Hatchmore Sanitarium, the Midnight hour. When all good souls should be resting peacefully.
Truman Porter had been drugged heavily since he was dropped off outside the madhouse, an orderly finding him without any idea who he even was. Now that local law enforcement had run his prints and ID to identify him as a simple hotel proprietor who hailed from nearby Belltower the next question was why he was suffering amnesia. All signs pointed to that symptom, confusion, and lack of coherent bodily movements. Only an occasional bay like a sheep uttered from his lips. He didn't appear violent, so restraints were minimal. The on-duty doctors didn't quite know what to make of him. Not only that but once news that the hotel he had owned burnt to the ground while he was in custody of the manor, law enforcement wondered who might have set that blaze. A wave of baffling thoughts on it the county and city cops simply called it accidental. A spell cast of course to forget pretty much all things occult had defined that decision making. Witchery with a bit of help without knowing it.
Waking up in a dark bedroom Truman stared at the ceiling. Thoughts returning in small increments he questioned where he was. Obviously, a hospital. With his only restraint an ankle tie to his bed to prevent him walking off he sat up and noticed its attachment. Peering about in his quiet confinement he sighed. "What did I conjure up this time?" A swift untying, he stood up from his bed and stretched from long hours of immobility. A sealed window allowed him to look out at the courtyard and the countryside beyond it. Darkness precluded much outside of moonlit advantages, yet he felt a vibration, like a heartbeat strike through his chest. Realization set in! "That cannot be good."
"It is far from good." He heard a feminine voice behind him. "See what you started, Mister Portal."
"Portal? You mean Porter." Amnesia overrated, he turned expecting a nurse or orderly. With no one there he winced. "Identify yourself please."
"Room 665! Down the hall on your left. I would ask that you handle my body with care. I know of your habits. While you were never in charge before now, you still have much blood on your... hooves."
"Hooves? Whatever do you... maybe I'm in here for a reason, I'm talking to my feminine side."
"You are not mad, Mister Portal."
"Why do you keep calling me Portal?"
"Are you not the instigator of that which will soon engulf all of the souls in the area? Reach I am uncertain, but quite a distance it appears. We must correct your wrongs. Please hurry to my room and take me with you. We have very little time to waste."
"Who are... ewwwe?" He went goat in tone then shook it off. "EWE WIN...!" He hurried to the door and opened it. Like many of the patients living here, it stunned him that the staff were acting lost, as if troubled by where they were, who they might be. Only Truman seemed in charge for the most part. After hearing the voice tell him he had blood on his hands/ hooves, it worried him what his dabbling in dark magic up in Boston had set loose. Following instructions meant answers, so he was all in. "What's wrong with the staff?"
"They suffer soul shock. Those weaker than we will lose themselves if we do not hurry. It is time to redeem yourself Portal."
"Why do you keep calling me Portal?"
"Are you not the Porter that guides souls to their destination?"
"Uhh? I bought a hotel in Belltower. Owner though not any... bell... hop. Oh, God! Belltower... bellhop. Maybe I should go back to bed."
"Ewe will not. Faster please. We have only a few hours before all is lost." Reaching the room, he noted a clipboard hanging outside the door. Looking at it he discovered the identity of the resident and narrowed his eyes.
"Vivian DeVore?"
"Yes. Now stop lollygagging."
"Right!" He opened her door and turned on the light to see by. In her bed fast asleep, drugged up was Mrs. Vivian DeVore, former owner of Souillon House. "You're not even awake."
"My bodily functions are controlled. I speak to you only through my head."
"Uhhh? Okay!"
"Put me in a wheelchair."
"Should I dress you... me? I mean we're only in hospital gowns."
"There is no time, Portal. Stop acting as if there is. MOVE!" Grumbling, he raced back into the hall and located a wheelchair and brought it back in, weaving in and around a nurse standing there drooling.
"What did I set loose? I can feel something inside me stirring. Nipping at my insides."
"You are a former Baphomet. A residue still lingers in you. It has controlled you off and on for years. Making you murder young women as sacrifices to increase your... its power. In Belltower this very instant your former and another... a much more powerful Baphomet perform a ritual. One that will claim the souls of thousands in the area. Including ours!"
"How do you know all of this? For that matter how are you using telepathy?"
"Enough!" Truman removed Vivian from her bed and sat her in the chair, arranging her feet to prevent harm. Once she was seated, he stood up and felt a strange sensation. "I will give you your body back once we are on the road. Forgive me, Mister Portal." Her words through his lips Truman sat back in his brain and felt her control his body. Pushing herself out into the hall and dodging staff members she stopped long enough to pick the pocket of a security guard. "I hope your gas tank is full, Lloyd. If not, there will never be any reason to refill it." She patted the guard's belly. "This one either." No soul, total breakdown along the highway to hell.