Emily clutched her belly, her breaths coming sharp and fast as pain tore through her. She had barely made it through the sliding doors of the ER before her knees buckled. The sterile smell of disinfectant burned her nose, and the cold linoleum floor felt like ice against her palms.

“I—I need help,” she gasped, looking up at the nurse behind the reception desk. “Please… I’m thirty-six weeks… my baby—”

The nurse didn’t move. Her arms were folded, eyes narrowing. “Do you have insurance?” she asked flatly.

Emily blinked, confused. “I… I’ll pay. My husband—”

The nurse cut her off. “We can’t treat you until we verify coverage. You’ll have to fill out the forms first.”

Another wave of pain made Emily double over. “I don’t have time—something’s wrong—”

The doctor standing nearby, tall and broad-shouldered, came forward but not to help. His voice was curt, almost rehearsed. “If you can’t confirm payment, you’ll have to go to County General. It’s hospital policy.”

A few people in the waiting room shifted uncomfortably, whispering among themselves. But no one stepped in. Emily’s vision blurred as she felt another contraction. Her hand instinctively went to her belly, her heart pounding in fear—not for herself, but for the tiny life inside her.

“I’m begging you,” she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks.

The nurse glanced at the wall clock. “Ma’am, if you can’t get up, you’re blocking the floor. We need you to move.”

Emily’s phone slipped from her hand, clattering onto the tile. Somehow, she managed to tap the screen, dialing the one number she knew by heart.

“Ethan,” she gasped when he answered. “They… they won’t help me.”

For a second, there was silence on the other end. Then his voice came—calm but with an edge that could cut steel. “Which hospital?”

She told him, her voice breaking.

“Stay exactly where you are,” Ethan said. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

The line went dead.

Daniel’s breath caught in his chest as his phone’s flashlight swept over the crumbling walls. The smell of rust and damp earth filled the air. He moved deeper into the hidden basement, the concrete floor crunching beneath his shoes.

In the far corner, a mound of old blankets stirred. His pulse quickened.

“Who’s there?” he called out, his voice low but firm.

A frail figure emerged — a boy, no older than ten, his cheeks sunken, eyes wide with fear. His lips trembled as he clutched something close to his chest. It took Daniel a moment to realize it was a faded photograph.

The boy’s gaze darted past him, toward the stairwell. “She’s coming back,” he whispered.

Daniel knelt down slowly. “Who’s coming back?”

The boy hesitated, then spoke in a voice barely louder than the dripping water around them. “The lady… she said not to tell anyone. She—” He stopped abruptly, his eyes flicking to the ceiling as a muffled thud echoed above.

Daniel’s instincts screamed at him. He turned to rush up the stairs, but before he could take a step, the boy grabbed his sleeve.

“She hides them,” the boy said quickly. “The other ones. In the walls.”

Daniel froze. “Other… what?”

The boy swallowed hard. “Children.”

A sharp creak came from above, followed by slow, deliberate footsteps. Whoever was up there knew they weren’t alone.

Daniel’s mind raced. The strange red drip. The locked door. The grandmother’s unnerving calm.

He turned back to the boy. “We have to get out. Now.”

But the boy shook his head violently. “She’ll find us.”

The footsteps above grew louder. Then—silence.

A shadow blocked the faint light from the stairwell. A voice, sickly sweet, floated down.

“Daniel… I didn’t know you liked playing in basements.”

It was the grandmother.

Only now, her voice carried something darker — something that told him the red dripping from the ceiling had been just the beginning.