Echoes Of The Asylum

Blackwood Asylum stands like a scar the world forgot to heal.

Its bones are brick and rust, its breath stale with rot and memory. Long abandoned, it sleeps beneath ivy and shadow, curled among the trees at the edge of nowhere. Most say it’s haunted. The wise say it’s cursed. The truth, though, is far worse.

The doors were meant to stay sealed. The chains, unbroken. The evil inside was meant to wither—starved of light, of time, of blood.

But time has a way of peeling back caution. And curiosity is the hungriest sin of all.

When two explorers’ step into the dark for a taste of fear, they find far more than echoes. What wakes in the dust and stone isn’t just history. It’s hunger. It’s seduction. It’s vengeance shaped like a woman.

And once you’ve heard her whisper your name…
you never leave alone.

Editing Echoes

Liam’s bedroom smelled faintly of Monster energy drink and damp washing that never made it past the radiator. His laptop whirred with the heat of three separate editing programs open at once, the screen flickering with high-contrast footage of crumbling stone and sea-spray.

"It looks even shitter in daylight," Chloe said, sprawled across his unmade bed with one sock on and one sock off, chewing the loose skin on her thumb.

Liam chuckled, not looking away from the screen. "That’s the charm. Abandoned lighthouse by the sea—moodier than your old man’s moods."

She snorted. "My dad's moods would’ve made that place collapse faster."

They shared a laugh. The kind that lingers just long enough to remind them that this was more than just content. Urbex Knights wasn’t just a channel—it was them. Their pulse. Their rhythm. Their way of pretending the real world didn’t bite as hard.

On-screen, the wind howled through shattered windowpanes as Chloe’s figure moved through the lighthouse corridor. She stumbled slightly, catching herself with a giggle.

"You nearly ate shit there," Liam said, rewinding the footage, grinning.

"That plank was loose!" she snapped back, tossing a balled-up sock at him. "You were too busy filming my arse to warn me."

He shrugged. "Guilty."

She smiled, but her eyes lingered on the screen longer this time. "Y’know, it’s starting to feel a bit samey. Just more brick and broken stuff."

Liam glanced at her. "You saying urbex is boring now?"

"No," she said, rolling onto her stomach, chin resting on her forearms. "Just saying maybe we take a breather. Recharge. Do something else this weekend."

He leaned back in his chair, stretching until his spine cracked. The room settled into silence but for the hiss of his laptop fan.

Then: "There’s this asylum, right? Blackwood. It’s been popping up in our comments for weeks. Supposed to be in the arse-end of nowhere."

Chloe gave a short groan. "Ugh. Asylums are overdone."

"Not this one." Liam clicked open a new tab, already pulling up images. "It's not on urbex maps. Nothing official. Just this whisper trail. Like people know not to talk about it too loud."

She looked sceptical. "So… a creepy place no one wants to talk about. Definitely sounds like a trap."

He turned the laptop to face her. Grainy pictures. Ivy-choked walls. Steel doors with heavy rust stains. A few forums speculating about Satanic rituals and missing explorers.

Chloe blinked slowly. "Oh good. Satanic panic. That always ends well."

"Come on," Liam said, eyes gleaming. "This is the real shit. No influencers, no filters. Just raw. Pure. Haunted-as-fuck horror."

She sat up, letting the duvet fall away from her bare shoulders. The air was cold, but she didn’t seem to feel it. "You really want to do another trip so soon?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I don’t know why but… I need to."

There was a pause. A beat too long.

Chloe studied him. The light from the laptop screen threw shadows under his eyes, made the stubble along his jaw seem darker, harsher. He hadn’t really slept since they’d left the lighthouse. Always chasing the next story. Always filming. Always wanting.

She stood up and stretched, hoodie riding up to reveal the pale skin of her stomach. Liam tried not to stare. Tried and failed.

"Well," she said, grabbing her phone. "I’m not promising anything. But I’ll think about it."

He smirked. "That’s a soft yes."

"It’s a ‘don’t push it or I’ll kick you in the bollocks.’"

She winked, and the moment softened again.

Liam leaned back toward the screen, the asylum photos still up. There was one that caught him: a basement door, half-open, darkness pooling at its threshold like blood. Something about it pulled. Like it was waiting.

He didn’t notice Chloe watching him, her smile fading.

The Suggestion That Sticks

The kitchen was bathed in weak morning light, one of those overcast days that didn’t bother brightening up. Liam sat hunched over his phone, bare feet tapping against cold linoleum. A half-eaten slice of toast sat on his plate. Across from him, Chloe scrolled through their YouTube comments on her cracked tablet, the Urbex Knights banner glowing faintly at the top of the screen.

