WRITER – Ethan Cole
The first rule of night duty was simple. Never sleep. Mark laughed the first time he heard that line. Not because it was funny. Because it sounded fake. Every abandoned building had stories. Old hospitals especially. Somebody always claimed they heard footsteps at night. Somebody talked about ghosts in empty hallways. Mark never believed those things. At least not before Saint Mary’s. The hospital stood outside the city near an old service road nobody used anymore. Four floors. Broken windows. Dead vines covering the walls. Even during daytime, the building looked tired. But at night it looked different. Like it already knew nobody was coming back. Paranormal Hospital Incident Mark took the job because he needed money fast. His warehouse work ended suddenly. Rent was overdue. His younger sister’s college payment was due in less than two weeks. He hated night shifts. They made his body feel strange the next morning. Like half his brain was still awake somewhere else. But bills don’t care how tired you are. At 7:30 PM, he stood outside Saint Mary’s while rainwater dripped from the broken hospital sign above him. Mr. Crane arrived a few minutes later. Thin man. Long coat. Eyes that looked permanently exhausted. Without saying much, he handed Mark a flashlight, a ring of keys, and a small notebook. “Rounds every two hours,” Crane said. “Emergency wing, pharmacy side, second floor, then back to the lobby.” Mark flipped through the notebook. Most pages were empty. But near the center, somebody had written one strange line: 1:43 AM — Heard knocking again. Mark looked up. “Knocking?” Crane took the notebook back immediately. “Old building,” he said. Then after a pause, he added quietly, “And don’t go near Room 317.” Mark almost smiled. “There it is.” Crane frowned. “What?” “Every creepy place has one forbidden room.” But Crane did not react. He just stared at the hospital like he was remembering something unpleasant. “Just stay awake,” he said softly.
By 8:00 PM, Mark was alone. The silence inside Saint Mary’s felt different from normal silence. It was the kind that makes you notice every tiny sound. Water dripping somewhere far away. Wind touching broken glass. The soft buzz of the security booth light above his head. The lobby still looked almost normal. Dusty reception desk. Plastic chairs. An old wheelchair near the elevator with one wheel bent sideways. Mark dropped his bag near the booth and checked his phone. No signal. “Perfect,” he muttered. At 8:11 PM, he wrote: Shift started. Building quiet. The first few hours were boring. Mark walked slowly through empty hallways with the flashlight hanging loose from his hand. The beam crossed old patient beds, broken ceiling panels, rusted sinks and faded medical posters peeling from the walls. One hallway still smelled strongly of bleach. That bothered him more than anything else. Hospitals were not supposed to keep smells for eight years. Around 10 PM, he climbed to the second floor. The temperature changed immediately. Not freezing. Just colder than it should have been. He checked room after room. Most were empty except for old beds and hanging curtains. One children’s room still had drawings taped to the wall. Crayon suns. Stick figure nurses. Poorly drawn animals. Mark stood there longer than expected because one drawing reminded him of something his sister used to make when she was little. Then he heard a sound above him. A slow dragging noise. Like heavy furniture being pulled across the floor. He stopped moving. The sound came again. Then silence. Mark looked toward the ceiling. “Probably pipes,” he whispered. But he didn’t fully believe it.
Paranormal Hospital Incident
Near the nurses’ station, an old calendar still hung crooked beside the wall clock. October 2017. The 14th had been circled with blue pen. Below it, somebody had written: Do not move her. Mark stared at those words for several seconds. Then he pulled out the notebook and wrote: 10:18 PM — Weird message upstairs. Probably old staff prank. He purposely added the word “probably.” It made him feel calmer. Back downstairs, he poured coffee from his thermos. Cold already. At 11:46 PM, the lights flickered once. After that, the hospital no longer felt empty. Mark noticed himself listening too carefully. Every hallway suddenly looked darker. Every doorway seemed deeper. At exactly 12:07 AM, somebody knocked. Three slow knocks. Not outside. Inside the building. Mark stood up immediately. The sound came from the main hallway. Knock. Knock. Knock. He grabbed the flashlight and walked out of the booth. “Hello?” No answer. Halfway down the corridor, he stopped near Room 109. The door was shut now. He was almost certain it had been open earlier. Mark looked through the small square glass window. For a second he thought somebody was standing right behind it. Pale face. Dark eyes. Then the flashlight reflected against the glass and the image vanished. Mark cursed under his breath. He unlocked the room. The smell inside made him step back immediately. Wet fabric. Dust. Something rotten underneath it. The room looked empty except for an old hospital bed. Then he noticed the writing near the sink. Finger marks dragged through the dust. SHE IS STILL WAITING. Mark stared at the words. Fresh. Not old. Fresh. His stomach tightened.
