The old hospital had stood at the edge of the town for over a century, its red-brick walls weathered by time and the whispers of those who once walked its halls. No one knew exactly when it had closed, but the rumors were thick as fog in the early mornings. Some said it was abandoned after a fire, others claimed it was haunted by the ghosts of patients who never left. Whatever the truth, the building remained untouched, its windows shattered, its doors creaking in the wind like the breaths of something long forgotten. One autumn evening, a young woman named Clara found herself standing before the hospital’s rusted gate. She had been hired to document the structure for an art project, though she hadn’t told anyone about the strange dreams she’d been having—dreams of a child with hollow eyes and a voice that echoed through empty hallways. The town doctor, a grizzled man with a limp and a cigarette always smoldering between his fingers, had warned her not to go near the place. “That hospital isn’t meant for the living,” he had said, his voice low and tight. But Clara was curious. She had always been drawn to the inexplicable, to the stories that didn’t quite add up. So she stepped through the broken gate, her boots crunching on gravel, and pushed open the heavy front door with a groan that seemed to echo from deep within the building. Inside, the air was cold and still, carrying the scent of mildew and something faintly metallic. Dust swirled in the beams of light that filtered through cracked windows, and the floorboards creaked beneath her feet. She moved slowly, her flashlight casting flickering shadows against the peeling wallpaper. The halls were lined with faded patient records, their names smudged and illegible. In one room, a nurse’s station sat untouched, a single pen lying on the desk as if waiting for someone to return. She found a set of stairs leading to the upper floors, and as she climbed, the temperature dropped further. The walls seemed to press in closer, and the silence was so complete it felt almost alive. At the top, she entered what must have once been a ward. The beds were all empty, but the sheets were still neatly made, as if the patients had just stepped out for a moment. A small child’s drawing hung on the wall, its colors faded but still visible—a stick figure holding hands with a tall, shadowy figure. Clara’s breath caught in her throat. She turned to leave, but the door slammed shut behind her. She jiggled the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. Panic crept in, but she forced herself to stay calm. Then, from the far end of the room, she heard a soft whisper. It wasn’t loud, but it was there, clear and deliberate. “Help me.” She spun around, but the room was empty. The whisper came again, this time closer. Her flashlight flickered, and for a brief moment, she saw a small figure standing in the corner—a child, no older than six, wearing a tattered dress and staring directly at her. Before she could react, the lights went out, plunging the room into darkness. When the power returned, the child was gone, and the door was unlocked. Clara ran down the stairs, her heart pounding, and stumbled out into the night. The town was quiet, the streets empty, and the hospital loomed behind her like a sleeping beast. The next day, she tried to forget what had happened, but the dreams returned. Each night, the same child appeared, always watching, always silent. One morning, she found a drawing on her desk—an exact copy of the one she had seen in the hospital, but this one had a message scrawled in the corner: “I’m still here.” She returned to the hospital the following week, determined to find answers. This time, she brought a notebook and a camera. She explored every floor, searching for clues, but the building seemed to resist her. Doors led to dead ends, staircases twisted into impossible angles, and the deeper she went, the more the air felt heavy with unseen presence. In a basement room, she found a collection of old medical journals, their pages filled with strange notes and diagrams. One entry described a failed experiment involving memory and consciousness. Another mentioned a patient who had disappeared without a trace. As she read, the temperature dropped again, and the whisper returned—not from the walls, but from inside her own mind. “Why did you come back?” it asked. Clara froze, her hand trembling over the page. She wanted to run, but something held her in place. The lights flickered, and for a moment, she saw the child again, this time with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. When she finally escaped, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the hospital wasn’t just a place—it was a presence, waiting for someone to listen. And now, it had found her.