In 2000, New York City.
A young man with white hair and blue eyes is seated in a chair with his legs crossed, positioned at a wooden desk. He is using a phone that appears to be quite advanced while simultaneously eating warm pepperoni pizza with his other hand.
RING!! RING!!
A sudden ring pierced the silence, coming from an old black-and-gold landline phone on the far side of the desk.
The young man, unfazed, slid his pizza back into the box. With a quick kick to the desk, the landline phone flipped into the air. He caught it mid-flight, bringing it to his ear like it was all part of the routine.
"What's up? Dante here," he said into the phone
"Oh hey Dante, it's me, Mark. I've got a job for you—you know, the supernatural and all that," Mark said casually.
"Already? I just moved into this joint—I haven't even named it yet. How could I possibly have a job lined up already?" Dante said, his voice laced with skepticism and a touch of suspicion.
"I was actually planning to help you find a job once you got settled into your new place, but then one of my contacts called me. He sounded pretty excited and told me about this show called Grave Encounters a ghost hunting reality TV show. It's about a team led by a guy named Lance Preston. Mark said casually.
"So what? It's just a bunch of people filming a show that's fake. What do you want me to do about it?" Dante said, his tone relaxed and indifferent.
"Yeah, I know it's fake, but here's the thing: they're filming a new episode soon, and my contact told me they're planning to investigate a haunted asylum. I did some research on it to make sure there's nothing off about it, and it might just be a regular abandoned asylum… but what I found was pretty dark, Dante." Mark said, his tone laced with a hint of fear.
"Oh, come on, Mark. You've seen what I'm capable of. You've watched me take down monsters, demons, and even hunted down some seriously messed-up people. So, toughen up, man. Just tell me." Dante said, his tone mixing humor with a hint of seriousness.
Mark sighed in exasperation, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he spoke into the phone.
"Geez, Dante, you make it sound like I'm overreacting. But the things I've read about this asylum... they're seriously messed up."
"Then come on, tell me! I'm dying to know," Dante said, his tone full of excitement. "If it's really as messed up as you say, you've got to give me the details!"
"Alright, alright, calm down, Dante," Mark said, a hint of disbelief in his voice. "You always lose your mind when a job sounds interesting. I mean, I still remember what you did to that demon… and I hate to say it, but I almost felt sorry for the thing."
[ Flashback ]
Dante stood in front of the woman tied to the chair, a binding circle etched into the floor beneath her. She growled and laughed, her voice warped and unnatural.
But Dante remained calm, arms crossed, eyes locked on her—unmoving, unreadable.
"You know, you could make this a whole lot easier—for both of us," Dante said with a sweet, mocking smile. "Just crawl out of her body, nice and simple, and I'll gladly deport your ass straight back to your little shithole."
The demon, now possessing the woman, let out a harsh, guttural laugh, spewing curses and insults at Dante in Latin. Her eyes burned with madness as she stared at him defiantly, a manic, evil grin twisting her face.
Dante stared at the demon with a calm, unreadable expression. His voice was cold and emotionless as he spoke.
"Are you sure you want to do this? Because trust me—there are a lot of ways I can make a demon feel fear, pain, desperation… and things far worse. So if I were you, I'd choose my next words very carefully."
The demon spat in Dante's face, letting out a raspy, mocking laugh as blood dripped from its mouth in thick, dark streams
Dante wiped the bloody spit from his face, glancing at it for a brief moment. His expression remained cold and unreadable—until his frown slowly twisted into a wide, manic grin. He looked the demon dead in the eyes.
"I see... so that's how you want to play it," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Alright. I completely understand."
"Mark!" Dante shouted, calling out to his closest friend and trusted ally.
