Room 508

The hospital was an empty, echoing skeleton at 3:00 AM. I was just a cleaning

guy, finishing up on the abandoned fifth floor—the one they sealed off after

the 'incident.' I was mopping a pool of stale water near the old maternity ward when the fire

alarm panel on the wall started clicking. A single, small, orange light flickered

next to room 508. False alarm, I told myself, checking my watch. Just faulty wiring.

I packed my cart, ready to leave. As I walked past the closed, peeling door of

Room 508, a sound stopped me dead. It was a faint, high-pitched,

wet cry. Like a baby. My blood turned to ice. They tore down all