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SECRET CORRIDOR THRILLER
The footsteps following me sounded closer. I ran through the empty corridors of the hospital, my heart pounding with terror. Sterile lights flickered overhead, casting strange shadows along the walls, making the ordinary seem sinister. My breaths came out in rapid gasps, fogging the air in front of me in the chilled atmosphere of the abandoned wing I'd somehow wandered into.
Every sign I passed seemed to blur together, indecipherable in my panicked state. 'Emergency', 'Radiology', 'ICU'—none of it made a difference when all I could hear was the relentless pursuit of someone, or something, behind me. A chill clawed down my spine, urging my legs to move faster, though I hardly believed they could.
I turned a corner and stopped short. I had reached a dead end. The corridor terminated in a stark, unyielding wall plastered with fading warnings of asbestos and lead paint, remnants of a section long overdue for renovation. I spun around, facing the way I came, my back pressed against the cold barrier as I tried to make myself as small and as invisible as possible.
The steps grew louder, more purposeful. I searched desperately for an alcove or a door to hide in, but there was nothing—only smooth, unbroken walls and the mocking echo of my own flight. It was then that I caught sight of a slight disturbance in the air, a shimmer that shouldn't be there. Inexplicably, part of the wall seemed less the faded hazard signs appearing to waver.
With little time to consider the impossibility of what I was witnessing, I reached out. To my shock, my hand went through the wall. It was some sort of optical illusion—a holographic projection disguising an opening. I didn't hesitate, plunging through the false barrier just as the pursuer rounded the corner.
I found myself in a narrow passage, dusty and filled with the noise of clattering pipes and the distant hum of the hospital's inner workings. I didn't stop to wonder why this hidden path existed as the adrenaline carried me forward. Behind me, the sound of footsteps ceased abruptly, replaced by a low, menacing laugh.
It became apparent that my pursuer knew of this secret corridor and was toying with me, enjoying the hunt. I pushed on, driven by a primal need to survive, until daylight began seeping through the cracks ahead. An exit. Relief flooded through me, lending a final burst of energy.
Finally, I burst out into the early morning air, the hospital’s rear service area now visible. As I panted for breath, the realization dawned upon me that I might never know who—or what—had been following me through those desolate corridors, or why. But as I looked back at the innocuous-looking service door camouflaged in the building's exterior, one thing was certain: I had no intention of finding out.
From that day on, I avoided the hospital's older wing, staying firmly within the bustle of staff and patients, where the ghosts of the past couldn't reach me—where the echoes of unseen footsteps would remain forever buried beneath the everyday sounds of healing and hope.
© Kennedy Renard
#thelifeline
Every sign I passed seemed to blur together, indecipherable in my panicked state. 'Emergency', 'Radiology', 'ICU'—none of it made a difference when all I could hear was the relentless pursuit of someone, or something, behind me. A chill clawed down my spine, urging my legs to move faster, though I hardly believed they could.
I turned a corner and stopped short. I had reached a dead end. The corridor terminated in a stark, unyielding wall plastered with fading warnings of asbestos and lead paint, remnants of a section long overdue for renovation. I spun around, facing the way I came, my back pressed against the cold barrier as I tried to make myself as small and as invisible as possible.
The steps grew louder, more purposeful. I searched desperately for an alcove or a door to hide in, but there was nothing—only smooth, unbroken walls and the mocking echo of my own flight. It was then that I caught sight of a slight disturbance in the air, a shimmer that shouldn't be there. Inexplicably, part of the wall seemed less the faded hazard signs appearing to waver.
With little time to consider the impossibility of what I was witnessing, I reached out. To my shock, my hand went through the wall. It was some sort of optical illusion—a holographic projection disguising an opening. I didn't hesitate, plunging through the false barrier just as the pursuer rounded the corner.
I found myself in a narrow passage, dusty and filled with the noise of clattering pipes and the distant hum of the hospital's inner workings. I didn't stop to wonder why this hidden path existed as the adrenaline carried me forward. Behind me, the sound of footsteps ceased abruptly, replaced by a low, menacing laugh.
It became apparent that my pursuer knew of this secret corridor and was toying with me, enjoying the hunt. I pushed on, driven by a primal need to survive, until daylight began seeping through the cracks ahead. An exit. Relief flooded through me, lending a final burst of energy.
Finally, I burst out into the early morning air, the hospital’s rear service area now visible. As I panted for breath, the realization dawned upon me that I might never know who—or what—had been following me through those desolate corridors, or why. But as I looked back at the innocuous-looking service door camouflaged in the building's exterior, one thing was certain: I had no intention of finding out.
From that day on, I avoided the hospital's older wing, staying firmly within the bustle of staff and patients, where the ghosts of the past couldn't reach me—where the echoes of unseen footsteps would remain forever buried beneath the everyday sounds of healing and hope.
© Kennedy Renard
#thelifeline
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