The Path

Step by step, I moved down the bustling hospital corridor. Wards lined both sides, and people in white coats darted through the doors.

Barely dodging a rushing gurney, I pressed onward.

The bright white light gradually dimmed, and the neat square ceiling lamps gave way to old rectangular fixtures, flickering erratically with an unpleasant buzz and crackle.

The corridor grew narrower, and the once-pristine surroundings were now a distant memory.

Some ward doors were ajar. Inside, I glimpsed peeling walls and wooden windows permanently sealed and patched with foam.

I kept walking. The soft carpet was replaced by cold, cracked concrete. A nurse passed by, pushing a creaky metal cart loaded with instruments. One wheel caught in a crack, and the whole contraption toppled over with a horrendous screech and crash. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her muttering curses as she picked up the bloodied tools and arranged them back on the cart.

By now, there were no wards lining the hallway. Beds with patients lay directly along the corridor, perpendicular to the walls.

I looked at the windows again. They were so dusty and opaque that nothing beyond them was visible—just faint shapes and the dim glow of neighboring buildings.

As I continued, I caught a scent—a sickly sweet stench. The smell of the gravely ill, of those nearing death. They all lay motionless, their faces contorted by disease, their eyes reflecting only despair and sorrow.

The walls had turned to stone, as if in an old museum. The space was no longer lit by lamps but by thick candles in heavy candelabras.

The melting wax barely masked the growing stench of the patients.

The farther I walked, the narrower the corridor became, and the lower the ceiling seemed to descend. The walls grew more dilapidated, and windows appeared less and less frequently.

The walls closed in so tightly that I now found myself in a cave. The patients were no longer on beds but in recesses carved directly into the stone.

The sparse light now came from torches, their soot blackening the low ceiling. I had to crouch to avoid hitting my head.

This was it. The end of my path. I had arrived.

Hunched over, I reached for the small wooden door ahead of me.

Click—the handle turned, and the door creaked open. Behind it lay nothing but darkness. Darkness and a spiral staircase leading down—to the dead.

They were already waiting for me.