It was just supposed to be a regular day at school, one of those rainy afternoons where we waited for the world to slow down a bit. It was one of those gloomy afternoons when the rain seemed endless. We had just finished school, and like every other day, we were waiting for my dad to pick us up. I remember staring at the raindrops dancing on the pavement when my phone buzzed. It was my dad, caught in traffic, telling us to hang tight.

“Well, we’re not just going to sit here, are we?” she said, her eyes lighting up with that mischievous glint I knew all too well. “Let’s do something fun!”
“What are you thinking?” I asked, already knowing her response was bound to lead to trouble.

“The rooftop,” she whispered.
Now, the school rooftop was off-limits, strictly forbidden by management. It had been abandoned for years, and they made it very clear that no student was allowed up there. But we were kids, and the word ‘forbidden’ only fueled our curiosity.

She didn’t even have to convince me much. A little nudge, and soon we were sneaking up the dusty staircase, giggling like we were on the verge of discovering buried treasure. When we reached the top, the view was breathtaking. The rain had stopped by then, and the air felt cool and fresh. You could see the whole school yard stretching out below, drenched in rain and glistening like a forgotten painting.

I was soaking in the moment when she called out, “Hey, come here! Did you know there’s a hospital behind the school?”
A hospital? I’d been at that school for years and had never noticed. “No way,” I said, walking over to her side of the rooftop.

“You might want to see this,” she said, pointing to the back of the school grounds. And there it was—an old, run-down hospital I’d somehow missed all these years. The walls were rusting and crumbling, looking like they could collapse any moment. But here’s the strange part: it was still operational. Through the broken windows, we could see patients inside, doctors moving about, yet everything seemed… off. The place looked like it belonged in a horror movie, yet life went on within its decaying walls.

We stood there in disbelief, a mix of excitement and unease washing over us. “Let’s go check it out,” she said, eyes gleaming with that adventurous spirit. I could feel my pulse quicken. The idea of sneaking into an abandoned hospital was terrifying and thrilling at the same time.

As we leaned over the edge, trying to peek over the giant walls of the hospital, I couldn’t shake the eerie feeling creeping in. Who knows what we would’ve found if we had gone further that day? But standing on that rooftop, looking down at a place that shouldn’t exist in the way it did, felt like we had uncovered a secret the world had forgotten.

The hospital. I never noticed it before, but there it was, looming behind the giant walls. A rusty, decaying building that seemed out of place, yet somehow still functional. Without a second thought, we decided to climb over the walls and see it up close. She went first, as always, fearless and bold. “Come on,” she urged me, her voice filled with that adventurous spark I could never resist. So, I followed.

Inside, the scene was eerie. The hospital was alive with movement. Nurses rushed down the halls, patients lay in their rooms, and the smell of old, sterile air hung in the atmosphere. But it felt wrong—like everything was happening in slow motion, and we weren’t supposed to be there. Then we saw her—a woman sitting outside one of the wards, her eyes fixed on us. She didn’t blink, didn’t move, just watched as if she knew something we didn’t. A chill ran down my spine. We were still in our school uniforms, and the thought hit me: we could get caught.

“Let’s go!” I whispered, panic rising in my throat. We turned to leave, but just as we started to run, I caught something strange in the corner of my eye. The window we passed by showed no reflection—no me, no her, nothing. I froze, my body turning cold. “Did you see that?!” I asked her, my voice shaking.

She looked back, her expression unreadable as if she hadn’t seen anything at all. We ran toward the wall, desperate to escape. I managed to climb back over, heart pounding, but when I turned around, she wasn’t behind me. I saw her stop in the middle of the yard, standing still, her face blank. No fear, no urgency, just… nothing.

I looked back at the woman outside the ward. She was still there, her face twisted into a knowing smile. She smiled as if she understood something I didn’t, something terrifying. I shouted for my friend, screaming her name, but she didn’t move. She didn’t hear me. It was like I wasn’t even there. And then, as if in slow motion, she turned and walked back into the hospital.

I screamed until my throat burned, my heart pounding in my chest. Just then, my phone rang—it was my dad. Through my tears, I told him everything, begging him to come. I ran back inside the school, frantic for help. I grabbed a teacher, my dad, anyone who would listen. When we got back to the spot, there was nothing—no hospital, no woman, no sign of my friend.

I stood there, numb with disbelief. I kept telling them it was there, that I had seen it, that she was inside, but no one believed me. They said it was impossible, that there had never been a hospital behind the school. And from that day, no one saw her again. She vanished—just like that.

It’s been 20 years now, and not a day goes by when I don’t think about her. Every night, I see her in my dreams, standing at the entrance of that hospital. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, just watches me like the woman from that day. And I wake up screaming, my heart heavy with the weight of her disappearance.

Sometimes I wonder—was it just a dream? Or did we uncover something far darker, something we weren’t meant to see?

All I know is, she’s still out there, somewhere. And every night, I’m haunted by the memory of that day, the day I lost my best friend to a hospital that was never really there.