Chapter 14 : The Patient in Room ¹⁹
**Chapter 14: The Patient in Room 19**
The door to Room 19 groaned as Daniel pushed it open. The hinges protested, the sound scraping through the empty hall like a whispered warning. The air inside was stale—thick with dust, mildew, and something sharper. The faint scent of antiseptic still lingered, as if the room had been abandoned in a hurry, yet never truly emptied.
Daniel stepped inside. The moment he did, something shifted.
It wasn't just the air. It was the room itself.
For a fraction of a second, it felt larger. Like the walls had stretched, distorting the space. Then it was gone, snapping back into place so quickly he almost questioned if he had imagined it.
But he knew better.
He hadn't.
---
### **The Room That Shouldn't Exist**
The room was empty. No hospital bed, no medical equipment, no records. Just a single desk pushed against the wall, its surface scarred with deep gouges. A single chair sat across from it, turned slightly toward the door.
Waiting.
Daniel's eyes narrowed. This wasn't a patient's room. It felt wrong. More like an interrogation room.
His fingers twitched at his side. He approached the desk carefully, every step slow, measured. The floor creaked beneath his weight, the sound echoing unnaturally loud in the silence.
A single folder lay in the center.
Its edges were yellowed, the paper inside crumpled and frayed. The label on the front was faded, almost illegible, but he could still make out two words.
> Patient: [REDACTED]
Daniel exhaled sharply. The name had been erased.
He flipped it open. The first page was missing, ripped out completely. The remaining sheets were filled with medical notes—treatment records, psychological evaluations—but the handwriting kept changing.
Like multiple people had worked on this file.
Like it had been rewritten.
---
### **A File That Won't Stay the Same**
Daniel's eyes scanned the remaining pages.
One sentence stood out. Burned into his mind.
> "Patient exhibits severe memory fragmentation. Name recognition unstable."
His grip on the folder tightened.
Name recognition unstable.
Daniel turned to the next page. His breath caught.
A name was there. Faint. Scratched out—but he could still read it.
> Elias Wren.
A chill wrapped around his spine.
He had seen this name before.
On the flickering patient files. On the tape recording. In his own mind.
He turned another page. Another name.
> Daniel Whitaker.
His stomach lurched.
Both names. Side by side.
He swallowed hard.
Was he the patient?
Or the doctor?
His vision blurred. His hands trembled. The letters on the page shifted.
Then—
A whisper.
So close, right behind him.
> "You shouldn't be here."
---
### **The Presence Watching Him**
Daniel spun around.
The chair was no longer empty.
A figure sat there now, motionless.
Not a person. A shadow.
The dim light flickered, making its edges ripple like smoke. But he could see the shape of it. The outline of a body.
It wasn't there before.
It had been waiting.
His chest tightened. His mind screamed at him to move, to run. But his body refused.
The whispers grew louder.
The chair creaked. The shadow shifted, leaning forward.
A hand pressed against the desk.
Daniel's breath hitched.
The fingers were long, too thin, too sharp. The nails scraped against the wood, leaving deep grooves in the surface.
And then—
The shadow spoke.
Its voice was low, distorted, like it was coming from the depths of the room itself.
> "You're not ready."
Daniel's pulse slammed into his ribs. His vision blurred. His head pounded. The light flickered violently. The room itself twisted, folding in on itself like a memory trying to erase.
And then—
The file in Daniel's hand changed.
The text on the paper began to rewrite itself.
The letters shifting. Twisting.
One single sentence formed.
> "He remembers too much."
---
### **The Room Reacts**
The shadow leaned closer.
Its face was still a void, but for a moment, Daniel thought he saw something—a flicker of recognition. A face that looked like his own.
The whispers grew louder, overlapping, until they became a cacophony of voices.
> "You weren't supposed to find this."
> "They're coming for you."
> "You're already too late."
Daniel stumbled back, his hands clutching the file. The room seemed to pulse around him, the walls breathing, the floor tilting beneath his feet.
The shadow stood.
Its form stretched, towering over him, its edges bleeding into the darkness.
The lightbulb above shattered, plunging the room into complete darkness.
Daniel's breath came in short, panicked gasps. He fumbled for the door, his hands slick with sweat, but the handle wouldn't budge. It was cold, unyielding, as if the room itself was holding him captive.
The whispers stopped.
The silence was deafening.
And then—
A single word, spoken directly into his mind.
> "Run."
The lights snapped back on.
Daniel gasped, shielding his eyes against the sudden brightness.
The room was empty again.
The chair was back in its place. The file was closed on the desk, its contents neatly arranged.
But Daniel knew better.
He wasn't alone.
And whoever—or whatever—was in this room with him, it wasn't going to let him leave.