The old hospital had stood at the edge of the town for over a century, its windows clouded with dust and its brick walls weathered by time. No one knew exactly when it had stopped admitting patients, but the locals whispered that the building was cursed. The doors never opened, and the lights inside flickered only when no one was looking. Still, some people claimed to hear voices from within, soft and pleading, like echoes of forgotten souls. One rainy evening, a young woman named Elara wandered into the town square, drawn by a strange pull she couldn’t explain. She had been visiting her grandmother’s grave, which lay just beyond the cemetery, where the trees grew thick and the air felt heavier than usual. As she walked past the hospital, something about it called to her—like a whisper in the wind, or a memory she had never lived. She didn’t mean to go in. But the door creaked open as if expecting her, and the cold air that rushed out wrapped around her like a shroud. Inside, the silence was absolute, broken only by the sound of her own breath. The hallways were lined with rusting medical equipment, and the floorboards groaned under her steps. A single flickering bulb above her cast long shadows on the walls, making the room seem alive. Elara moved slowly, her fingers brushing against the peeling paint on the walls. In one room, there was a bed, still made, as if someone had just left. A nurse’s uniform hung on a hook, untouched by time. Another room held a stack of patient files, their pages yellowed and brittle. She picked one up, and the name on the cover made her heart stop: *Eleanor Voss.* That was her mother’s maiden name. She dropped the file, her breath catching in her throat. Her mother had died years ago, in a car accident, far from this place. But here, in this abandoned hospital, the records suggested otherwise. She turned to leave, but the door had vanished, replaced by a wall of peeling wallpaper. Panic surged through her, but she forced herself to stay calm. In the next room, she found a small desk with a typewriter. A half-written letter sat on top, its ink faded but legible. It was addressed to someone named "Morgan," and the words were filled with sorrow and longing. “I don’t know if you’ll ever read this,” it began, “but I have to try. They say I’m not well, but I know the truth. I remember everything.” Elara’s hands trembled as she read the final lines: “If you find this, come back. I think I can still see the light.” A sudden gust of wind blew through the empty halls, extinguishing the bulb overhead. Darkness swallowed her whole. She stumbled forward, guided only by instinct, until she reached a stairwell. The steps led downward, deeper into the building than she had dared to go. The air grew colder, and the walls seemed to pulse with a faint, rhythmic noise—like a heartbeat. At the bottom, she found a large metal door. It was slightly ajar, and the faint glow of a candle flickered from inside. She pushed it open and stepped into a dimly lit chamber. There were rows of beds, each occupied by a figure wrapped in white sheets. Their faces were hidden, but she could feel them watching her. One of the figures sat up, lifting its head. It was a woman, her face pale and hollow, with eyes that glowed faintly in the dark. “You’ve come back,” the woman said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “We thought you’d forgotten.” Elara’s knees buckled. “Who are you?” she managed to ask. The woman smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “We’re the ones who stayed behind.” Before she could respond, the room plunged into darkness again. When the light returned, the beds were empty, and the door behind her had sealed shut. She screamed, but no sound came out. The walls closed in, and the whispers grew louder, echoing in her mind. Days later, a janitor found the hospital door wide open, the halls silent once more. No one had seen Elara since that night. Some say she was never really there. Others swear they heard her voice in the wind, calling out to someone named Morgan. And in the deepest part of the building, where the walls still hum with memory, the lights flicker, waiting for someone to return.