The old hospital had stood on the edge of town for over a century, its once-proud facade now weathered and cracked. No one knew exactly when it had closed, but rumors said it was abandoned after a series of strange deaths—patients who had been perfectly healthy the day before, only to be found unresponsive in their beds. The locals avoided the place, whispering about ghostly figures in white coats and the sound of distant screams that never quite reached the ears of those nearby. One autumn evening, a young journalist named Elise decided to investigate. She had heard the stories all her life, but never believed them. She wanted to write an article about the history of the building, not chase ghosts. Armed with a flashlight and a notebook, she walked through the rusted gate that creaked like a warning as she pushed it open. Inside, the air was thick with dust and the scent of mildew. Flickering lights overhead cast long shadows across the corridors. The reception desk sat empty, its wooden surface warped and covered in cobwebs. Elise moved cautiously, her footsteps echoing against the cold tile floor. She passed by rooms with broken windows and rusted medical equipment, each one more unsettling than the last. In one of the examination rooms, she found a stack of old patient records. The names were faded, but some still clung to the pages. One name caught her eye: "Mara L. 1937." She turned the page and found a note written in shaky handwriting: *She woke up screaming at midnight. No one could calm her. She died before morning.* Elise shivered. The date was over seventy years ago. As she continued deeper into the building, she noticed something strange. Every door she opened led to the same room—a small, dimly lit space with a single bed and a window that looked out onto the same barren courtyard. It was impossible, yet every time she entered, the room remained unchanged. She tried to retrace her steps, but the hallways twisted in ways that didn’t make sense. The walls seemed to shift, and the air grew colder with each step. Then, she heard a voice. Not loud, but clear, like someone speaking just beyond hearing range. “You shouldn’t be here.” She spun around, but no one was there. The hallway behind her had changed; what was once a door was now a wall. Panic rose in her chest, but she forced herself to stay calm. She pulled out her phone, only to find the screen dark and unresponsive. No signal, no light. A flicker of movement caught her eye. A figure in a nurse’s uniform stood at the end of the corridor, motionless. Elise froze. The figure slowly turned its head toward her, and for a brief moment, she saw its face—an empty, pale mask with no features. Then it vanished, leaving only the echo of soft footsteps fading into the silence. She ran, not knowing where she was going, but desperate to escape. The doors kept changing, leading her in circles. Finally, she stumbled into a large room with a high ceiling and rows of metal cabinets. In the center stood a lone chair, and on the wall was a clock that read 12:00. But when she looked at her watch, it was 3:47 AM. Elise collapsed to her knees, breath heavy. She realized then that the hospital wasn’t just a building—it was a loop, a place where time unraveled and people lost themselves. She had seen the same room over and over, trapped in a cycle that refused to let go. The whispers, the figures, the records—they were all part of something ancient, something that had been waiting for someone like her. As she sat in the darkness, a sudden gust of wind blew through the room, carrying with it the faint sound of a heartbeat. It wasn’t hers. It was slow, steady, and growing louder. And somewhere, deep within the hospital, a door creaked open.