The Corrupt

I work as a night security guard at Willowridge Memorial Hospital. It’s an old building, half of it shut down after budget cuts, and the east wing—well, let’s just say nobody goes in there.
Most nights are quiet. Just me, a couple of nurses, and the occasional late-night emergency. But last night was different.
At 2:37 AM, the hospital intercom crackled to life.
A voice I didn’t recognise whispered, "Lock the doors. Do not let them in."
I frowned, checking the security monitor. The halls were empty. No nurses at the station, no patients wandering around.
Then, movement.
Camera 4—east wing.
The screen flickered, showing a woman standing in the middle of the abandoned hallway. She was barefoot, hospital gown torn, hair hanging over her face.
She wasn’t supposed to be there.
I grabbed my flashlight and started down the hall, my radio crackling as I pressed the call button.
"Uh… did anyone bring a patient into the east wing?"
No response.
As I got closer, the hallway felt wrong. The air was thick, like stepping into a pressure chamber. Every footstep echoed, stretching out longer than it should.
Then I saw her.
She was still standing there, completely still. But something was off.
Her limbs looked… too long.
"Ma’am, you shouldn’t be here," I called out. "Are you lost?"
Slowly, her head snapped up.
Not lifted. Snapped. Like a glitch in a video.
Her eyes were wrong—too wide, too black. A jagged smile spread across her face as she whispered, "They’re coming."
The hallway lights flickered.
And then… she was gone.
Just—vanished.
My radio buzzed violently in my hand. A voice, distant, warped.
"Lock the doors. Don’t let them in. Don’t—"
A loud bang came from behind me.
I spun around. The hospital’s main doors were wide open.
And outside… in the darkness… they stood.
Thin figures, too tall, their bodies twisted like broken marionettes. Their heads twitched in unnatural angles, eyes black and soulless.
One of them lifted a hand and waved.
And then—they started running.
I ran, locking every door I could, sealing myself in the security room, my breath coming in gasps.
The monitors flickered again.
They weren’t outside anymore.
They were inside.
And they were smiling.
A nurse's scream ripped through the intercom. "HELP ME! PLEASE—!" The line cut out.
I flipped through the security feeds. Camera 2—ICU.
A nurse was running, looking back over her shoulder. Behind her, the hallway was bending—like the walls themselves were breathing.
Something long and pale slithered from the shadows, grasping at her ankles. She tripped, scrambling forward, but it dragged her back into the dark.
The camera feed cut to static.
My hands were shaking.
A soft tap tap tap echoed from the security room door.
I turned slowly.
A shadow was visible under the door.
Too tall. Too thin. Just standing there.
Then, a voice.
"We see you."
My heart slammed against my ribs. I backed away from the door, reaching for my radio, but my fingers were numb, useless.
A loud crack sounded.
The door began to bend inward.
Not from force—from something moving inside the wood. It pulsed, warping, like something on the other side was… seeping through it.
The monitors flickered again.
Every single camera showed the same thing.
Them.
In every hallway. Every room. Standing. Watching. Waiting.
And then…
They smiled.
The screen went black.
I don’t remember screaming, but I must have, because my throat felt raw. I stumbled back, my body trembling as I grabbed the only weapon I had—a rusty fire extinguisher from under the desk.
The door bulged inward.
And then—
Silence.
No tapping. No warping.
Nothing.
I stood there, frozen, heart hammering in my chest. Then the intercom crackled one last time.
A voice whispered.
"Run."
I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed my keys, slammed the security room door open, and sprinted through the hall.
The hospital was dead silent.
But I felt them.
Watching.
Waiting for me to make a mistake.
I didn’t stop running. Not until I was outside. Not until I was in my car, tires screeching against the pavement as I sped into the night.
I didn’t go back for my stuff.
I didn’t go back for anyone.
And I never will.
Because when I looked in the rearview mirror…
The hospital doors were still wide open.
And in the darkness…
They were still watching.