Chapter 8: The Door to Nowhere
Adrian's legs moved faster than his mind could keep up, his feet barely touching the ground as he sprinted down the narrow stairwell. The darkness seemed to press in from all sides, thick and suffocating, as if the very air had become a tangible thing, clawing at him with every step. His breath came in short, ragged bursts, his lungs burning from the exertion, but he couldn't stop. He wouldn't stop—not while that thing was behind him.
His mind raced as quickly as his legs. That figure... It wasn't human. No, it couldn't be. No human moved like that—flickering in and out of focus, as if reality itself was struggling to contain it. Those glowing eyes had bored into him, as if stripping away every layer of his being, exposing him to something far darker than he could comprehend.
And yet, despite his fear, a chilling thought gnawed at the edges of his mind: Why hadn't it followed him?
Adrian reached the landing, bursting through the door into the fourth-floor hallway, his breath hitching as he glanced over his shoulder. The stairwell behind him was empty, the heavy door swinging shut with a metallic thud. His legs shook with adrenaline, and his heart pounded against his ribcage like a wild drum. For a moment, everything was still.
Too still.
The hospital's silence had never felt so oppressive before, but now it was almost unbearable. Adrian took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. Whatever had happened—whatever he'd seen—he couldn't lose control. Not now. There had to be a way to stop this madness, to find answers. There *had* to be.
He scanned the corridor, his eyes landing on the door to a nearby office. The glass panel at the top of the door was shattered, jagged shards catching the dim emergency lights. Hesitating only for a second, Adrian approached the door and pushed it open, the hinges creaking ominously as he stepped inside.
The room was small and cramped, cluttered with old medical equipment and faded paperwork that hadn't been touched in years. A single desk sat in the corner, its surface covered in dust. An old computer monitor blinked on the desk, the screen casting an eerie glow in the otherwise dark room.
Adrian moved toward the desk, the soles of his shoes crunching on shards of broken glass scattered across the floor. His hands trembled as he brushed away the dust from the monitor, his fingers dancing over the keyboard. To his surprise, the screen flickered to life.
The system had already been logged in. A single file sat open on the desktop, its title glaring out at him: Patient Zero: A Case Study.
Adrian's breath caught in his throat. Patient Zero? He quickly clicked on the file, his eyes scanning the text that filled the screen.
------------------------------------------------
Patient Zero: Subject 413. Female, age 12.
Admitted: August 7, 2018.
Symptoms: Extreme catatonia, frequent hallucinations, unresponsive to all forms of treatment. Markings present on left wrist.
Psychiatric Evaluation: The subject exhibits signs of deep psychological trauma. Unclear whether these are related to external stimuli or internal disturbances. Physical manifestations of stress on the body have resulted in rapid deterioration. Unexplained phenomena have been observed, including alterations in electrical systems within the hospital, which coincide with the subject's moments of increased agitation.
------------------------------------------------
Adrian's eyes widened as he read the words. The girl... the one in Room 413. She wasn't just another patient. She was something else entirely. Marked. The word was there again, and with it, a thousand questions bubbled to the surface of Adrian's mind. But one thing was becoming disturbingly clear—whatever was happening to the hospital, it was connected to her.
He reached the end of the file, his heart sinking as he read the final line:
-----------------------------------------------
Further study of the patient is recommended. No discharge is possible at this time.
------------------------------------------------
The room seemed to grow colder as Adrian backed away from the desk. No discharge. They had been keeping her here, studying her, like some sort of experiment. But why? And what had they learned?
Adrian's hands gripped the edge of the desk, his mind spinning. He had to find a way out of here. There was no escaping the fact that he was now entangled in something far darker than he had ever imagined. His gut told him there was more—something hidden, something buried deep within the hospital's history.
Just as he turned to leave, the computer screen flickered once more, then went black. The room plunged into darkness, and Adrian's breath hitched as a low, humming noise began to vibrate through the walls. The temperature in the room plummeted, and a thick mist began to form at his feet, swirling around him like smoke.
Then, without warning, the door to the office slammed shut.
Adrian's heart jumped into his throat. He rushed to the door, grabbing the handle and twisting it, but it wouldn't budge. He pulled harder, the metal handle biting into his palm, but the door refused to open.
"Come on, come on!" he muttered through clenched teeth, pulling with all his strength. The humming grew louder, the mist swirling faster, enveloping him in a cold, suffocating grip.
Suddenly, the sound of a low, guttural whisper filled the room. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but it was there. Adrian froze, straining to hear the words, but they were impossible to understand. The whisper grew louder, more insistent, like dozens of voices speaking at once, all vying for attention.
Adrian's pulse raced as he backed away from the door, his eyes scanning the room for an escape. His gaze fell on a small vent near the floor—a possible way out. He crouched down, prying the cover off with his fingers, and without hesitation, he crawled inside, the cold metal scraping against his skin.
As he wriggled his way through the narrow vent, the whispers grew fainter, but the fear gnawed at him. He had no idea where the vent led, but it didn't matter. Anywhere was better than being trapped in that room.
The vent opened up into another part of the hospital, spilling him into an abandoned, dimly lit corridor. Adrian stood, brushing off his clothes, and looked around. The floor here was different, the walls cracked and peeling, as though this part of the hospital had been forgotten long ago.
At the far end of the hallway, a single door stood slightly ajar, a faint light flickering from within.
Adrian's stomach tightened with dread, but he had no choice. He approached the door cautiously, every instinct screaming at him to turn back, to run. But something—whether it was curiosity or desperation—pushed him forward.
He reached the door and gently pushed it open. Inside was a small, windowless room, completely bare except for a single object in the center: an old, rusted mirror.
Adrian's reflection stared back at him, distorted and warped by the cracked surface of the glass. For a moment, everything was still.
Then, slowly, his reflection smiled.
Adrian's blood ran cold. He hadn't moved, hadn't smiled, yet the figure in the mirror grinned at him—a wide, unnatural smile that stretched far beyond what was humanly possible.
Before he could react, the reflection stepped out of the mirror.