunnyside Sanitarium had lain abandoned for nearly thirty years after mismanagement and leaked abuses of patients scandalous even for the time. The perfect site to film a heart-string-tugging history flick… or a ghost-hunting show.
So far the footage could go either way, but Denise was optimistic they’d get something concretely supernatural now it was getting dark.
Meanwhile Dennis whittered about history and tragedy and welfare laws, because of course. Maybe one day, if he kept his nerdy nonsense up, he might find historical evidence of a twin more boring than the one she was stuck with.
At least he was good with cameras. And Tim was good in front of cameras. Together, they weren’t useless.
“Alright…” Dennis scrolled down his tablet. “Cameras one through seven are in the cemetery… eight through twelve cover the downstairs… and ‘twelve b’ though thirty in the rooms. I think we’ve got full coverage. All signals are strong. Nothing’s been flagged.”
“It’ll happen.” Tim said confidently. “No way a place like this doesn’t have lingering spirits. Afterlife vibes are off the charts!”
“Yeah, we’re totally gonna blow the scientific establishment wide open.” Denise rubbed her hands together.
Dennis was staring at camera 1, the wide angle view of the little cemetery attached to the sanitarium. “…How many patients do you think were buried before the abuse was uncovered?”
“Hopefully enough that we can catch good shots.”
“Sis!!”
“What?” Denise scoffed, rolling her eyes. “That’s ancient history. It’s not like I’m wishing bad luck on people.”
“That’s… still…” Dennis subsided into reproachful mumbling.
Denise ignored him in favour of watching the readouts. EMF… sound… thermal… they had it all. Whatever medium ghosts used to interface with the mortal realm they could record it. Tim - aka the useful brother - was doing the same.
“…Temperature’s dropping fast.” Tim muttered. “And unevenly. Not seeing any pattern to it, though. Hm…”
“Should we try the spirit board?” Denise suggested. “We could set up in one of the rooms and try communicating with the occupant.”
“Sure, worth a shot.” Tim grabbed the waiting box. “Keep a close eye on those cameras, bro!”
Room 1, like all the “patient rooms”, was basically a cell. And looked eerily functional; this place being out of the way meant nobody had bothered emptying it properly. While the surviving patients and paperwork had been taken who knows where, most large furniture lingered.
Looking at the dingy space sent frissons down Denise’s spine. The tiny barred window, the rusted metal bed frame bearing marks of straps… even the ancient mouldering mattress had maintained the shape left by bodies spending countless hours in its embrace.
She set four tapered candles around the spirit board, aligned with the compass. Made sure the voice recorder was ready. Clicked on the walkie-talkie. “Everything still reading clear?”
“Yep.”
Denise glanced at Tim, who nodded readiness. She leant forward and lit each candle in turn, from west around to north. “Souls of the beyond, we welcome you. We wish to talk.”
Nothing. If only they’d been able to figure out which patient was in each room! But the records had been concerned about who died, and whether there was negligence involved, not where the deceased had been sleeping.
“If there are spirits of the departed present, we welcome you. Please make yourself known.”
She kept her gaze fixed on the board. The candlelight’s flickers made it look like the pointer wobbled, her heart jolting each time.
But no. Nothing.
Tim cleared his throat. “Is anyone here with us?”
They exchanged an uncertain look as the silence stretched out.
“…Maybe we should move to-” Denise faltered, her head jerking up. “Did you hear that?”
“What?”
“Um…”
Actually, she wasn’t sure. She was just certain there’d been something. She clicked on the walkie-talkie. “Nis, did you pick up anything?”
Silence. Not the hush of this long-empty building but the strange lack of Dennis answering. It felt somehow heavier than the minutes before.
There it was again. Denise still didn’t know what she was hearing, but it propelled her up and towards their base-camp in the main office, the cell's heavy metal door flying open under her numb fingers.
“Dennis?”
The halls were icy cold.
“Dennis!”
It was just getting late, and Dennis wasn’t paying attention, that’s all, that’s-
Then she skidded into the office and hope died.
The spectre itself wasn’t frightening. Average height, suit, spectacles, hair combed in an elaborate professional do which looked to be hiding a bald spot. The picture of an old-fashioned middle manager, complete with sepia-like washed colours and slight blurriness.
It was the way it held Dennis dangling by the throat from one blood-stained hand which sent Denise to her knees screaming.
Dennis was gargling. Oh god, oh god, was he still alive? Could he be saved??
Next to her, amongst the scattered remnants of the tipped desk, the “voice box” crackled. Frantic snippets could be heard amongst the static, echoing mutters of a madman.
“Spies… ruining… dragging my name… no more…”
The papers - everything they’d gathered about this place in preparation - were clutched in the spectre’s other hand.
“Nise…”
Dennis’s voice. Not from his spit-and-blood flecked lips, but the voice box.
“RUN!”
With an inarticulate whimper of grief and apology Denise scrambled upright and bolted, almost running into Tim.
“Quick we have to GO no time-”
Her hands passed through his arm.
His lips were moving, but she couldn’t hear anything.
He was gesturing. Pushing. While his hands passed through her she could feel their chill.
In a daze she turned where he pointed. The stairs. The way out.
Her feet carried her as her mind shut down.

She returned in full daylight, police in tow, to gather her brothers’ remains. And the evidence. While she was happy to let the officers take copies, she insisted on handling the originals herself.
Dennis and Tim died for this data. She wasn’t going to risk anything being lost.
This was no longer a cold case, and there would be justice.

Prompt was “A group of ghost hunters film their stay at one of the most haunted locations they can find. They hope to find definitive proof of ghosts and the afterlife. They get their proof alright, but at what cost?”