He searched the room again. Nothing. But when he left, he walked much faster than before. Inside the security booth, he locked the front entrance and sat heavily in the chair. His hands shook slightly while writing in the notebook. 12:15 AM — Writing found in Room 109. Possible trespasser. The old desk phone rang before he could close the notebook. Mark jumped so badly the pen slipped from his fingers. He had not even noticed the phone earlier. A dusty black landline sat near the corner of the desk. It rang again. Loud. Sharp. Mark slowly picked it up. “Hello?” At first there was only breathing. Weak breathing. Then a woman whispered, “Please don’t leave me here.” Mark froze. “What room are you in?” A crackling sound filled the line. Then she whispered, “Three seventeen.” Mark felt cold spread through his chest. Upstairs, a woman suddenly screamed. Not movie screaming. Real screaming. Painful. Short. Then silence. Mark stood near the front door trying to think clearly. Every smart thought told him to stay downstairs. But another thought kept pushing into his head. What if somebody was actually trapped there? He thought about his younger sister calling him whenever storms scared her at night. Mark grabbed the flashlight and headed upstairs.
The third floor smelled different from the rest of the hospital. Smoke. Old smoke. The hallway seemed longer somehow. At the far end stood Room 317. Chains covered the door. A heavy lock hung across the handles. Old warning tape crossed the front. DO NOT ENTER. Dark stains marked the floor beneath it. Mark stopped several feet away. Then a woman whispered from inside. “Mark…” His grip tightened around the flashlight. “How do you know my name?” “You promised.” “I don’t know you.” “You left me here.” The voice sounded weak. Human. That was the worst part. Mark heard movement behind him and turned quickly. At the far end of the hallway stood a man in a white doctor’s coat. Still. Watching. The flashlight flickered once. The figure disappeared. When Mark turned back, the chain on Room 317 hung loose. The lock rested on the floor. The door had opened slightly. Smoke drifted from the gap. “Please,” the woman whispered again. Mark knew he should leave. Instead, he stepped forward. The room looked strangely untouched. Hospital bed. Curtains. Machines near the wall. Burn marks climbed upward across the paint. Near the doorway, deep scratches covered the floorboards. Like somebody had tried desperately to crawl outside. “Evelyn?” Mark asked quietly. He did not know why he used that name.
The curtain moved slightly. Then a voice behind him said, “You should have listened.” Mark turned. Mr. Crane stood in the doorway. But he no longer looked like a security manager. Ash covered his sleeves. His face looked older now. Much older. “What happened here?” Mark asked. Crane looked at the bed for a long moment before answering. “There was a fire.” “The woman—” “Her name was Evelyn Ward.” Mark swallowed hard. “You left her here?” Crane closed his eyes. “She had surgery. She was sedated. During the evacuation somebody marked the room clear.” “You heard her knocking.” Crane’s face tightened. “I was twenty-six,” he whispered. “Smoke everywhere. Alarms. People screaming. I thought another nurse would check.” Behind the curtain, somebody started humming softly. Weak. Broken. Crane looked terrified of the sound. “She brings guards here sometimes,” he said quietly. “People carrying guilt. People who open doors.” Mark stepped backward. “What happens after they open it?” Crane looked at him with exhausted eyes. “She stops waiting.”
The curtain flew open. The bed was empty. Then the room door slammed shut. Smoke exploded from the walls. Machines started beeping. Red emergency lights flashed. The room changed around him. Cleaner walls. Working equipment. Fresh smoke. Mark looked down and realized he was lying in the hospital bed. A tube was taped into his arm. His body felt heavy. Weak. Smoke crawled under the door. Through the small glass window, he saw a younger version of Crane standing outside. Terrified. Mark tried to scream for help. Young Crane heard him. Their eyes met. Then Crane stepped backward…and disappeared into the smoke. Mark screamed until darkness swallowed everything. Morning light woke him on the floor beside the hospital bed. The room looked abandoned again. Dust. Broken machines. No smoke. No woman. The door stood open. Mark stumbled downstairs just before sunrise. At 7:40 AM, Crane arrived at the gate. The moment he saw Mark, his face changed. “You opened it,” he whispered. Mark walked toward him slowly. “How many guards?” Crane looked away. “Seven.” Mark felt sick. Seven desperate people. Seven doors opened. Crane rubbed his shaking hands together. “She won’t let me die,” he whispered. “I tried.” For the first time, Mark believed him completely. That was the worst part. He believed every word.
Mark left Saint Mary’s that morning and never returned. He moved to another town. Found work at a hardware store. Tried not to think about hospitals anymore. For a while, life became normal again. Then one night, just after midnight, Mark woke suddenly. The smell of smoke filled his apartment. At first he thought something electrical had burned. Then he heard knocking. Three slow knocks. From inside his closet. Knock. Knock. Knock. Mark sat frozen on the bed. His phone had full signal this time. He grabbed it anyway. Before the emergency call connected, a weak female voice whispered through the speaker: “Mark…” The closet door slowly opened one inch. And from the darkness inside…someone started breathing.
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