"Y-Yeah?" Mark stammered, standing just behind Dante. He had witnessed the entire exchange, his face pale with fear. A cross hung at his side, clutched tightly as if hoping it would be enough to protect him. In his other hand, he held a black bag filled with his equipment, gripping it like a lifeline
"Lock the door. Make sure no one gets in or out," Dante said, shrugging off his red leather jacket and handing it to Mark. He cracked his neck, then his knuckles, slow and deliberate—his eyes never leaving the demon.
Mark quickly grabbed Dante's red leather jacket and stuffed it into his black bag. Without hesitation, he briskly walked to the door, shut it, and locked it securely. Then he grabbed a chair, sat down, and held his bag and cross tightly, bracing himself for what was about to happen.
Dante didn't take his eyes off the demon. He calmly rolled up his sleeves and smirked. "Well then, let's have some fun," he said, his voice light and almost cheerful.
A few hours passed, and let's just say—the demon didn't have a great night. The only sounds that escaped the room were blood-curdling screams and desperate pleas for mercy.
When it was over, Dante and Mark stepped out, the woman alive but clearly shaken—physically fine with a bit of scars, but mentally scarred. With the job finished, they got paid and quietly left the house, no words needed between them
[ Flashbacks End ]
"Okay, one—I don't know why you'd feel sorry for a demon," he said in a flat, deadpan tone. "And two—come on, give me the details of the job!" he added, his voice rising with excitement and anticipation.
Mark sighed over the phone. "Fine, give me a sec—I've got the files around here somewhere."
Dante could hear him rummaging through his things on the other end of the line. He waited patiently, silent, the phone pressed to his ear.
"Ha! Finally found it," Mark said over the phone, a hint of annoyance in his voice as he shuffled through the mess. "I swear, I need to hire a secretary just to keep my files in order."
"Dude, later. Details—now," Dante snapped, his voice charged with excitement and impatience.
Mark rolled his eyes, cleared his throat, and began reading from the file—the section detailing the asylum's history and the background of its owner.
[ Note: just so you know this an Ai and sorry for the large explanation I wanted to be very detailed ]Mark cleared his throat and began reading aloud:
"Arthur Friedkin was born in 1890 in Vinnytsia—what's now Ukraine. His family fled to Chicago when he was seven, escaping violence and unrest in Eastern Europe. Arthur was brilliant, especially obsessed with the human mind. While others studied medicine, he leaned toward the mystical and the unexplained.
He earned a spot at Harvard Medical School in 1908. There, he fell for a wealthy student named Eva Galli. She turned him down—politely—but the rejection shattered him. That heartbreak turned into obsession: control, power, and eventually, the occult.
By the 1930s, he became head of Collingwood Psychiatric Hospital just outside Baltimore. Officially, he was there to modernize treatments. Unofficially? It was his playground for disturbing experiments—combining psychiatry with dark rituals.
He believed the mind could reach beyond death. Patients were subjected to cruel treatments—lobotomies, shock therapy, even ritualistic practices in the hospital's basement. One patient, Edgar, became central to Friedkin's experiments. Friedkin thought Edgar could open a door to another dimension. Edgar eventually snapped and killed him in 1948.
But Friedkin's death didn't stop the madness. Staff began reporting strange activity—lights flickering, voices in empty rooms, sightings of Friedkin's bloodied figure.
Eventually, the hospital was shut down. Officially, it was due to abuse and mismanagement. Unofficially? People believed something evil was still inside.
Those who explore the ruins say the building shifts. Hallways loop. Locked doors open. It's like the place is alive—and it doesn't let go of its guests."
Mark closed the file slowly, his voice trailing off.
"Yeah..." he said with a nervous chuckle. "So... what do you think, Dante? Got anything to say about this one?"
"What do I think?" Dante said, grinning. "I think this job sounds amazing. I'd bet all my money there are at least a dozen evil spirits in that place just waiting for me to deal with." His tone was practically buzzing with excitement.
Mark didn't even blink. At this point, nothing Dante said really surprised him—he'd gotten used to the guy's brand of crazy
[ End of this chapter ]