The Card on the Door

The rain was a constant, whispering presence as I made my way along the perimeter road of the old naval hospital at Bremerton. It was 0213, and the fog had rolled in from the Sound, muting the sodium lights into dim halos. My shift was nearly over, but the final check took me past the abandoned buildings where the ghosts of patients and sailors were said to linger.

I had stopped at the edge of the parking lot, a vast expanse of cracked asphalt dotted with forgotten vehicles. My light swept across the rusting hulks, and I caught a flicker of movement near an old Plymouth. I assumed it was a raccoon, or maybe a stray cat, so I waited, my breath fogging in the cold. That’s when I heard it: a low chuckle from the other side of the road, and a voice, like an old film actor, drawled, ‘Poor soul, lost his way, hasn’t he?’

I spun around, my heart hammering, but the fog was thick and the darkness absolute. No one was there. I called out, ‘Who goes there?’ But the only answer was the distant cry of a gull and the rhythm of the waves against the shore. The silence stretched, and I felt an inexplicable weight press on my shoulders, a feeling of being watched by something ancient and patient.

I decided to finish my rounds and headed toward the main building to sign the duty log. The entrance was a cavernous maw, its windows boarded up, but the door had been left unlocked as always. Inside, the air was stale, carrying the faint scent of antiseptic and rust. I walked down the corridor, my footsteps echoing, until I reached the small office where the log lay open on a pedestal.

I signed my name beside the time and noticed a card taped to the door, white with a faded red cross. It was a get-well card, the kind you’d give to a soldier in the hospital. The handwriting inside was neat, but the message was odd: ‘To the one who keeps the watch, we know you’re there. We never left.’ I frowned and slipped the card into my pocket, deciding to turn it in later.

As I stepped out onto the stoop, the fog had thickened, swallowing the parking lot. I sat down to catch my breath, my back against the cold stone, and that’s when the laughter started again. It came from all directions, a chorus of low, guttural mirth, and then the voice from before, now clearer, said, ‘He’s reading it now. Let’s see if he stays.’

I froze, my hand instinctively going to my sidearm, but there was nothing to aim at. The air grew colder, and I could swear I heard footsteps approaching. I stood and swept my light in a wide arc, but the beam only caught the swirling mist. Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw a figure standing at the edge of the lot, a tall man in an old uniform, his face obscured. He raised a hand and beckoned me forward.

I took a step back, my training screaming to hold my ground, but my instincts screamed to run. The stranger took a step forward, and the fog parted around him, revealing that his uniform was soaked, dripping with seawater. He spoke, his voice a rasp, ‘You’ve got the card. That means you’re next.’

I turned and fled, my boots pounding on the wet concrete, clutching the card in my pocket. I didn’t stop until I reached the guard shack at the gate, gasping for breath. The duty officer saw my face and asked what was wrong. I handed him the card, but when he looked at it, he went pale. ‘Where did you get this?’ he asked. I told him about the old hospital, and he shook his head. ‘That building was decommissioned fifty years ago. No one’s been allowed in there since the epidemic. We don’t use that road on patrol anymore. You must have been seeing things.’

I pulled out the card to show him, but it was covered in mildew, the ink smeared and unreadable. I realized I had never seen a living soul in that building, not even in the dim light. But I knew what I had heard, and I knew the card was real. I’ve been back to that road many times since, always at night, always alone. I still hear the laughter, and sometimes, I see the figure standing at the edge of the lot, waiting. I don’t sign the log anymore, and I never go back without leaving a small offering: a white card with a red cross, just like the one that found me.