The old hospital had stood at the edge of town for over a century, its once-white walls now stained with age and neglect. No one knew exactly when it had closed, but the rumors said it was because of something that happened inside those cold, echoing halls. Most people avoided the place, claiming they could hear whispers in the wind, or see shadows moving where no one should be. Lena had always been curious. She was a student of folklore, drawn to places like this, where history and mystery intertwined. When she heard about the abandoned hospital, she couldn’t resist. It was on the outskirts of town, hidden behind a tangle of ivy and broken fences. The gate creaked as she pushed it open, the sound echoing through the empty lot like a warning. Inside, the air was thick with dust and the scent of decay. The floorboards groaned under her feet as she walked through the main corridor, past rows of rusted medical carts and shattered glass. The walls were lined with faded patient records, some still hanging from their hooks, others crumpled on the floor. A faint hum filled the space, like the hospital was still breathing, though no one lived there anymore. She found a nurse’s station, its desk covered in yellowed paper and old medical charts. One of them caught her eye—a name written in shaky handwriting: "Eleanor Voss." She remembered reading about a nurse who disappeared decades ago, never found, never explained. The file had no date, just a single line: "Patient 417." Lena followed the corridor deeper into the building, past a set of double doors that led to what must have been the operating theater. The room was dark, but a single flickering bulb cast long shadows across the floor. In the center stood an old operating table, its metal frame rusted and chipped. On the wall opposite the table, a small mirror reflected nothing but the room behind her. She stepped closer, trying to see if there was anything unusual in the reflection, but the mirror showed only her own face—until she looked away. When she turned back, the reflection wasn’t her. It was a woman in a white dress, her face pale and expressionless, staring back at her with hollow eyes. Lena stumbled back, heart pounding. The mirror remained still, showing only the empty room now. She told herself it was just her imagination, but the feeling of being watched didn’t leave her. In the next room, she found a storage closet. Inside, shelves held old medical equipment—surgical tools, bandages, and jars of preserved organs. One jar, slightly cracked, contained a hand, fingers curled as if frozen mid-motion. She reached out, then pulled her hand back. Something about it felt wrong, not just because it was a severed hand, but because it seemed to be waiting for her. As she left the closet, the lights flickered, and the temperature dropped. The hallway seemed longer than before, the walls closing in. She tried to find her way back, but every turn led her deeper into the building. The sounds of the hospital changed—soft murmurs, the rustle of fabric, the distant clatter of a gurney rolling down the hall. She stopped, listening, and for a moment, she thought she heard someone call her name. Then, the door behind her slammed shut. Panic surged through her. She ran, breath coming in short gasps, but the corridors twisted and shifted, leading her in circles. The lights dimmed, casting everything in an eerie blue glow. She saw a figure in the distance, standing at the end of the hallway. It was tall, draped in white, motionless. She wanted to run, but her legs wouldn’t move. The figure raised a hand, and suddenly, the world around her blurred. She felt herself falling, not physically, but mentally, as if she were slipping through time. The last thing she saw before everything went black was the same woman from the mirror, standing beside her, smiling faintly. When she woke up, she was outside, lying on the grass near the broken gate. The sun was setting, painting the sky in red and gold. Her phone was dead, and the hospital was gone. Or so it seemed. She searched the area, but there was no sign of the building. Just an empty lot, overgrown and forgotten. But in her pocket, she found a small, rusted key. And on the back of her hand, a number: 417.