The old hospital on the edge of town had long been abandoned, its windows boarded up and its doors sealed with rusted chains. No one knew exactly when it had closed, but the stories that circulated among the townspeople were enough to keep most people away. Some said it was due to a mysterious outbreak, others whispered about strange experiments conducted in secret rooms. Whatever the truth, the building stood like a forgotten tomb, its silence broken only by the wind that howled through cracks in the walls. One rainy evening, a young woman named Elara found herself wandering the outskirts of the town. She had never believed in ghosts or curses, but she had always been drawn to the unknown. The local library had mentioned the hospital in passing, describing it as "a place where time seemed to stand still." Intrigued, she decided to take a look for herself. The gates creaked as she pushed them open, the iron rust clinging to her fingers. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of mildew and decay. The halls were lined with peeling paint and shattered glass, and the floorboards groaned under her weight. She moved cautiously, flashlight in hand, casting flickering shadows across the walls. In one of the empty wards, she found a patient chart left behind, its pages yellowed and brittle. The name on the top was unfamiliar, but what caught her attention was the date—over fifty years old. As she turned the page, she noticed something strange: a series of numbers written in the margin, repeated over and over. They looked like coordinates, but there was no map to match them. Curiosity drove her deeper into the building. She passed through a corridor that smelled faintly of antiseptic, though the source of the smell was nowhere to be seen. At the end of the hall, she found a door slightly ajar. Inside, a small room was filled with old medical equipment, all covered in dust. On the wall, a single clock ticked slowly, its hands frozen at 3:07. As she stepped closer, the temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Her breath came out in visible puffs, and the flashlight flickered before going out entirely. In the darkness, she heard a soft voice whispering, not in English, but in a language she couldn’t understand. It was neither comforting nor threatening, just... present. Elara stumbled back, heart pounding, and ran toward the exit. But when she reached the main hallway, everything looked different. The walls were now covered in faded photographs of patients who had once occupied the hospital. Their faces were blurred, their eyes vacant. She turned around, but the door she had entered through was gone, replaced by a new passage leading deeper into the building. She tried to retrace her steps, but every turn led her further from where she had started. The hospital felt alive, shifting and rearranging itself as if it had a mind of its own. At one point, she saw a shadow move in the distance, but when she turned, there was nothing there. Eventually, she found a stairwell that led to the basement. The air grew colder as she descended, the sound of dripping water echoing off the stone walls. At the bottom, she found a large room filled with old filing cabinets. She opened one, and inside were files labeled with names she didn’t recognize. One file, however, caught her eye—it was marked with the same numbers she had seen earlier. As she opened it, the room suddenly went silent. The only sound was the steady drip of water from the ceiling. Inside the file was a photograph of a man standing in front of the hospital, his face obscured by a mask. Below the image, a note was scrawled in shaky handwriting: "They are still here. Waiting." Elara’s hands trembled as she closed the file. She backed away slowly, but the door to the basement had vanished. Instead, a mirror stood where it should have been. In the reflection, she saw not herself, but a version of her standing in the same spot, staring back. When she turned around, the mirror was gone, and the hallway stretched endlessly in both directions. She ran, but no matter which way she went, she ended up back where she started. Time lost all meaning, and the hospital seemed to stretch beyond reality itself. At some point, she collapsed on the floor, exhausted and disoriented. She could hear voices now, overlapping and indistinct, calling her name. But they weren’t coming from the walls—they were inside her head. As she drifted into unconsciousness, she realized something chilling: she had never actually left the hospital. The town, the rain, the world outside—all of it had been a dream. And now, she was trapped within the place that had never truly been abandoned. Somewhere deep inside, the hospital waited. And it was watching.