Episode 2: Threshold Dose

The Hollow Names

Episode 2: Threshold Dose

By Candle Light Chaos

Previously on The Hollow Names…

Joel, Lena, Nico, and Amber descended into the rotting basement of the Elmhurst Institute. What they found—slamming morgue drawers, a doll with cracked glass eyes, and a chilling note about something that wears faces—sent them running for their lives. But Joel didn’t come back empty-handed. Clutched in his fist was a torn Bible page, blotched with old blood, carrying a single cryptic line:

“Forgive me, Lord. I gave him Joel’s name.”

Now, still shaken, the group finds themselves compelled to return. But something is already waking inside Joel. And inside Elmhurst.

1. The Needle Teeth

Amber spent three days trying to salvage the footage from that first night. Her cameras had recorded hours of grainy, eerie stillness—but the final moments were different. They were corrupted, as if the building itself had reached into her drives and scrambled them.

What remained was little more than static—except for six ghostly frames. In those frames, something crawled behind Joel in the basement. It looked almost human, almost on all fours, its face stretched taut like cling film over a soaked skull. Rows of tiny, needle-like teeth filled its gaping mouth.

Nico watched the playback over Amber’s shoulder. His hoodie was drawn up tight, hands buried in the pocket.

“You glitched it on purpose,” he muttered.

Amber spun on him, eyes narrowed. “I film horror, Nico. I don’t need to fake it.”

“Then why won’t you go back?” he challenged.

She didn’t answer. Just powered the camera down. Her fingers trembled.

2. Joel’s Dream

That night, Joel lay on his mattress, eyes wide in the dark. Sleep never truly claimed him—it hovered, restless, until he sank into something else. Not quite dreaming. Not quite awake.

He walked endless hospital hallways, lit by swinging bulbs that cast long, stuttering shadows. He heard voices echoing from doors left ajar. Some whispered his name. Some whispered names that weren’t his.

One voice stood out—hoarse, clinical, precise:

“Let the patient ingest the threshold dose. Then listen for what’s missing.”

Joel jolted upright in bed, clutching his chest. His shirt tore slightly beneath his nails. When he flicked on the lamp, he found thin, pink scratches running across his torso. Not bleeding. Not old.

Just new.

3. Return to Elmhurst

They shouldn’t have gone back. Every instinct in Lena screamed to stay home, to pretend Elmhurst was just a rotting ruin, not something alive.

But Joel insisted. He hadn’t eaten properly in days. His skin seemed to sag beneath his cheekbones. The dark rings under his eyes had grown so deep they looked almost bruised. Yet there was a feverish light in them.

“Something’s unfinished,” he rasped. “It’s still down there. Waiting.”

So at dusk they stood again before Elmhurst. The asylum squatted against the horizon like a patient monster. Windows gaped empty. A piece of police tape fluttered half-torn across the door, too tired to warn anyone anymore.

As they stepped inside, a draft sighed through the shattered lobby. Somewhere deep in the halls, a voice rose—thin, mechanical, echoing through old intercom speakers:

“Rounds…”

Then silence.

4. The Quiet Floor, Again

The lobby greeted them unchanged—almost. That same gurney was still overturned near the nurse’s station. But now, the thick leather wrist restraint had been looped and buckled tightly around the leg of the cart. As if someone had tied it there on purpose.

Amber filmed, carefully. Her new battery meter read 93%. She barely filmed thirty seconds before the camera gave a sharp whine and went black. When she checked it again, the battery was dead.

“Guys?” she whispered. “The doll’s gone.”

Drawer 17B stood wide open. Empty.

Joel dropped to one knee, peering inside. He reached in and pulled something out—thin and cold, sealed.

A small glass vial, cloudy with swirling liquid. A neat tag on it read:

Patient 043 – THRESHOLD DOSE

5. Lena’s Lie

Lena’s mouth went dry. She should have said something right then. She almost did.

Because three years ago, she’d watched a live exploration by a horror streamer named InsomniYak. His final video was set right here in Elmhurst. It ended with screams, static, and then nothing. He had never posted again.

She still had the screenshot on her phone—one frame from his last upload. A room stacked with empty vials. One clearly labeled:

Patient L.N.

