Scary stories I wrote

The Last Patient

The hospital was never fully empty, but tonight it came close. Clara, a night-shift nurse, roamed its dark, quiet hallways alone. Her coworkers had whispered about the place being haunted, about patients hearing strange noises and seeing shadows in the corners of their rooms, but Clara brushed it off. She was a rational woman, not one to fall for ghost stories.

As the clock crept toward midnight, Clara saw that only one patient remained in the wing-a man in Room 206, admitted under strange circumstances. His name was Charles, and his chart said he'd been brought in following an accident, though no one could explain what happened or how he had gotten there.

Clara checked on him occasionally throughout the night, though he lay silent, asleep, never moving. His skin was pale, almost too pale, and he seemed impossibly thin. Something about his presence felt...off. But as a nurse, she had dealt with countless patients who seemed odd or unsettled. She assured herself that Charles was just another patient and returned to her station.

Around 3 a.m., Clara decided to take a break. She poured herself a coffee and checked her phone. No new messages, no alerts. Just a sinking silence that seemed to press in on her.

Suddenly, the lights flickered. She jolted, spilling her coffee, her heart pounding. Gathering herself, Clara walked to the light switch and flipped it on and off. The flickering stopped. She took a deep breath, blaming her nerves.

But then a sound broke the silence-a faint whisper, coming from down the hall. She couldn't make out the words, but the tone was chilling, pleading. Following the sound, Clara found herself outside Room 206.

Charles lay there, his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling, his mouth moving in slow, silent words. She approached his bed cautiously.

"Are you okay, Charles?" she whispered, though she wasn't sure why she was being so quiet.

He turned his head toward her, and in a voice like a broken record, he mumbled, "I'm not...the last."

Clara took a step back. "What?"

"I'm not...the last patient," he said, more forcefully this time, his gaze piercing her own.

A cold chill ran down Clara's spine, and she turned to leave. But the door wouldn't open. She tugged harder, panic rising, but it was locked tight. She fumbled for her keys, hands shaking.

When she glanced back at Charles, his body had changed. His skin sagged, hollow, his eyes sunken deeper, his face stretched in a silent scream. His body looked as if it were decaying before her eyes.

Clara screamed, pounding on the door for help, but her voice echoed back, unheard.

Then, a low voice drifted from behind her. "You're the last patient."

She spun around and found herself face-to-face with her own reflection in the window. But it was different. Her own face looked pale, sunken, like she'd been dead for days.

The door clicked open, and the hallway was filled with shadows of former patients, staring silently. In the reflection, Clara saw a ghostly name tag on her uniform that read "Patient #207." Her hands were ice-cold, and a final wave of dread washed over her as she realized-she had never left Room 206.

As the door closed behind her, her faint whisper echoed in the empty hallway, pleading, "I'm not...the last."

(A/N): 2 More days until this book is done but I'mma make a thanksgiving drama story on the 1st

Word count not including this: 587