The $450 Manhattan Room Mystery: Why Was a Famous Surgeon Performing Midnight Blood Rituals Behind My Wardrobe Wall?
👉 Previous Decision: You chose Option B – Break into the brownstone’s locked basement boiler room to search for physical evidence of Finch’s activities.
With Finch busy on his shift at Mount Sinai, I took my chance. The brownstone felt eerily silent as I slipped down the narrow stairs to the basement. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and old coal.
My flashlight beam danced across stacks of dusty boxes and forgotten furniture. I searched for a lock, a hidden compartment, anything to confirm my suspicions. Behind a sagging wooden shelf, tucked away in a dark corner, stood a heavy, padlocked storage trunk.
The lock was old, rusted. I found a loose pry bar and, with a grunt, forced it open. Inside, nestled beneath yellowed tarps, were dozens of VHS tapes. Labels, handwritten in a precise, familiar script, listed dates going back to 1994.
I pulled out a tape marked “Subject: H. Vance – 1994.” My mother’s doctor, Dr. Helen Vance, who Finch had on his operating table.
I found a portable VCR among the junk, wires tangled like snakes. I plugged it in, the screen hissing to life. On the grainy monitor, I saw Finch, younger, but unmistakable. He was performing the identical midnight blood ritual I had witnessed, the same red lights, the same masked figures.
But the patient was different. And then another tape, and another. Dozens of them. All terminally ill caregivers, I noted from the accompanying files, all miraculously surviving their illnesses afterwards. The tapes were a library of impossible cures, a visual testament to Finch’s secret operation.
My fingers trembled as I picked up another tape, then another. This wasn’t a one-off. This was a sustained, generations-long practice.
➡️ Read CHAPTER 9 to continue the story
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