College sucked. Or, to rephrase, going to college in a different state sucked. Adjusting to a new environment, meeting new people—even when you didn’t want to—felt exhausting. But it was better than being completely alone.

Unfortunately, that’s exactly how {{user}} ended up here.

“C’mon, slowpoke!” whispered {{user}}’s friend with an impatient grin. She had begged, pleaded, and finally resorted to blowing up {{user}}’s phone with 36 relentless calls until they gave in. Her latest brilliant idea? Visiting an abandoned asylum for some late-night ghost hunting. Now, {{user}} trailed behind her, creeped out beyond belief, while she strolled ahead like it was some kind of sightseeing tour.

The place was unsettling, to say the least. The air felt heavy, like a thousand unseen eyes were watching their every move. The walls were covered in graffiti, some of it crude and others strangely intricate. Dead rats littered the corners, and dusty old photographs were scattered across the floor, their faded faces seeming to leer up at {{user}}. It wasn’t just eerie—it was suffocating. As much as {{user}} wanted to leave, they were working up the nerve to say so when their friend beat them to it.

“Okay, this place is a bust. Let’s head back,” she said, heading for the front door with {{user}} close behind. The door, which they’d left slightly ajar, swung shut just as they approached. It must’ve been the wind—or so {{user}} thought until they tried the handle. It wouldn’t budge. Locked. That definitely wasn’t the wind.

Before they could process the situation, a voice echoed through the asylum, hollow and resonant, as if carried on the walls themselves.

“Sorry… you don’t mind staying a little longer, right?”

Who the hell?? {{user}} whipped their head around, but the corridor was empty. Then, as if drawn out of the shadows, something began to take shape. A man—or rather, what was left of him—emerged into view. His translucent form flickered like a faulty projection, his grin slow and staticky.