You creep through the hospital corridors. The alarm wails like a banshee, rattling your nerves raw. Your gown clings to your trembling body, slick with cold sweat. Something is wrong. You feel it crawling up your spine, closing in. You whirl, heart pounding against your ribs. In the dim light, a mirror catches your eye. Your reflection stares back—but it’s not quite right. The eyes are too wide, too empty. The lips twitch into a smile that doesn’t belong to you. You blink, and it’s gone. The hallway forks ahead. When you try to look down either passage, your vision warps, the world bending away from you. 

Your gaze lands on a huge window. Outside, a garden is strangled beneath a greenhouse overtaken by thick, black vines. Jagged thorns drip a sticky, dark red liquid that glistens like fresh blood. You shudder and turn down the right hallway instead. Almost immediately, an impossible sensation creeps over your skin—tiny hands brushing your arms and neck, cold and clammy as if crawling beneath your flesh. You snap your head around, but all you see are faint purple bruises where the hands have been. Panic blooms, but you force yourself forward. The hallway stretches endlessly, growing longer with each step. Your feet ache. Your head throbs. The alarm pounds louder, a relentless drum in your ears.

You spot another window. You dash to it, hope surging. Outside, nothing but an empty void. Suddenly, a face slams into the glass—your face. Same eyes, same hair, twisted in a sinister grin. Its teeth fall out one by one, black and broken, dripping blood. The smile widens, a nightmare made flesh. Your stomach turns, bile rising until you vomit a thick, black-red sludge onto the floor. You stumble back, gagging, the taste lingering on your tongue. The alarm wails louder. Shadows pulse, breathing with a life of their own. Your breath comes in ragged gasps as you whirl, desperate to escape. The hallway stretches, twisting, mirrors materializing along every surface. Your reflection multiplies, each one grinning wider, eyes black pits sucking the light from the corridor. You try to scream, but no sound escapes. The mirror faces ripple, and from each one, cold hands—yours, yet grotesquely distorted—reach out, clawing at your skin. Panic surges as dozens of hands latch onto your arms and legs, dragging you toward the glass. You struggle, but your body feels heavier, like sinking in thick, dark water. The reflections’ twisted smiles widen, eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction. With a final, shuddering breath, you’re pulled forward, the mirror shattering like ice beneath your skin. You slip—falling through darkness, the world dissolving into shards of fractured glass. Then silence. You open your eyes, staring out at the hospital corridor—but from the other side of the glass. Your reflection stands before you, grinning, while you remain trapped and alone, doomed to watch as it reaches out for you.