I never liked hospitals. Not because of the needles. Not because of the blood. It was the feeling that something was always watching from the end of the hallway. I found out why after my car accident. I woke up in a hospital room sometime after midnight. My parents were still driving back from another state, so I was alone. The nurse checked my vitals and told me she would be back soon. Then she left. The door remained slightly open. For the first hour, everything was normal. Machines hummed. Fluorescent lights buzzed above me. Somewhere down the hall, a cart rolled across the floor. Then the hospital became completely silent. I pressed the call button. Nothing happened. I pressed it again. Still nothing. I looked into the hallway. Every door was open. Every room was empty. I called the nurses’ station. No answer. Then I heard a television playing somewhere nearby. I slowly stepped into the hallway. The sound was coming from the room across from mine. I looked inside. The television was on. The screen showed a security camera view of the hallway. I could see myself standing in the doorway. But there was something behind me. A tall figure. Its head was tilted toward the floor. I spun around. The hallway was empty. I looked back at the television. The figure was gone. My phone suddenly rang. It was my mother. I answered. Her voice sounded terrified. “Where are you?” “In the hospital.” “No. I mean what room?” I told her. She was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “Don’t leave your room.” I stared down the hallway. “Why?” “The hospital called me.” “What did they say?” “They said your room’s door has been opening and closing.” I looked at my room. The door was closed. “I haven’t touched it.” My mother whispered, “They said something else.” “What?” “They said the movement isn’t coming from the hallway.” I felt cold. “Then where?” She took a breath. “Inside your room.” I turned around. My bed was empty. The blanket was still pulled back from where I had been lying. Something was standing beside it. I couldn’t see its face. It was impossibly thin, with arms that reached nearly to its knees. Its feet were bare. Its skin looked gray beneath the fluorescent light. I backed away. It didn’t move. Then my phone speaker crackled. My mother whispered: “Don’t make any noise.” The thing slowly turned its head toward me. I ran. I sprinted through the hallway, past empty rooms and dark nurses’ stations. Behind me, I heard something dragging across the floor. Not footsteps. Something heavier. I reached the stairwell and slammed the door behind me. I ran down three flights before bursting into the emergency department. People were everywhere. Doctors. Nurses. Patients. I collapsed against the wall. They asked me what happened. I pointed toward the stairwell. They searched the entire hospital. Nothing. No footprints. No damaged doors. No sign that anyone had followed me. One nurse finally brought me back upstairs. My room looked exactly the same. Except for one thing. There was a wet handprint on the inside of my window. The nurse stared at it. Then she quietly pulled the curtain closed. “What is that?” She didn’t answer. Instead, she looked at me and said: “You weren’t supposed to wake up.” I laughed nervously. “What?” She walked toward the door. Before leaving, she turned around. “Your accident happened three days ago.” I stared at her. “No.” She nodded. “You’ve been unconscious ever since.” Then she left. I looked at the clock. 12:13. My phone buzzed. A text from my mother. Are you awake? I typed: Yes. Her reply came immediately. Then who has been calling me from your phone? I looked at my call history. There were eleven outgoing calls. All made from my phone. All to my mother. The first one was made three days ago. The last one was made one minute ago. I heard the hospital door open behind me. A nurse whispered my name. But the voice wasn’t coming from the hallway. It was coming from underneath my bed. #horrortok #creepy #scarystories #scary #fyp - @metaphysiko