A Haunting Path to the Asylum

It started with a single note, slipped under my door at midnight.

'Find me,' it read, in shaky handwriting.

At first, I ignored it.

But then, the whispers began—soft voices calling my name when no one was there.

My reflection in the mirror lingered a second too long.

Something wanted me to follow.

And I did.

The trail led me to an abandoned asylum on the outskirts of town.

Its gates were rusted shut, but the door stood ajar, as if expecting me.

Inside, the air was thick with decay.

Faint footsteps echoed down the hall, though I was alone.

A wheelchair rolled on its own, stopping right in front of me.

I followed the sound of whispers to a room filled with old patient files.

One had my name on it—dated decades before I was born.

My hands trembled as I flipped through the pages.

A photograph fell out.

It was me, standing in this very room, wearing clothes I had never seen before.

My breath caught.

A sudden chill wrapped around me.

The walls groaned, and the door slammed shut.

Shadows stretched unnaturally, moving without a source.

A voice whispered, 'You’ve been here before.' My pulse pounded as I reached for the door.

It wouldn’t budge.

The whispers grew louder.

Then, a hand—cold and unseen—gripped my shoulder.

The lights flickered out.