Chapter 1
A faint electrical crackle ran continuously through the room, occasionally interrupted by heavier thuds that broke the oppressive silence. It came from the faulty ceiling light—the only one still working. From time to time, it shut off with a sharp, echoing clack, then flickered back on a few seconds later.
Clack… just like that.
It had come back on, casting its weak light over a man sleeping beneath it on a dirty, worn-out mattress. A man in his fifties, with graying hair and a beard.
He woke, slowly opening his eyes, with no idea where he was—or how long that strange rhythm had been going on.
He pushed himself up with his right hand, then brought the other to his stomach. His face tightened, as though the gesture had twisted something inside him. A bead of sweat rolled down his wrinkled forehead…
Still sitting there, his face marked by pain, he began to scan the room.
A place just as decrepit as the bed he lay in, with its rusted frame.
The walls were decayed and yellowed. The ceiling looked ready to collapse at any moment. Panels hung half-detached in places, while others lay scattered across the floor among all kinds of debris—shards of glass, burnt fabric, and God knows what else. As if a hurricane had torn through the place, leaving it abandoned in haste long ago.
A foul odor lingered in the air, seeping into the walls and even the fabrics. A harsh mixture of sewage and dried blood. The exposed rusted pipes along the wall ahead of him, and the brownish stains everywhere, were likely responsible.
His jaw tightened in instinctive disgust.
Clack—the light went out again, plunging him back into darkness.
What the hell… he thought, staring into the blackened room.
Where am I?
His body tensed suddenly. A mix of shock and fear tightened in his chest, forcing him to swallow hard.
Clack.
The ceiling light flickered back on, revealing the dried blood stains on his clothes—his T-shirt and jeans.
Damn…
A nightmare. That was it. It had to be a nightmare. None of this made any sense. He searched his memory, trying to understand how he could have ended up here.
A faint luminous halo suddenly surfaced in his mind…
Clack.
Another light shut off—this time not the one in his room. The sound came from the corridor outside.
His gaze shifted toward the door. It stood half-open, almost destroyed, hanging on a single hinge. Its plexiglass window was cracked, as if something had violently smashed through it, sending it into the wall behind.
Beyond it, the corridor was dark and silent, heavy with neglect. Almost nothing could be seen from the bed. Only intermittent flickers of light. Farther down the hall, a ceiling lamp blinked sporadically, disturbing the stillness of the dark.
“Is anyone there?”
He clenched his teeth, trying to see further into the gloom. He wanted an answer—and at the same time, feared it.
“Hey… is anyone there?” he repeated anyway.
Nothing. Absolute, unbroken silence.
A dull anxiety crept in, sending a cold sweat down his neck.
He lowered his head and exhaled slowly, as if gathering courage, then finally stood up. The smell of rotten eggs still stung his nose, making him slightly nauseous. He glanced again at the floor—strewn with dark stains, debris, and decay. He had never seen anything like it. A forgotten cesspit, left behind for no one except society’s castoffs.
“Okay,” he muttered, lifting his head toward the exit, lips tightening under his graying beard.
Then he stepped forward and leaned out into the corridor, holding onto the rotting wooden frame.
“Is anyone there?” he shouted again, gripping the edge of his shirt tightly. He imagined one of those outcasts jumping him without warning…
Clack.
Still no answer.
Only the corridor light near his room flickered back on, as if responding to him, briefly revealing more of the surroundings.
The hallway was no more welcoming than the room—damaged panels, stains everywhere, debris scattered across the floor. A few meters to the left stood an old rolling gurney, rusted like the hull of a ship abandoned for decades. The only relief was that the smell was slightly less intense here—perhaps because the space was less confined.
A hospital?
He frowned.
“What the hell is this place? What am I doing here?”
Clack.
The unstable light behind him went out again, plunging the abandoned room back into darkness.
There must be someone here…
He clenched his fists and took a deep breath. This had to be the most dangerous place he had ever been. Calling for help seemed pointless here.
“Alright.”
He stepped into the corridor, passed the gurney, and walked a few meters further until he reached the nurses’ station—a counter shaped like an L, opening onto a perpendicular hallway.
The place was just as filthy and abandoned as everything else. To the left of the station stood an elevator with yellowed, stained doors—blood again… but also strange blackish smears. Something unidentifiable. The entire surface formed a grotesque, nauseating mosaic.
What the hell happened here? he thought, trembling.
Whatever had taken place, it had not been pleasant.
The atmosphere was heavy. The stagnant air and lingering stench amplified his anxiety. No one normal had any business being here. His heart was already beating faster as he took in the decay of these lifeless corridors. The deathly silence, broken only by the constant crackle of flickering lights, seemed endless. He felt completely alone, completely lost.
The hairs on his arms stood up.
“Hello? Anyone there?” he shouted again, looking down the corridor from the nurses’ station.
Still nothing. Not even a junkie, the kind of figure he half-expected to leap out with a knife.
He ran a hand through his hair, then gripped his graying strands. The emptiness of the place might have been even worse.
He was starting to panic now—unusual for him, but undeniable. His wide eyes scanned the corridor desperately, searching for any sign of life.
Nothing.
Ring.
The phone on the corner of the counter suddenly rang, startling him so badly he jumped.
“Shit!” he blurted out.
Ring.
“What the…?”
It still worked? Here?
What did that even mean? And who would call a place like this?
There was only one way to find out.
He stepped forward cautiously, as if afraid it might lunge at him. Then, taking a deep breath, he picked up the dusty receiver with trembling hands.
“H-hello?”
On the other end, the line sounded sick—nothing but static, broken by irregular hissing. The signal was terrible, though not surprising given the place. What was more disturbing was that there was still a line at all.
“H-hello?” he repeated.
The static suddenly shifted into a strange signal.
Beep… Beep… Beep…
A steady rhythm—like that of a medical device monitoring a patient clinging to life.
“Jesus… what the hell is this?” he muttered, his composure slipping.
“What is your problem?!” he shouted, slamming his fist on the counter.
It felt like someone was playing a cruel joke on him.
That was the only logical explanation.
He wasn’t the type to believe in supernatural nonsense.
Bang!
A deafening crash made him drop the receiver. It swung from the counter like a twitching snake, the only moving thing in this dead place.
Bang!
No—there was something else moving.
And it was striking hard.
Bang!
“Shit!” he shouted again, jolting at the sound that cut through the silence.
The impact came from the perpendicular corridor. About twenty meters away, two large doors stood, barely visible in the darkness.
Bang!
The sound echoed like a bell.
He was certain now.
No doubt remained.
It came from there.
Someone was behind those doors, trying to get out—hammering them with all their strength.
