Whispers from Room 304

I swear the patients knew more than they let on. Last night, room 304 was empty.

Patient discharged that morning. But at 2 AM, the call button lit up.

I walked down that cold hallway, every footstep echoing. When I opened the door,

the bed was perfectly made. Untouched. Then I heard it. A whisper right

behind me. Help me. I spun around. Nothing. My skin went ice

cold. I backed out and checked the system. No malfunction. That room stayed

silent the rest of the night. But this morning, housekeeping found handprints on the

inside of the window. Small ones. Like a child's. The thing is, we're on the fourth