[ WP ] You are a patient in a psych ward . You decide to break out , but find that the entire place was abandoned long ago

“ Come home to me, darling. ” 
 
 I awake, startled and dying of thirst. Sweat trickles down my temples. I wipe my shirt along my face and jump down to the floor with a hard thump. Judging by the moonlight illuminating from the small, high-up window, I ’ d assume it ’ s slightly after midnight. 
 
 Mrs. Eisner would chastise me for being awake this early ( or late, I guess ), but I feel as if my tongue is sticking to the roof of my mouth, begging for just a drop of water. 
 
 I stand there, unsure of how to go about my problem. I definitely shouldn ’ t push the emergency button next to the door… I don ’ t want to wake up anyone, more or less getting myself in anymore trouble. But by God, this almost seems like an emergency. I pad back to my bed, grabbing the Bobby Pin hidden underneath my pillow. It ’ s the only thing I ’ ve been able to save since I was shut in here. 
 
 It was pretty easy to hide, too. It ’ s not like, when they searched me, they would have felt the small hair pin clipped to the hollow of my underwear. Plus, those nuthead security guards never seemed to know what they were doing, anyway. I find the door handle in the darkness and shove the Bobby Pin inside the lock. 
 
 But the door creaks open, with nothing more than a push. 
 
 “ What? ” I whisper to myself. 
 
 I look over to the bottom bunk. Natalie is still fast asleep in her bed, wrapped comfortably in her covers, clearly oblivious to the door being unlocked. 
 
 The door is never unlocked. The doors don ’ t get unlocked until exactly nine in the morning, when Mr. Wright ’ s voice beams through the speakers, forcing us to wake from our dreaming states. 
 
 Nonetheless, my curiosity beams through me, and I nudge the door further with my toe. 
 
 The hallway is darker than I imagined, considering I ’ ve never ventured them without the constant flow of traffic. With Mrs. Eisner constantly running around, helping whatever child ’ s sad requests come to, and the flow of Level A kids roaming about. 
 
 That ’ s how they defined us around here. They didn ’ t base us off of our disorders. They based us on how we handle them. Level A students could have a heavy case of Schizophrenia, but if they seemed okay to the doctors, then they were free to walk around. The Level D students had strict schedules, on the other hand, mostly locked in their rooms until they had a nurse accompany them. 
 
 They don ’ t tell us about the Level E students, though. Some kids like to create scary stories on what happens to them, using a stolen flashlight to illuminate their faces in the evening light. 
 
 The hallway looked almost dead, however. Only the constant glow of the secondary lights overhead lit the room. The front desk was completely dark, though, with no lights nearby to even suggest a presence there. I started to move closer, silently, with interest prying through my bones, but then I noticed that every one of the doors were wide open. Not a single one of the kids ’ rooms were closed… And not a single one of the kids ’ rooms had a kid in it. The beds were entirely empty. 
 
 I moved over to Mr. Wright ’ s chamber, where he often hid himself in this studies within his desk. This door was open as well. I walked past his office and into his bedroom. He was gone as well. 
 
 My heart was racing at this point. I trudged back into his office and rifled through the papers on his desk. There ’ s got to be something here. Maybe he left a note that says where he went. Maybe there was a scheduled alarm practice that my roommate and I slept through. Maybe they all went out for dinner and decided they ’ d just bring us back some dessert. 
 
 Nothing. 
 
 The only papers that covered his desk were a bunch of old bills and a Post-It note about a reminder to call his Niece the next day. 
 
 Where the hell is everyone? 
 
 I ran back to my room. I ’ ve got to wake Natalie up. The eerie, illuminated darkness and the quiet buzz of the main air conditioner was starting to seep in. My feet echoed through the hall as they slammed into the ground, each step as a plea to wake anyone who may actually still be here. 
 
 I marched into our room and began to prod her awake. 
 
 “ Natalie. Natalie, *wake up*. ” 
 
 She refused to budge though. Not even a groan, which was common when she refused to wake up to the morning announcement. I usually had to rip the covers off and pull her out of her bed to get her to stir. 
 
 I did the same now, and ripped the covers off of her. 
 
 I didn ’ t find Natalie, though. Or, maybe I did. Where Natalie ’ s resting spot lies every night is a face of bones staring directly up at me. 

