The old hospital had stood on the edge of town for over a century, its windows dark and its halls silent. No one knew exactly when it had closed, but rumors said it was abandoned after a series of strange disappearances in the 1970s. Locals avoided the place, whispering about ghosts and doctors who never left. But for those who were curious—or desperate—there was always a reason to go. Elena had been a nurse for years, but she never believed in the stories. She was practical, grounded, and skeptical of anything that couldn’t be explained by science. That is, until she found herself standing at the hospital’s rusted gate, clutching a flashlight and a file labeled “Case #42.” It had arrived in her mailbox three days earlier, unsigned, with no explanation. The paper was yellowed, the ink faded, but the words were clear: *“Find what they hid.”* The doors creaked open as if they had been waiting for her. Inside, the air was thick with dust and the scent of mildew. Her footsteps echoed in the empty corridors, each sound swallowed by the silence. She moved carefully, her breath shallow, her flashlight casting long shadows on the peeling walls. The hallways seemed longer than they should have been, and the floorboards groaned beneath her weight like they were alive. She reached a room marked “Room 314.” The door was slightly ajar, and inside, the furniture was untouched—beds still made, medical charts stacked neatly on desks. A single window allowed in a sliver of light, illuminating a small desk covered in old files. She picked one up, and the paper crumbled in her hands. The name on the top was unfamiliar, but the date was recent—only a few weeks ago. As she leafed through the documents, she noticed something odd. Each patient listed had a peculiar symptom: they all reported seeing a shadowy figure in the mirror, or hearing a voice calling their name from the hallway. Some had gone missing after their discharge, others had died under mysterious circumstances. The final entry was dated just yesterday. Elena’s heart pounded. She turned around, expecting to see someone behind her, but the room was empty. The flashlight flickered, and for a moment, the entire room went dark. When the light returned, the files were gone. The desk was clean, as if nothing had ever been there. She ran out of the room, her pulse racing. The corridors felt different now, more cramped, more suffocating. She tried to find her way back to the entrance, but every turn led her deeper into the building. The lights buzzed overhead, casting an eerie glow on the walls. She heard whispers, faint and distant, echoing from somewhere unseen. Then she saw it—a reflection in a broken mirror. It wasn’t her. The figure was taller, thinner, with hollow eyes and a pale face. It waved slowly, then pointed toward a stairwell. Elena backed away, her breath catching in her throat. She turned and ran, not knowing which direction was safe. After what felt like hours, she stumbled into a large room filled with old medical equipment. A single chair sat in the center, facing a blank wall. On the wall, written in red paint, were the words: *“You are not the first.”* A chill ran down her spine. She reached for her phone, but it was dead. The only sound was the steady ticking of a clock she hadn’t noticed before. The numbers glowed faintly, counting down from 12:00 to 00:00. She didn’t know how long it had been running, but it felt like time itself had stopped. Suddenly, the door behind her slammed shut. She spun around, but there was no one there. The clock ticked faster now, the numbers flashing wildly. She pressed against the door, trying to force it open, but it wouldn’t budge. The room grew colder, and the whispers returned, louder this time, almost in unison. In the mirror, the figure was now standing behind her. It smiled, and for the first time, she saw its face clearly. It was her own. The clock hit zero. The room went black. And then, silence.