31 Days of Horror

The air was cold, biting cold, the kind that seeped through your skin and made its way into your bones. The walls of the abandoned hospital loomed around them, tall and decaying, graffiti sprayed in violent strokes across the crumbling plaster. Rust dripped down from broken pipes like dried blood, staining the cracked tiles below. The smell of mildew mixed with something coppery—something that made their nostrils flare and stomachs churn.

The group of friends moved cautiously down the dim hallway, the narrow beam of their flashlights casting jittery, uncertain circles of light. Each step echoed in the hollow space, the sound swallowed quickly by the oppressive silence. It was as if the building itself was waiting, holding its breath. Dust swirled in the air, catching in their throats, making them cough. They tried to laugh it off, tried to pretend this was just another adventure—something fun to share on their social media later.

The main corridor split off into a series of smaller hallways, each one darker than the last. The signs above the doors were worn and faded: "Intensive Care," "Surgery Wing," "Morgue." The latter made them pause, exchanging glances that were equal parts thrill and dread. They had heard the stories—the whispers of how the patients here had suffered, how the doctors had experimented, how many had never left.

"Let’s check it out," Jason said, his voice hushed but insistent, like he was afraid of waking something that was sleeping. The others hesitated, but curiosity had its own pull, a gravity that they couldn’t resist.

The door to the morgue was ajar, a gap just wide enough to slip through. It creaked as they pushed it open, the sound reverberating through the empty hospital like a scream. The air inside was colder still, and that coppery tang in the air grew thicker, almost choking. Their flashlights swept across the room—metal tables covered in grime, the remains of old equipment scattered across the floor, and the drawers along the wall, each one large enough to fit a body.

A scuffling noise echoed down the hallway behind them, a soft, rhythmic shuffling, like bare feet on the cold tiles. Jason turned, his flashlight flickering, the narrow beam slicing through the dark. "Did you hear that?" he whispered, his voice cracking.

They all turned, the hallway behind them now a black tunnel. The shuffling grew louder, moving closer, but there was nothing there—just the darkness. Then they saw them—shadows, cast long and thin across the floor, twisting and contorting as if they belonged to bodies that weren’t there. The shadows of feet, moving towards them.

"Go," Emily hissed, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. Panic clawed at her insides, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. The shadows moved faster, stretching along the walls, their forms shifting and writhing as if alive. She grabbed Jason’s arm, pulling him, her voice nothing more than a shaky breath. "We need to go."

They stumbled back through the morgue door, slamming it behind them. The footsteps stopped. Silence. They stood there, breaths ragged, eyes wide, the beam of their flashlights trembling against the peeling paint of the walls.

"Did we just—" Jason started, but he never finished. A sharp, metallic clang echoed from the other side of the door, like something heavy had fallen—a drawer, maybe. Then another. And another. The sound reverberated, growing louder, until it felt like the whole room was shaking.

The door creaked, then shuddered, the handle rattling as if something was trying to get out. Emily stepped back, her eyes glued to the door, her stomach twisting with dread. The door burst open, slamming against the wall, the force sending flakes of plaster raining down. Her flashlight flickered, casting strange shadows as she swung it around wildly.

The drawer had slid open, halfway, then fully, metal scraping against metal, and something lay inside. Something dark, wet, and twitching. A figure, emaciated, covered in ragged clothing, its skin sallow and stained with patches of red. Its face—a hollow mask, eyeless, its mouth pulled wide, lips cracked and bleeding, an eternal scream frozen on its face.

The smell hit them like a wave—rotten, like meat left out in the sun too long, mixed with the sharp tang of iron. Jason gagged, his flashlight dropping to the floor, clattering as it rolled, its light dancing across the walls. The figure moved, its body jerking unnaturally, like a puppet pulled by unseen strings, limbs flopping, fingers twitching. It sat up, the gaping mouth splitting further, a wet, tearing sound, dark blood dripping from its lips.

A scream tore from Emily’s throat as the figure lurched forward, falling from the drawer, hitting the floor with a sickening thud. The others were already running, their footsteps echoing down the hallway, a cacophony of panicked breaths and the desperate slaps of sneakers on tile.

Emily ran, the flashlight bouncing in her grip, her heart a frantic, wild thing. She could hear it—the dragging, the scraping, the wet slap of something pulling itself along the ground behind her. She glanced back, a mistake, her light catching on the figure, now crawling, its mouth a black pit, something thick and red oozing from it as it moved.

She stumbled, falling to her knees, the cold tile scraping her skin. Hands grabbed her, pulled her up—Jason, his face pale, eyes wide with terror. They ran, the hallway stretching endlessly before them, the shadows chasing, the whispers growing louder, a chorus of agony and hunger that drowned out their screams.

The exit was close—she could see it, the doors hanging open, the night outside calling to her, promising escape, safety. Jason pushed her forward, his eyes wide, and she stumbled through the doors, the cold night air hitting her like a shock.

She turned, reaching for Jason, but he wasn’t there. The doors slammed shut, the sound echoing through the empty lot. She could see him—on the other side, the glass smeared with something dark, his face twisted in horror, the shadows enveloping him, pulling him back, the dark swallowing everything.

And then, silence. The hospital loomed before her, dark, empty, and still. The smell of blood lingered in her nostrils, the whispers still echoing in her ears, even as the night grew quiet, the wind rustling the dead leaves on the pavement. She fell to her knees, her body shaking, her eyes locked on the doors, waiting for them to open, for Jason to come through. But the hospital remained silent, a yawning, hollow place of death, and she knew, deep down, that he was gone.