The Abandoned Hospital

 

    The hallway on the third floor of St. Louise’s hospital is long and empty. The ceiling is broken and the floor has dark, dried-up stains. The lights flicker, and the old hospital beds look like they’ve been left in a hurry. Down in the morgue, one of the body drawers is pulled open. There’s no one inside, just deep scratch marks on the inside.

    Midnight in the hospital, but there’s not complete silence. It’s the drip of a sink no one ever fixed, the creak of a wheelchair rolling itself across the hall. The operating lights still work, sometimes flickering above the tables. Shadows curl under the nursery doors. If you press your ear to the glass, you can hear them, the sound of something crawling up and its wet breath.

    They told us to leave when the power failed, but she… she never left. You can see her no, you can feel her - when the generators turn on at 3 AM. The heart monitors scream flatlines in empty rooms. If you’re thinking of using the elevators, don’t! They open at the wrong floors, and sometimes a hand slips out between the doors. Last night, I found an IV bag. It had liquid inside that was warm. and moving.

    The basement door is always locked, but at night, you can hear knocking. Not from the outside but from the inside. The janitor swears he saw the handle turn by itself last Tuesday. The air down there smells like wet earth and something sour, like old bandages left too long in the sink. The lightbulbs burst if you leave them on for too long.

    Room 307 is the worst. The bed is stripped bare, but the straps are still buckled tight. Nurses say they’ve found them undone every morning, even after double-checking the locks. And if you stand in the doorway at exactly 3:07 AM, you’ll hear sheets rustling. Like someone just got up.

    I tried to leave many times. I got as far as the parking lot before the automatic doors slammed shut behind me. The intercom crackled, no voice, just breathing. Now my flashlight’s dying, and I keep seeing shapes in the hall mirrors. They’re not reflections. They’re getting closer. God, the scratching won’t stop...