The old hospital had been abandoned for over thirty years, its rusted gates creaking in the wind like a whisper from the past. No one knew exactly when it had closed, but rumors swirled that strange things had happened there—patients disappearing, doctors going mad, and nurses who never returned home. Most people avoided the place, but some, like Clara, couldn’t resist the pull of its secrets. She arrived at dusk, her boots crunching on gravel as she stepped through the iron gate. The building loomed ahead, its windows like empty eyes staring into the night. A thick layer of dust coated the floor inside, and the air smelled of mildew and something faintly metallic. She turned on her flashlight, its beam cutting through the darkness as she walked down the long, narrow hallway. Every door was ajar, some hanging by a single hinge. She passed what looked like an old operating room, the surgical table still covered in a tattered sheet. A broken IV stand leaned against the wall, and a faded sign above the door read “Recovery Room.” It felt wrong to be there, like the walls were watching her. She found a small office near the end of the corridor. The desk was cluttered with yellowed papers and a dusty phone that hadn’t worked in decades. On the wall was a calendar, its pages frozen in 1987. She flipped through the files, trying to find something that might explain why the hospital had shut down. One document caught her eye: a patient log with names and dates, but all entries ended abruptly in 1985. As she left the office, she heard a soft sound—a low, rhythmic hum, like a heartbeat. It wasn’t coming from the outside; it was inside the building, somewhere deeper. She followed the sound, her breath shallow, her flashlight trembling in her hand. The hallway narrowed, and the walls seemed closer now, pressing in on her. The hum grew louder, more distinct, and then she saw it—a flickering light at the end of the hall. It was a door, slightly ajar, and from behind it came the sound of someone breathing. Not just anyone—someone trapped, or waiting. Clara hesitated, then pushed the door open. Inside was a small, dimly lit room. A single bed sat in the center, its sheets clean and unmade. On the wall was a mirror, and in the reflection, she saw not herself, but a figure standing behind her, faceless and motionless. She turned around, but the room was empty. The mirror showed only her own reflection. She backed away slowly, heart pounding, and ran back through the corridors, the hum growing louder behind her. She didn’t stop until she reached the entrance, slamming the door shut behind her. Outside, the wind howled, and the moon cast long shadows across the grounds. She sat on the steps, catching her breath, and tried to make sense of what she had seen. The hospital had always been a place of mystery, but now it felt different—alive, almost aware. She wondered if the people who had once lived there were still there, trapped between worlds, waiting for someone to find them. As she drove away, the lights of the hospital flickered, then went out completely. The gate creaked again, as if someone had just let it swing open. She glanced in the rearview mirror, but there was nothing behind her. Just the empty road and the dark silhouette of the old building, standing silent and watchful in the night. She never told anyone what she had seen, but sometimes, in the quiet moments, she would hear the same low hum in her dreams. And every time, she would wake up wondering if she had truly left the hospital behind—or if it had simply been waiting for her to return.