abandoned hospital

On that Thursday night, more than fifty teenagers gathered around the fence of the abandoned hospital. The air was cold, and the wind pushed the rusted metal gates, making a sharp creaking sound… a sound that felt like something was trying to come out… or get in.

From a distance, the building was completely dark—except for one window on the second floor. A window people always claimed would light up on its own, even though the place had no electricity.

The boys entered through a gap in the back fence. The moment they stepped into the courtyard, the sounds of the street disappeared—completely. It was as if the place swallowed sound itself. Even the dogs barking earlier had suddenly gone silent.

Inside the main entrance, the walls were covered in writing—some sprayed with paint, others carved in with what looked like fingernails.

One phrase kept repeating:

“Leave… before he hears you.”

And with their first step into the long hallway, they heard it.

Not screaming.

Not crying.

It was the sound of something being dragged across the floor, like a heavy body pulled from room to room.

The boys froze for a moment, fear in their eyes even if none dared admit it aloud, then kept walking. At the end of the hall, they noticed the operating room door half-open… and inside, a faint light flickering like a dying bulb.

One of them whispered, voice trembling:

“We didn’t bring flashlights… so where’s that light coming from?”

Before anyone could answer, something slammed the door from the inside, and the light went out.

One boy screamed, and suddenly they were running in every direction as they heard footsteps—not human footsteps, but many footsteps at once—moving across the ceiling.

In the middle of the chaos, a smell of smoke filled the air… fire.

But the shocking part wasn’t the fire itself.

The fire had started in a corner none of them had entered.

It climbed up the walls as if someone was pushing it upward, not like natural flames spreading.

And stranger than the fire…

was the shadow.

A tall, impossibly thin shadow moving against the direction of the flames, as if it was feeding off them.

Amid their screaming and desperate run toward the exit, they all heard a voice—one none of them ever forgot:

“Finally… you woke me up.”

They burst out into the street, some fainting from fear.

By the next morning, the place was sealed completely with concrete, cutting off all access.

But the people living in the nearby houses…

They still swear that every dawn, they see a faint light in that same second-floor window.

And on Fridays… they hear a child crying.