"Bro, if we don't die tonight, I'm unfollowing you."
Ravi's voice was already loud and cocky as I hit record. The red light blinked alive. Battery full. Night mode on. The Greenhill Sanatorium stood behind us like something that shouldn't still exist.
Three stories tall.
All windows boarded.
No security.
And somehow, still breathing.
> "Say something for the vlog, Nisha," I said.
She flipped me off, grinning.
> "Yeah—here's my last will."
---
It was supposed to be harmless.
One night.
Six friends.
One camera.
A legendary haunted hospital we'd all heard about since freshman year.
The dare was simple: Stay inside until sunrise.
Film everything.
Upload it.
Go viral.
Nobody talked about the murders. Or the missing hikers.
That was old news, right?
---
We climbed the side gate around midnight.
A cold wind hit the back of my neck as I stepped inside, camera first.
And immediately—
It felt wrong.
Not scary.
Not cursed.
Just… hollow.
Like the place had been emptied out from the inside.
---
> "Dude, this place smells like mold and death," Kavya said, covering her nose.
> "That's just your personality," Ravi muttered.
We all laughed. But it was nervous.
Thin.
---
The entrance hall was massive.
Tiles cracked under our feet.
Graffiti scrawled across the walls like it was bleeding words.
Most of it was standard:
"Die here."
"Still inside."
"Close your eyes."
But one message stopped me.
Right across the back wall, sprayed in thick black paint:
> "DON'T BRING LIGHT."
---
Ravi read it and laughed.
> "Guess ghosts are camera shy."
He aimed his flashlight at it. The paint dripped, even though it was dry.
That should've been enough to turn back.
But we kept going.
---
We explored the first floor.
Empty beds.
Rusted gurneys.
Walls crumbling like peeling skin.
I filmed it all. Night vision flickering green and gray.
Somewhere, something banged.
Everyone froze.
> "It's the wind," said Tara.
> "What wind?" Kavya hissed. "We're inside."
---
Still, we moved.
Up the stairwell.
One floor at a time.
The air got colder.
My breath started fogging—but not theirs.
And then the first real scare.
A scream.
Distant. Female.
High-pitched.
Coming from the third floor.
---
> "Was that real?" Nisha asked.
> "It's probably a prank," Ravi shrugged. "Urban explorer types."
---
But no one replied when we shouted.
No footsteps.
No retreating laughter.
Just that silence hospitals have in dreams—where every room feels like someone just died in it.
---
We reached the third floor.
The moment I crossed into the corridor, my camera glitched.
One second of static.
Then black.
When it came back—everything looked fine.
Until I noticed something behind me.
In the viewfinder only.
A person.
Just standing at the end of the hall.
---
I spun around.
Nothing.
> "What are you doing?" Kavya asked.
> "Did you not see that?"
I pointed to the camera.
But now the figure was gone.
---
> "Stop trying to Blair Witch us," Nisha snapped.
I let it go.
But I kept the camera running.
I didn't want to miss whatever happened next.
---
We found an old room marked WARD 3B.
The beds still had buckled leather straps.
Like people had been tied down.
A wheel on the ceiling spun once.
There was no fan. No vent. No draft.
Just that one motion.
Spinning.
---
Ravi pretended to scream and fall.
We laughed again.
Fake tension relief.
Then the lights we'd set up dimmed.
All four of them.
At once.
Then went out.
---
Phones stopped working.
Tara swore her watch skipped 20 minutes.
That was when we heard the footsteps.
Not ours.
Not distant.
But right behind us.
We all turned.
The corridor was empty.
But the camera?
The camera saw someone walking straight toward us.
---
Their face was blurred.
No legs.
Just that horrible motion—like dragging on water.
---
I turned off the camera and whispered,
> "We need to leave."
Everyone agreed.
But the stairwell door?
Chained.
From the inside.
---
> "Who would lock this from the third floor?" Kavya whispered.
No one answered.
Because just then—
Tara screamed.
We turned.
She was gone.
---
Only her phone remained—on the floor—still recording.
The last frame?
A close-up of her face, smiling at the camera… before it turned completely black.
---
> "She's faking," Ravi said. "This is some TikTok clout scheme."
But even he didn't sound sure.
---
We searched for her.
No signs.
Only footprints leading into a room with no windows.
No other door.
No Tara.
---
We tried the fire escape.
Rusted shut.
Elevator?
Dead.
And the hallways?
They'd changed.
Longer.
Different wall colors.
One room had a mirror that showed five of us… when only four remained.
---
> "We have to stay together," I said.
> "Where's Ravi?" Nisha asked.
We all turned.
He was gone too.
---
I reviewed the footage.
Frame by frame.
In the corner of one shot—two Ravis.
One walking behind us.
The other staring straight into the lens with dead, glassy eyes.
---
> "Something's wrong," I whispered.
> "Something is copying us."
---
The last thing I remember from that night:
Nisha turning to me, grabbing my hand, and saying:
> "If I change—kill me."
Then…
screams.
Footsteps.
Dark.
---
And now I'm here.
White walls.
Padded silence.
Every time I close my eyes, I hear the whisper:
> "You're the one who held the camera."
> "So you remember too much."
---
They said I was the only one who came out.
But I keep asking:
> "Who was behind the camera… after I dropped it?"
Because when they found the footage—
I'm in the last scene.
Staring.
Smiling.
Holding the camera.
Even though I swear—I wasn't.