The Last Visitor

In the quiet, overgrown town of Evershade, the old hospital had long been a place of whispered fears and forgotten memories. The buildings, now in disrepair, were a haunting reminder of the town’s once vibrant past. One rainy evening, as the storm lashed against the decrepit walls, a young woman named Eliza, seeking solitude from the turmoil of her life, decided to explore the hospital's forgotten halls.

The rain soaked her as she pushed through the rusted gates, the metal groaning under the weight of her entry. The hospital, once a place of life and hope, had now become a mausoleum of despair. The interior was dark, the lights long since extinguished, and the air was thick with the scent of decay.

Eliza's flashlight flickered against the peeling paint and dust-laden floors as she navigated the labyrinthine corridors. She had heard tales of the hospital's tragic past, of a fire that had killed many patients and staff. It was a story she had dismissed as mere superstition until now.

Her footsteps echoed in the silence, punctuated only by the distant rumble of thunder. Suddenly, she stumbled upon a door that stood slightly ajar, and, despite the eerie sensation, she pushed it open to find a waiting room bathed in a soft, eerie glow.

The room was empty, save for a single chair at the end of the room. The walls were adorned with faded portraits, each one seemingly staring at her with an expression of longing. The glow emanated from an old, ornate clock on the wall, its hands frozen at the moment the fire had claimed its victims.

Curiosity piqued, Eliza moved towards the chair. She felt a chill brush against her as she sat down, the leather creaking beneath her. She glanced at the portraits, each one more haunting than the last, and then back at the clock. It was then she noticed a figure standing at the back of the room, watching her intently.

Startled, Eliza turned to see a young woman, her eyes filled with sorrow and weariness. The woman’s dress was tattered, and her hair was matted with dust. She seemed to be waiting for something, or someone.

"Who are you?" Eliza asked, her voice trembling.

The woman turned towards her, her eyes reflecting the soft glow of the clock. "I am waiting," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Eliza's heart raced as she realized the woman was a ghost. She had heard stories of the hospital, but this was the first time she had encountered a spirit. The woman stepped forward, her presence more tangible with each step.

"Why are you here?" Eliza asked, her voice barely audible.

"To wait," the woman repeated. "For my turn to pass on. But something is holding me back."

Eliza's mind raced. She had heard of spirits being trapped in places they couldn't leave, often because of unresolved business. "What can I do to help you?"

The woman looked at her, her eyes filled with a mix of hope and despair. "I need someone to listen. To understand. To help me find peace."

Eliza felt a strange connection to the woman, as if her own sorrows mirrored those of the ghost. She nodded, determined to help the woman in any way she could.

Over the next few days, Eliza visited the waiting room every evening. She listened to the woman's story, a tale of love lost, of lives shattered, and of a fire that had consumed everything she held dear. The woman spoke of her family, of her husband, of her children, each name a stab to Eliza's heart.

As Eliza listened, she began to understand the woman's pain. She saw the fire not just as a tragedy, but as a symbol of the loss of hope and love. She realized that the woman's inability to move on was not just a matter of the spirit being trapped, but a reflection of the woman's own unresolved grief.

One evening, as the woman spoke of her children, Eliza had an idea. "You must have left something behind," she said gently. "Something that can help you find peace."

The woman's eyes filled with tears as she nodded. "There was a photo, of my children. It was destroyed in the fire."

Eliza's heart broke for the woman. She knew that photo held a piece of her soul, and that without it, she would never be able to move on.

The next day, Eliza set out to find the photo. She went to the town's archive, searching through old records and interviews with survivors. Hours passed, and as she was about to give up, she stumbled upon a mention of a box that had been recovered from the fire.

The box was in a storage facility, sealed with tape and marked "Personal Effects." Eliza paid the fee to access it, her heart pounding with anticipation. Inside the box, amidst the charred remains, she found the photo of the woman's children.

Eliza returned to the waiting room, the photo in hand. She handed it to the woman, who took it with trembling hands. Her eyes blurred with tears as she held the photo, the image of her children finally restored.

"I can go now," the woman said, her voice a mixture of relief and gratitude. "Thank you."

Eliza watched as the woman's form began to fade, the glow of the clock slowly extinguishing. As the last of her spirit faded away, Eliza felt a sense of peace wash over her.

She realized that in helping the woman, she had also helped herself. She had faced her own fears and come to terms with her own pain. The waiting room had become a place not just of haunting, but of healing.

As the storm outside subsided, Eliza left the hospital, the rain now a gentle drizzle. She knew she would never forget the woman, or the lessons she had learned. The old hospital, once a place of fear and despair, had now become a place of solace and hope.

And so, Eliza walked away from the waiting room of the dead, a little wiser and a little braver than before.