"Okay," she said, breaking the silence, "someone called @MidnightMarauder says we should check out a place called Blackwood Asylum."

Liam looked up from his phone. "Blackwood? That rings a bell."

"It's tagged in like five other comments too. Creepy old hospital. Supposedly shut down in the seventies after some scandal."

He leaned forward, eyes suddenly alive with interest. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Chloe muttered, not sounding half as enthusiastic. "It's in Marrowick, middle of nowhere. Dodgy signal, proper horror movie vibes."

He grinned. "Perfect."

She gave him a look over the rim of her coffee mug, one brow raised. "I dunno, Liam. Something about it feels...off."

Liam snorted. "That’s the whole point. If it didn’t feel off, it wouldn’t be worth filming."

Action buzzed quietly in the domestic setting—Chloe scraping the bottom of her cup with a spoon, Liam bouncing his knee under the table. It should have felt safe. Instead, the room seemed to contract, as if the mention of that place had summoned a cold breeze through the walls.

Chloe tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "Look, I’m all for urban decay and spooky shit, but this one feels different. Like, different different."

Liam leaned back, feigning casual. "You're just letting the commenters hype it up in your head. Probably just a crumbling shell with some graffiti and dead pigeons."

Chloe paused. "Maybe."

Silence stretched. The only sound was the dull hum of the fridge.

Narrative unspooled in Liam’s head—visions of shadowed corridors, peeling wallpaper, rusted gurneys. They’d shot in tunnels, mansions, storm drains. Nothing had ever unsettled Chloe like this. And that intrigued him.

"It’s just," Chloe continued, voice softening, "I had this weird dream last night. Couldn’t see anything, but I heard screaming. And something... crawling."

"Jesus, Chloe," he said, though his smile widened. "You're selling it better than the commenters."

"I’m serious."

Liam saw the tension in her jaw. A flicker of discomfort. This wasn't her usual dramatic flair. Something in her gut was warning her. But Liam’s was doing the opposite. His skin tingled with anticipation.

Dialogue sparked again, jabbing like flint.

"We always talk about breaking into something big," he said. "Something viral. You think a lighthouse video is gonna get us that? We need something that'll fuck people up. Make them talk."

"And if it fucks us up too?"

He blinked. That landed heavier than he expected.

Chloe sighed, putting the tablet down. "Just promise we don’t stay overnight."

"Promise," Liam said, though he didn’t mean it.

Outside, wind scraped at the windows. The word Blackwood seemed to echo faintly through the room, leaving a bitter taste neither of them acknowledged.

He reached for the toast, but his appetite had vanished. Chloe rubbed the scar beneath her left eye, the childhood dog bite she rarely talked about. She always did that when nervous.

"We should probably check for access points. If it’s locked up tight, we don’t want to waste the drive," she said finally.

"Already on it," Liam murmured, already Googling maps, photos, urban legends.

Momentum built under the surface. The gears were turning. A name had been dropped, and now it was in motion. Chloe sensed it and tried to slow it down. But it was already too late.

Blackwood Asylum had been spoken aloud.

Its echo lingered in the corners of the kitchen long after breakfast ended.

Sweet Obsession

The rain had stopped by the time they hit the high street. A Starbucks glowed like a sanctuary on the corner, amber lights spilling over damp pavement. Liam pushed the door open and let Chloe go in first. The warmth hit them like a wall.

Inside, it smelled of coffee, cinnamon, and industrial cleaning product. Chloe made a beeline for the table by the window. Liam shuffled up to the counter, his voice already rehearsing the order. "Venti hot chocolate. Caramel syrup. Extra whipped cream."

The barista, a bored teenager with a nose ring, gave him a slow nod. "Anything else?"

Liam glanced back at Chloe, who was watching him with a look that said fucking seriously? He smirked. "Nope."

Moments later, he slid into the booth across from her, cradling his oversized cup like a new-born. The whipped cream already sagged.

Chloe wrinkled her nose. "You going to drink that or fuck it?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Why choose?"

She shook her head but smiled, taking out her phone. "You are one sugar crash away from Type 2 diabetes."

"Worth it," he muttered, licking the cream from the lid.

She tapped her phone. "Okay, so I found a decent route. No real security. Just lots of woods. We'll have to park a bit off-road, but it’s doable."

Liam leaned in, eyes flicking to her screen. "Blackwood Asylum. It even sounds haunted."

Chloe lowered her voice. "Don't get too carried away, yeah? Just 'cause the name's spooky doesn't mean the place is. Probably just rats and mildew."

He sipped. "Still better than that bloody lighthouse. We need something that'll actually spike views."

"And you're sure Blackwood won’t be too much?" She met his gaze. "Some of those comments we got sounded... off."

