Chapter 3 : Echoes
876 Words
Margaret
Thump. Thump. Thump.
I jolted awake.
The sound was too real to be part of a dream. My eyes flew open as a cold gust of air kissed my face. The windows were wide open. That couldn’t be right. I clearly remember shutting them before falling asleep. Odd. Very odd.
Shivering, I pulled the blanket tighter around me as I got up and pushed the windows closed. The wind groaned like an animal retreating, reluctant to leave. As soon as the latch clicked shut, the old telephone on the nightstand rang.
The sound sliced through the silence like a scream.
Who the hell would be calling me at this hour?
I picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
Silence.
“Hello?” I repeated, this time louder, more irritated.
Still nothing.
“Okay, if you don’t want to talk, I’m cutting the call.”
And then—
Breathing.
Heavy. Slow. Intimate.
I froze.
“Margaret,” the voice whispered. Male. Deep. Too familiar. It wrapped around my name like poison ivy around bone.
I know that voice. I’ve heard it before.
“Who is speaking?” I asked, trying to steady the shake in my voice.
“Margaret,” it said again, softer this time, more sinister.
“Tell me who you are or else I—I—”
Or else what? What could I even do? Call the police? Call someone at the Institute? What would I tell them?
“Someone’s breathing into my phone and whispering my name”?
They’d call me the patient.
“I can see you.”
Beep.
The line went dead.
My hand trembled as I lowered the receiver. It slipped from my fingers and crashed to the floor. My chest heaved, each breath sharp and shallow. I spun around, scanning the room. The corners. Under the bed. Behind the curtains.
Nothing. Just shadows.
You’re being paranoid, Margaret.
I pressed a hand to my chest, counting my heartbeats.
Then came a knock.
Knock. Knock.
Soft, but deliberate.
I jumped. My heart nearly burst out of my ribs. Maybe I woke someone up. Maybe they heard me talking.
I rushed to the door and pulled it open.
No one.
The hallway stretched out ahead of me, dimly lit and empty. I leaned out and looked left, then right. No movement. No sound. No sign of life.
Was someone playing games?
Maybe I should find Sasha. Or Derek. Or someone. Being alone in this place was starting to chip away at my sanity.
I wrapped my robe tighter and stepped into the hallway. The floor felt cold under my feet, the tiles too smooth, almost slippery. I turned left, assuming it was the direction I had come from earlier. But nothing looked familiar.
The corridor felt longer than it had earlier. Wider. The ceiling seemed higher, and the lights dimmer. Had the hallway always been this big?
I took another turn. Then another.
Each path looked like the last. Same faded wallpaper. Same flickering overhead lights. But there were differences. One hallway had lights that barely glowed. Another had a distinct smell—mildew and something metallic.
No patients. No nurses. Not even the hum of electricity.
Then I saw it.
A single door at the end of the corridor. Wooden, tall, with a worn brass knob and a small, rusted sign:
RESTRICTED
It was scratched, almost like someone had tried to claw their way in.
I reached out and turned the knob.
Locked. Of course. I sighed and stepped back.
Then came a loud c***k behind me. I turned, startled, only to see a rat darting across the hallway. My shoulders relaxed slightly.
I faced the door again.
And froze.
It was gone.
The wall was smooth. Empty. As if the door had never existed.
No. No, I had seen it. I touched it.
What the hell is happening?
I spun around, dizzy. Was this a hallucination? Sleep deprivation? I hadn’t even started the real work yet.
Ignore it. Just find someone. Anyone.
I kept walking. And walking.
Then I finally saw something new.
A door. Normal, wooden. A small brass plaque read: Medical Records.
Thank God.
I reached for the handle, but before I touched it, the door creaked open. Slowly. As if welcoming me.
I hesitated, then stepped inside.
The room was dark, but moonlight spilled in through a tall window. Filing cabinets lined the walls. Papers. Boxes. Dust motes floating like whispers.
Someone was inside.
I could feel it.
A figure stood by the far cabinet. Pale. Still.
“Hello?” I called out.
No response.
I stepped closer. The figure turned.
Their face was shadowed, but their mouth opened. And screamed.
The scream was deafening, inhuman.
I screamed too-and sat bolt upright in bed.
Sweating. Panting. Still in my room.
The windows were shut. The blanket still clutched in my hands.
A dream. Just a dream.
But it felt real.
The phone was still on the nightstand. Silent.
My robe was draped neatly over the chair. My feet were clean. No dust from the hallway.
Had I imagined it all?
I touched my chest. My heart was still racing. Then I noticed something.
My door was unlocked.
I always locked it before bed.
Always.
- Writer
