It was abnormally warm on that late May evening. The central air units of the Cleveland Grace Memorial Hospital were working double time, but the emergency room staff still had their desktop fans blowing feebly. The hum of their motors echoed ominously through the large empty room. It was quiet, much too quiet for a hospital to be.

Then, without warning, the high pitch cry of an ambulance siren pierced the air. The sound grew closer and louder with each passing second until the big red vehicle pulled into view outside the wide automatic doors. Moments later, three EMT’s barreled through the doors wheeling a young woman on a stretcher.
“Nineteen year old female,” the first EMT called to the previously idle doctors, who were now rushing forward to help. “Parents called it in, said they heard screams from her bedroom. They found her like this.”

The two doctors looked down and one of them even gasped. The teenager was visibly shaking, almost violently so, radiating most of the movement from her chest. It was almost as if there was something inside her fighting to get out. She was also, from her mouth to her shoes, caked in blood.
“Drug overdose?” The doctor who had gasped asked aloud.
“Negative,” the second EMT informed her. “We checked all of her vitals in the ambulance, all came back—”

The young man didn’t have the chance to finish his statement. He, being the closest to the girl, was suddenly startled when she grabbed his tanned arm with a small bloody hand. The strength of her grip made him gasp and his reflexive instinct made him pull away. Only she didn’t let go. The two doctors and three emergency medical technicians stared down in absolute horror into the cold black eyes of a now manically grinning teenager—the last sight they would ever see as humans.