My Brother Disappeared Along The Oregon Coast, And I Think Whatever Took Him Is After My Whole Family

The front desk wench seemed to be more focused on the Facebook profile on her phone than me when I walked by, so I figured I was in the clear to slip by the men’s room door and head down the hall where I believed they were holding my brother. I snapped my left middle finger into position as I tip toed past the woman’s gaze and walked down the slick floor towards a hallway lined with about 10 doors on each side.

I was shocked by how dark the hallway was when I made my way into it. A soft light beaming out of one of the doors at the dead end of the hall provided the only kind of lighting along the shiny, slick flooring and doors which rested uncomfortably open on both sides.

I began my search by sticking my head in each one of those open doors, looking for Calvin. The first five or so produced no images of my blonde-haired brother. Instead, I was treated to a full frontal from a grandma, a guy who looked to be sleeping with open eyes of blood red, and a little girl clutching a stuffed rabbit in a hospital bed, hooked up to at least five machines, looking scared and unhappy to be wide awake in the middle of the night.

I nodded an apology at the young girl and headed right back out the room, but was stopped in the doorway when she spoke.

“Don’t go down there,” the little girl whispered from her bed.

About the author

Jack Follman

Jack has written professionally as a journalist, fiction writer, and ghost writer. For more information, visit his website.

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