The old hospital stood on the edge of Bengaluru like a decaying tooth, a forgotten relic swallowed by the city's relentless expansion. Locals whispered stories of its hasty abandonment decades ago, tales laced with rumors of strange experiments and unexplained deaths. They called it St. Agnes, though no saint's name felt more ill-fitting.
Arjun adjusted the strap of his worn-out backpack, the cool evening air raising goosebumps on his arms despite the lingering heat of the day. He wasn't superstitious, not really. But the rusted gates of St. Agnes creaking open under his touch sent a shiver down his spine that had nothing to do with logic.
His mission was simple, if foolish: explore St. Agnes. His online channel, "Urban Scrawl," thrived on these kinds of reckless ventures. Tonight's video promised to be his most daring yet.
He clicked on his headlamp, the beam cutting a shaky swathe through the overgrown courtyard. Weeds clawed at the crumbling pathways, and the silence was thick, broken only by the occasional rustle in the undergrowth – probably rats, he told himself. Just rats.
The main doors, surprisingly, weren't locked. A gust of stale, musty air greeted him as he stepped inside the reception hall. Dust lay heavy on everything, a ghostly shroud over the peeling paint and overturned furniture. The air smelled of disuse and something else… something faintly metallic and unsettling.
"Alright, Scrawlers," Arjun murmured to the camera mounted on his chest, his voice echoing eerily in the vast space. "Tonight, we're delving into the heart of St. Agnes. Let's see if the legends are true."
He moved deeper into the hospital, the beam of his headlamp revealing long, shadowy corridors lined with empty rooms. The silence here was oppressive, amplifying the sound of his own breathing, the soft crunch of debris under his boots. Each footstep felt like a transgression.
He found a ward, the skeletal remains of beds lined up like forgotten soldiers. In one corner, a child's rocking horse lay on its side, coated in a thick layer of dust. A prickle of unease ran down Arjun's neck. This place felt… wrong.
Then, it happened.
His headlamp flickered.
"Come on, not now," he muttered, tapping the side of the lamp. It sputtered back to life, but the beam was weaker, distorted.
He continued down the corridor, the flickering light casting dancing shadows that played tricks on his eyes. He could have sworn he saw a fleeting movement at the end of the hallway, a dark shape disappearing into a room.
"Hello?" he called out, his voice barely a whisper. Only the echoing silence answered.
He told himself it was his imagination, the low battery playing with his perception. But the feeling of being watched intensified. He spun around, his headlamp beam sweeping across the empty corridor. Nothing.
He pushed open the door to what looked like a doctor's office. A decaying desk stood in the center of the room, papers scattered across its surface like fallen leaves. As he focused his headlamp on a particular document, a handwritten note, the light flickered violently and died completely.
Darkness. Absolute, suffocating darkness.
Arjun's heart hammered against his ribs. He fumbled for his phone, his hands shaking. The screen flickered to life, casting a weak, inadequate glow.
"Okay, okay, just a dead battery," he told himself, his voice trembling slightly. He had a spare battery in his backpack.
As he reached for his bag, a new sound pierced the silence. A soft, rhythmic drip… drip… drip…
It seemed to be coming from the corner of the room.
He slowly turned his phone's light towards the sound. The beam illuminated a dark stain spreading across the ceiling, and a single drop of thick, black liquid detached itself and fell with a sickening plop onto the dusty floor.
Arjun froze. It didn't smell like water.
Then, the phone screen glitched. Lines of static flashed across the display, momentarily obscuring the weak light. When the image returned, something was different.
In the periphery of the dim light, he could have sworn he saw a shape. Tall. Gaunt. Unnaturally still.
He blinked, trying to clear his vision. But the glitch returned, a jarring flicker of static, and when it cleared again… the shape was closer.
A cold dread washed over Arjun, a primal fear that transcended logic and superstition. This wasn't just an abandoned hospital. Something was here. Something dark. Something that didn't want him here.
His breath hitched in his throat. He wanted to run, to bolt out of this cursed place. But his feet felt rooted to the floor.
The phone screen flickered again, the static more intense this time. And in that brief, distorted glimpse, Arjun saw it clearly.
A face. Gaunt, pale, with eyes that seemed to absorb the light, reflecting nothing but an ancient, malevolent hunger.
The glitch ended. The phone screen returned to normal, illuminating the empty corner.
But Arjun knew. It was there. He could feel it. The air grew colder, heavier. A faint whisper seemed to brush against his ear, a sibilant sound he couldn't quite decipher.
Then, the phone glitched one last time. And this time, when the static cleared, the screen was black. Dead.
Arjun was alone. In the dark. With whatever was in St. Agnes. And he had the terrifying feeling that it was no longer content to remain hidden.