Liam hesitated. Narrative moment. He thought of the username: PenancePatient1971. The comment had been just three words: Set her free.

He hadn’t told Chloe about that one.

"It’ll be fine," he said. "Worst case, we get some cool shots of graffiti and mould. Best case, we go viral. Again."

She frowned but let it go. "Fine. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you."

Liam changed the subject. "Got your batteries charged?"

"Yeah. And I packed the thermal. In case we want spooky night-vision shots."

He grinned. "You love it really."

"I love surviving," she said. "Big difference."

Their legs touched under the table. Not intentional. Not quite avoided either. Chloe leaned back in her chair, green eyes narrowing.

"You’re getting that look again," she said.

"What look?"

"The one that says you're planning something."

He shrugged. "Just thinking about the intro. Maybe something cinematic. A pan across the gates. Distant crow call. Bit of slow motion."

"Don’t go full Nolan," she warned.

"I won’t. Maybe just a soft zoom. A little atmosphere."

Chloe sighed. "You’re gonna be unbearable until we get there, aren’t you?"

"You love it."

She snorted. "I love editing your bullshit. That’s different."

He looked out the window. People passed by in coats, heads down, oblivious. The storm had smeared the world with grey, but here in the café, everything felt hyper-real. Chloe’s hair looked darker under the lights. Her red and blue streaks framed her face like smoke trails.

Liam leaned forward. "We leave Saturday. Night entry. Less traffic. Less risk."

"And more ghosts."

"Exactly."

She looked down at her drink—just a basic Americano—and then back at him. "If you get possessed, I’m leaving your arse in there."

"Noted."

Their laughter was brief. Then a silence settled. Comfortable, but not empty. Like the hush before a curtain rises.

Liam’s mind ticked faster than he let on. He was already picturing it. The iron gates. The camera’s low hum. The dark beyond. And something else too, something stranger: a tug. Like gravity pulling in the wrong direction.

He didn’t know what he was being drawn to.

But Blackwood was calling.

Lines We Shouldn't Cross

The glow of the monitor cast a blue tint across Liam's face as he hit upload. The lighthouse video was live. "Done," he muttered, leaning back in his creaky swivel chair. His muscles ached, eyes burning from hours of editing. Chloe sat cross-legged on the bed behind him, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt, a Jelly Roll graphic half-crumpled across her chest.

"Let the trolls commence," she said, tossing her phone aside. "Some prick’s bound to call us fake again."

Liam swivelled to face her, smirking. "Bring it on. We were halfway up that rotting spiral staircase when it nearly caved in. If that’s fake, I’d love to see them try."

Chloe rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched. "Bet Blackwood’ll shut 'em up. If we don’t get killed first."

He raised a brow. "Still freaking out about it?"

"Not freaking. Just not thrilled to end up as ghost-hunting clickbait."

Silence stretched for a beat too long. Liam stood, stretching, then stepped toward the bed. The room was warm, air heavy with the scent of worn sheets, sweat, and the cinnamon candle Chloe insisted on burning even when it made him sneeze.

He reached out, brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. "You look tired."

She leaned into his touch, eyelids fluttering. "I am. But wired too. You know? It’s like... that place. I keep thinking about it."

Liam climbed onto the bed, hovering over her. "Me too. Can’t stop. Like it’s calling."

Their lips met. Soft, searching. Then harder. Urgent.

Clothes melted away with little ceremony, replaced by the scrape of skin against skin, the rustle of sheets, the groan of the bed frame. Chloe gasped as Liam’s mouth found her collarbone, teeth grazing where a necklace once hung. Her fingers clutched his back, nails dragging light trails down to the curve of his hips.

His mind spun—not just with arousal, but with confusion. Need. Possession. Every thrust drove something deeper than flesh: a desperate claim. He wanted her, but not just tonight. Always. He hated that she didn’t.

"Liam..." she whispered, breathless. "God."

He kissed her again, harder. Shut her up before she said something real.

The moment built fast. A climax of moans and curses, hips clashing like they meant to bruise. He collapsed beside her, panting, the sweat cooling on his chest.

"That was... intense," Chloe said, staring up at the ceiling, flushed and distant.

Liam didn’t answer right away. His heart still hammered. He wanted to say something about love. About needing more. About Blackwood not being the only thing haunting him.

Instead, he said, "We should pack tomorrow. I want to hit the road early."

Chloe turned her head to him, unreadable. "Right. The asylum."

A chill snuck in through the cracked window, but neither of them moved. It settled between them like fog.

She reached for the duvet. Pulled it halfway over them. "Just... promise me if anything feels wrong, we get out. No video’s worth dying for."

Liam nodded, staring at the ceiling. He wanted to promise.

But he wasn’t sure he could.