The old hospital had been abandoned for decades, its rusted gates and broken windows a silent testament to forgotten lives. Most people avoided the place, whispering about strange occurrences and shadowy figures that moved in the dark. But for Clara, it was more than just a place of rumors—it was a puzzle she couldn’t ignore. She first heard about the hospital from her grandfather, who had once worked as a janitor there before it closed. He spoke of long hallways that never seemed to end, of patients who vanished without a trace, and of a room at the end of the third floor that no one dared enter. “You don’t want to go there,” he’d say, his voice low and heavy. “It’s not meant for the living.” Clara didn’t believe in ghosts, but she believed in stories. And this one, with its layers of mystery, called to her like a siren song. One rainy evening, she found herself standing before the hospital’s iron gates, the rain soaking through her coat. The air smelled of damp concrete and something older—like decay and memory. She pushed the gate open with a creak that echoed through the empty lot, the sound making her shiver. Inside, the silence was thick. The walls were lined with peeling paint and faded medical charts, some still hanging on rusted hooks. The floorboards groaned beneath her feet as she walked down the main corridor, her flashlight cutting through the darkness. The lights flickered occasionally, as if the building itself was breathing. She passed by rooms that had once been occupied by patients, now filled with dust and the remnants of old beds. Some doors stood ajar, revealing empty spaces where life had once thrived. She felt a strange pull toward the third floor, as though something—or someone—was waiting for her. At the top of the stairs, the hallway was different. The air was colder, and the walls seemed closer. There was a door at the far end, slightly ajar, and a faint hum coming from inside. Clara hesitated, then stepped forward. The room was small, barely larger than a closet. A single window was covered in cobwebs, letting in only a sliver of light. In the center stood an old medical table, its surface stained and cracked. On the wall, a clock ticked slowly, its hands moving backward. Clara reached out to touch it, but stopped when she noticed the shadows shifting in the corners. Then she heard it—a soft, rhythmic tapping, like fingers on glass. She turned around, but the room was empty. The tapping continued, growing louder, until it stopped abruptly. A cold breeze swept through the room, carrying with it the faint scent of antiseptic and something else—something metallic. Clara backed away, her heart pounding. She wanted to leave, but something held her in place. As she turned to exit, she noticed a small, dusty mirror on the wall. In it, she saw not her own reflection, but a woman in a white gown, her face obscured by shadows. The woman smiled, and Clara gasped. She ran down the stairs, her breath ragged, the hospital behind her now a blur of fear and confusion. She didn’t stop until she was back on the street, the rain washing away the last traces of the strange encounter. But the next day, she found a note in her mailbox. It was written in neat, looping handwriting: *“You shouldn’t have come.”* Clara tried to dismiss it as a prank, but the feeling lingered. That night, she dreamed of the hospital again, this time standing in the same room, but now the mirror showed her face—only it wasn’t hers. It was the woman from the mirror, smiling back at her. She began to research the hospital, digging through old records and interviews with former staff. What she found was unsettling. Patients had reported seeing their own reflections move without them, hearing voices that weren’t theirs, and waking up in unfamiliar places. Some had never left. One doctor, now retired, spoke of a patient who had gone missing after being admitted under a different name. He described the same room on the third floor, the same clock, the same cold air. “It wasn’t a normal illness,” he said. “It was something else. Something that took them… and kept them.” Clara didn’t know what to believe, but she couldn’t stop thinking about it. The hospital had become a part of her, like a wound that wouldn’t heal. She returned again and again, each visit more intense than the last. The shadows grew bolder, the whispers clearer. The mirror no longer showed her, but something watching her. And then, one night, she disappeared. No one ever found her. The hospital remained untouched, its secrets buried beneath layers of dust and time. But sometimes, when the wind blew just right, you could hear a soft voice calling out, echoing through the empty halls. A voice that sounded familiar, yet unknown. And if you listen closely, you might hear it too.