The Last Patient

It was a quiet night in Galloway, a town where stories of spirits had faded like old ink. But for Dr. Evelyn Shaw, a new physician at Galloway’s abandoned psychiatric hospital, the silence felt too deep, too unnatural.

Evelyn’s transfer to the hospital had seemed routine, but on her first night, the nurse at the front desk avoided her gaze and handed her a faded, leather-bound patient file.

“This was… was meant for you, Doctor,” the nurse stammered, eyes shifting to the old file before her. “Just… don’t go to the lower floors.”

Intrigued, Evelyn took the file and opened it. The name, “Patient 999,” was scrawled in an uneven hand, alongside one chilling sentence: "Last seen on April 1, 1903. Disappeared without a trace."

She flipped through the pages. Patient 999 had been admitted for “visions” and “unexplained phenomena” that affected the staff. But soon after his arrival, the man’s presence had unnerved even the most hardened doctors. Nurses reported whispering from empty hallways, the air turning cold near his cell, and —most disturbingly—missing hours and strange gaps in their memories.

Evelyn’s curiosity tugged at her. She had never believed in hauntings, only the mind’s tricks. But something in the words clawed at her sense of logic. She put the file away and decided to explore. After all, this was a hospital, not a crypt.

The corridors stretched long and shadowy, with the sterile glow of her flashlight cutting through the dust and darkness. Every few steps, she saw glimpses of things out of the corner of her eye—a figure, a flicker of movement. She pressed on, convincing herself it was her imagination.

As Evelyn reached the door leading to the basement, she felt an intense chill, and the lights flickered. The silence thickened, pressing down around her, almost suffocating. But her curiosity was relentless, so she braced herself and opened the door.

The stairs seemed endless, spiraling down, deeper than they should have gone. The farther she descended, the heavier her breathing became, until she felt as though the walls themselves were closing in.

The basement corridor was lined with cells—each one marked with a different number, and each filled with a thick, unyielding darkness. As she walked past, she swore she heard whispers from behind the barred doors.

And then she reached it: Cell 999. The door hung ajar, swaying slightly, though there was no breeze. Heart pounding, she pushed it open further.

Inside, an iron bed frame stood rusting, and the floor was covered in strange symbols scratched into the stone. And sitting in the corner, in an impossible shadow that seemed to devour her flashlight beam, was the shape of a man.

“Dr. Shaw,” the voice rasped, each syllable stretching unnaturally. She froze as the shadow began to move, slowly rising to its full height, taller and more twisted than any person should be.

“Who… who are you?” Evelyn managed to whisper, her voice trembling.

“I am your future, Doctor,” the voice replied, its tone filled with bitter satisfaction. “You are here to take my place. That was the deal.”

“What… deal?” she stammered, taking a step back.

The shadow advanced, and as it did, Evelyn felt memories slipping away, slipping as though water down a drain. Her family, her friends, her past—all dissolving, leaving only darkness.

“They did this to me. They left me here to rot,” the voice continued, now inside her mind. “Now, I walk free, and you... you will take my place.”

“No!” she screamed, but it was as though her voice had been swallowed by the walls.

Her flashlight flickered and died, and the cold darkness closed in. She stumbled back, but as she turned to flee, her feet rooted to the ground, as though the stone itself held her captive.

And then, just before her vision faded entirely, she saw him—the tall, twisted figure, cloaked in shadows, stepping past her, taking her life as his own.

Three days later, a nurse found Dr. Evelyn Shaw’s file on the reception desk. The old, weathered leather now bore a fresh name under "Patient 999."

And each night since, in the corridors of Galloway’s psychiatric hospital, a lone figure is seen standing in the basement, staring into the empty darkness, silent but for the faintest, fractured whisper:

"Let me out."