She tucked her phone away and tried to keep her breathing steady.

6. Procedure Room 8

They pushed deeper into Elmhurst, into wings that no one sane would ever explore. Paint peeled in greasy curls from the walls. Old bulbs didn’t flicker—they pulsed, almost in rhythm with their heartbeats.

They found the door by accident. It was marked PROCEDURE ROOM 8. Someone had scrawled across the wood in bright orange crayon:

“He drank it. Now he hears better.”

Joel reached for the handle. It turned easily.

Inside, surgical chairs waited in rows, leather straps cracked and stiff. The walls were covered in grotesque diagrams—bodies with rearranged limbs, hearts stitched into skulls. One figure had no face at all. Just the words: I FORGOT MY NAME.

Joel stepped to the nearest chair and placed the vial on a small metal tray.

“I think it’s mine,” he whispered.

Nico lunged. “Dude, don’t you even—”

But Joel was already breaking the seal.

7. Transference

The moment the glass cracked, the air changed. The room seemed to press against their eardrums.

Amber doubled over, blood pouring from her nose. Lena screamed—pointing—at the long cracked mirror above.

Joel’s reflection had stopped mimicking him.

Instead, it turned deliberately to face them.

“Subject 17B confirmed,” it said.

The lights went out.

In the pitch dark, Lena felt something cold and vast slide through the space, brushing past her shoulder. Not possession. Not replacement. Something more careful. More patient.

When the lights sputtered back, Joel’s reflection moved normally again.

But Joel was standing too still. Eyes wide. Not blinking.

“He’s awake now,” Joel said. Too calmly.

8. The Archives

They ran.

Not out—somehow they bolted deeper, through doors that seemed to yawn open for them. They collapsed at last in a sprawling records archive, breathless, surrounded by metal shelves stuffed with mold-flecked folders.

Nico grabbed one at random. It read: Dr. Thaddeus Halbrook – Field Notes, 1955

Inside: a handwritten transcript.

"The dose must be administered before identity loss. Once the name degrades, the patient becomes pliable.

Those born with stolen names are most valuable. Naming creates moral tethering. We undo it."

Amber flipped open another. Patient 043 – Joel M.

She blanched. The photo paper clipped inside was damp, degraded. The man in it wasn’t Joel.

But the name matched.

Lena read aloud, her voice paper-thin.

“They gave you someone else’s name.”

9. The Red Room

Behind a rolling privacy screen, they found a locked door. A plastic wristband was looped over the knob. It read:

EN_ _ H

Only the “E,” “N,” and “H” remained legible.

Joel stared. His voice was hollow.

“My brother’s name was Enoch.”

The door clicked open by itself.

Inside, walls were covered floor to ceiling in frantic handwriting—medical codes, dosage charts, childish drawings in crayon. A single red light pulsed overhead, beating like a mechanical heart.

Amber stepped through the threshold—and froze.

A shape moved behind the glow. Arms too long, clothed in a surgeon’s coat streaked with rust. A porcelain doll mask hid its face. But from beneath the mask, a too-wide grin split open.

Joel’s voice was soft with awe.

“He found his name. Now he wants yours.”

10. Separation

They ran. Amber pulled Lena by the wrist. Nico shouted for Joel—but Joel didn’t move.

Instead, he stepped forward, toward the long-limbed figure in the mask.

“Dr. Halbrook,” Joel said. “My name is still incomplete.”

The red light brightened, filling the hall with hellish glow.

From behind the mask, a voice oozed like spoiled syrup.

“Then we’ll fix it. Open wide.”

11. Outside

Amber, Lena, and Nico burst out of Elmhurst’s main doors into an evening that burned sickly orange. They didn’t stop running until they reached the truck.

No one spoke. Nico finally slammed his fist against the dash, sobbing.

Then the dashcam flickered on—by itself.

The screen crackled, showing static. Then an image resolved.

Joel stood in the doorway of Elmhurst. Smiling. In one hand he held the doll. Behind him, the long red hallway stretched on. Dr. Halbrook stood there too, half in shadow. Watching.

And he blinked.

To Be Continued…