The old hospital had been abandoned for over thirty years, its rusted gates creaking in the wind like the groans of a long-dead patient. No one knew exactly why it had closed, only that the last doctor who worked there had vanished without a trace. Locals whispered about strange lights in the windows and the sound of distant voices echoing through the halls, but no one dared to investigate. That is, until a group of curious students from the nearby university decided to take a midnight tour. They arrived just before midnight, their flashlights casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. The building loomed ahead, its once-white walls now stained with mold and ivy. A heavy iron gate blocked the entrance, but one of the students, a wiry boy named Eli, managed to find a gap in the fence and squeeze through. The others followed, their breaths shallow as they stepped into the darkened courtyard. Inside, the air was thick and still, carrying the scent of mildew and something older—something metallic. The main entrance stood slightly ajar, as if waiting for them. They stepped inside, their footsteps muffled by the dust-covered floor. The lobby was empty, save for a broken reception desk and a flickering fluorescent light that cast eerie patterns on the walls. A single chair sat in the corner, its fabric peeling away like dead skin. They moved deeper into the building, passing rooms that had once been operating theaters and patient wards. Some doors were locked, others open, revealing nothing but empty beds and faded medical charts. In one room, they found a collection of old patient files stacked neatly on a shelf, all labeled with the same name: "Patient 7." The files were dated from the early 1980s, and each entry described a different condition—some minor, others impossible. As they explored, the temperature dropped sharply. One of the girls, Lila, shivered and pulled her jacket tighter around her. "This place feels... wrong," she muttered. But the others pressed on, drawn by the mystery. In the basement, they found a set of stairs leading down into darkness. The air grew colder, and the faint hum of electricity seemed to grow louder, almost like a heartbeat. At the bottom, they discovered a large chamber filled with strange equipment—machines with dials and wires, some of which still glowed faintly. In the center of the room stood a single bed, its sheets untouched, as though someone had just left it. Eli approached the bed and ran his hand along the edge. It felt warm, as if it had been used recently. He turned to the others, eyes wide. "Someone’s been here," he said. But before anyone could respond, a low voice echoed from the far end of the room. "You shouldn’t be here." They spun around, but no one was there. The voice was soft, almost gentle, yet it sent a chill down their spines. Then, the lights flickered, and the temperature dropped even further. The walls began to pulse, as if the building itself was breathing. Lila stumbled back, her flashlight slipping from her grip and rolling across the floor. When she picked it up, the beam caught something—a reflection in the window. A figure, standing behind them, watching. They ran, not stopping until they burst out of the front door and collapsed onto the cold ground. The sun was rising, casting golden light over the ruins. None of them spoke for a long time, their faces pale and wide-eyed. Back at the university, they tried to explain what they had seen, but no one believed them. The hospital remained empty, its secrets buried beneath layers of dust and time. But sometimes, when the wind blew just right, people swore they could hear whispers coming from the old building, voices calling out in a language no one understood. And every so often, a new patient would arrive at the local clinic, claiming to have been in the old hospital, though no records existed of their stay. Their stories were always the same—of a quiet place, of a single bed, and of a voice that never stopped asking, "Why did you come?"