The Cursed Asylum
Ethan had always been drawn to abandoned places, but Blackwood Asylum was different. It wasn’t just abandoned—it was cursed. For decades, people whispered about the screams that echoed from its crumbling halls, the shadows that moved when no one was there. The asylum had been shut down after a fire claimed the lives of dozens of patients and staff. No bodies were ever found.
One cold October night, Ethan and his friends, Sarah and Mark, decided to explore it. Armed with flashlights and a camera, they stepped through the rusted gates. The air was thick with the scent of decay. The building loomed over them, its broken windows like hollow eyes watching their every move.
Inside, the silence was suffocating. Dust covered everything, and old patient files lay scattered across the floor. As they walked through the long corridors, their footsteps echoed unnaturally. Then, they heard it—a faint whisper.
"You shouldn’t be here..."
Sarah gasped. "Did you hear that?"
Mark laughed nervously. "Probably just the wind. Let’s keep going."
They reached a room labeled Ward C. The door creaked as Ethan pushed it open. Rusted beds lined the walls, restraints still dangling from them. The air was thick with an unexplainable heaviness.
Then, their camera flickered on by itself. The screen showed static, then a shadowy figure standing in the corner of the room. But in reality, nothing was there.
Sarah screamed as something cold brushed against her neck. The whispering grew louder, turning into tortured wails. "Help us... let us out..."
The door slammed shut. Panic set in.
Mark banged on the door. "Open! Let us out!"
Suddenly, the beds started shaking violently. The overhead lights, long broken, flickered to life, casting eerie shadows on the walls. A single word appeared on the dusty mirror: RUN.
Ethan grabbed Sarah’s hand and yanked the door open. They bolted down the corridor, but the asylum wasn’t letting them leave so easily. The walls seemed to shift, the halls stretching endlessly. No matter how far they ran, they kept ending up in the same place—Ward C.
Then, they saw them. Dozens of figures in hospital gowns, their eyes hollow, their mouths twisted in silent screams. They reached out, their skeletal fingers grazing Ethan’s arm. A sharp, burning pain shot through him. He looked down—his skin was turning gray, cracking like old stone.
Sarah and Mark screamed, but their voices were drowned by the deafening wails of the spirits. Ethan felt himself being pulled into the darkness, the faces of the lost souls surrounding him. His vision blurred.
Then—silence.
Sarah and Mark found themselves outside the asylum, gasping for breath. But Ethan was gone. The gates were closed, the building standing as lifeless as ever.
They never spoke of that night again. But sometimes, when Sarah closed her eyes, she still heard the whispers.