[ WP ] In Soviet Russia , ghosts fear you .

Memories. The screaming echoed through the halls, still. Tortured, wanton, helpless, hopeless. The commander's voice shouted to settle riots, to keep prisoners in place, to signal a beating was necessary for a particular prisoner. 
 `` Anyone there?'' the voice resounded throughout the gulag. A hush fell over the spirits; the screaming temporarily stopped only to be replaced by an unwavering fear of what was to come. 
 Memories of a similar call from a commander, a man looking for a would-be escapee trying to claw his way out through the very walls, only to be trapped there in a hole by gunfire. 
 Nothing moved. 
 `` Show yourself!'' the voice ordered. Suddenly, chaos. Everything rushed, everything banged, everything was turned upside down as hundreds of us presented ourselves to the hall for hope of a lighter punishment. 
 The man fell down, and we all shrieked in horror. 
 Memories. We were to get it now. 
 `` Who's there!?'' 
 A million cries of our numbers, sounding off the walls like nails on a chalkboard, travelling around the bars and twanging off the metal of the cages. Whips cracked, shots fired, drills whirring in agony as they drove into the backs and heads and hands of us; memories! 
 `` Spirits, go!'' the man cried from the floor, covering his face. We were sure it was our commander, coming to torture us after so many years of lying dormant. 
 Memories; we fled.
