Greg, an 18 year old on the verge of starting college at Florida University, crept his way through the catacombs of an old abandoned prison. It was dark and cold which in the scope of things was odd considering it was the middle of one of the hottest summers in Orlando. He'd heard his granddad talk about the place, but he made it sound there was some ominous force living in it. Probably more old geezer talk. Florida was known for its old-wives tales and stories of voodoo, yet the prison had a sinister quality to it. Shadows seemed to jump when his flashlight moved away and cell doors creaked and groaned in protest. At least his friend Jack was with him; he absolutely refused to go alone. Not for the silly talk of evil running rampant, he didn't believe in any of that, but for the fact you never knew what kind of crazy, crack addicted hobo's lived there.
In the span of only an hour they'd managed to sweep the second and third floor where they'd broken in through the roof. The task of stealthy entrances was his trade mark when his natural inquisitive nature took hold. The hinges of a door screamed with rusty resistance causing Greg to nearly leap out of his skin as he swung around with the camera and flashlight. He caught nothing but his dumb friend inspecting a blood stained 9' x 9' room. It had a musty old cot shoved against the wall, a dirty metal toilet and a sink covered in red with bits of broken glass that'd fallen from the shattered mirror. This seemed to be a recurring theme throughout the massive building. Yet something was off about this cell. It contained more writing on its walls than the rest of them, and most of it seemed like illogical ramblings with Satanic symbols drawn in black all around. Suddenly a frenzy broke out down the hall. They rushed from the cage with flashlight beams fading off into the impenetrable black; at least their cameras had night vision so maybe their visit wouldn't be in total vain.
Slowly they moved along stepping on glass as if it were eggshells down the middle of the corridor. Signs that bums were recently in the vicinity gave Greg a sense of dread; he hadn't brought anything to protect him, or Jack. Although a feeling of security came with trespassing with the tall, brawny, blonde boy. His dad taught Judo on weekends and Jack ultimately picked up a few fancy moves which was a nice advantage in light of the disturbing silence. Though they didn't speak it both knew the other expected something, or someone to jump out at them.
Finally they'd reached the last few cells in the area that met at an aged metal door with a red signs reading "Up" and "Down." Down? That must've led to the basement where executions took place. Greg looked over at his friend with an unsure smile and quickly they began their decent into the dank bowels. It'd grown quiet thus the noise was chalked up to a rat, or some other disease ridden animal that'd found its way in through one of the many holes in the walls. The only sounds were the clang of their boots against unstable iron stairs and their hitched breathing. Abruptly they stopped.
"Shh, Jack, you hear that?"
"Yeah, what is it?"
"I dunno... I think it's... laughing? Probably a bat shit crazy bum, or something."
They continued on until reaching the doorway to another hall. No other doors rest on either side; only burnt out lights mocked them from above in the still, and stiffling night. Minutes seemed to turn into hours as the never ending path kept on, but finally they came to a fork. Their flashlight beams split into two illuminating both directions before conjoining once more.
"I think this way leads to the room where the executions were carried out."
"Yeah, the left looks like an open room for warden observation. I can see the glare from our lights on the glass."
"Which way, Greg?"
"Let's look over here first."
Greg said as he motioned to the left with his light. Only a few steps brought him into a small cut out through an old, doorless archway and into the observation room. To his right sat an antique P.A. control board with only one microphone and a few buttons. It seemed like a one-way system that only allowed them to be heard rather than hear. A bloodied seat sat against the opposing wall and a single overhead light hung. Naturally it didn't work anymore. From nowhere the pair groaned and brought their hands to their ears to block out the sudden, obstreperous buzzing. Their eyes squeezed shut and when they opened the scene changed causing them to scoot back in fear against the far wall. Three figures stood there now with them. Three men. One Greg recognized from pictures in his text books as the old mayor, long since dead, to the right of a short, plump man he assumed to be the executioner. To the left of him stood the warden; tall and skinny with emotionless green eyes. What truely disturbed them, though, was the man in the electrocution chair. A monster of a man with no hair and a myriad of evil looking tattoos all over his face and body. Those eyes, the coldest, meanest looking shade of blue anyone could imagine and his smile as if he were proud of whatever crime had brought him to Ol' Sparky.
"Ready in there, Johnny?"
A hand popped up from behind a small cove at the corner of the execution stage; it must've been where the switches to the chair were placed.
"Benjamin Delaroux you are here by sentenced to death by electrocution in the state of Florida for crimes of murder and rape. Electricity is to be passed through your body until you are dead. Any last words?"
"Any last words?! Is that what I hear, boy?! Yeah, I got ya' last words! I'll see you fucks in Hell! Bah hahahaha!"
The glass seemed thin enough to hear through it if someone called loud enough. Just then the man in the chair laughed himself to tears when suddenly his body gave a jerk and went rigid with shock. Tendrils of electricity buzzed around the mans bald dome and the metal cap placed upon it. His skin bubbled and eyes rolled frantically, but that smile never left his lips. Even as they blackened and melted away. Finally his corpse released and he fell into a steaming, dead slouch.
The scene finally died away to black and Greg jerked awake in his bed. How? How did this happen? Where's Jack? He shook his head and threw the covers off with haste to stand. The camera and flashlight were on his bedside table; was it all a dream? No it couldn't be he needed to look at the video and look at Jack's. Taking the equipment into his hand he flipped the item on.
"Damn..."
He cursed as he scrolled through the plethora of random footage he and his friends had shot. Eventually he came to the file and hit play, and hours passed with his eyes glued to the view-finder. Yet what he saw on it was definitely something to relay to Jack; there would be no way he hadn't seen what happened.
Rising from bed the young man completed his daily routine of showering and eating before setting out for the weekend; he'd already tried Jack's cell phone and home line to no avail. He would have to find him he guessed. Where ever he was Greg knew it probably wasn't pleasant, but it was best to start with mutual friends first. Luckally Kevin didn't live all that far from him; they'd been close friends since first grade. With a brisk stride the young man trecked the scorched pavement until coming to Kevin's front door, he seemed to know he was coming. No, just a coincedence he grumbled as the door swung ajar unveiling a stout, muscular boy with deep brown eyes and long flowing black hair.
"Yo, Kevin. Can I come in?"
Patiently Greg awaited to be let in or shooed away.
