Shadows and Apparitions: The Final Hours
But as the night wore on, the asylum itself seemed to grow more vivid. Shadows capered and leapt at the edges of my perception, flitting around doors or corners only to be seen when I was not quite focused on their direction. Several times, a cold draft touched my skin, although no doors or windows nearby were open. I felt that I was watched, that something observed me in minute detail; I never saw anyone.
The strangest and most disturbing moment is when I entered the old wing of the hospital at around 4 a.m. I was standing near one patient’s door, as there were very few rooms already opened at that time, and listened attentively to a soft humming noise like somebody is to lull a baby to sleep. The humming noise grew louder as I got closer to the room, but when I entered it, it was dead silent. The room was vacant yet the air was oppressive, heavy with a strange feeling, as if something I couldn’t see was sharing the space with me.
It was as if the asylum calmed down by the time the first light of dawn started creeping through the windows. The unsettling sounds and movements that had seemed to envelop the night ceaselessly subsided, and the stifling feeling that hung in the air all through the night began to disintegrate. I survived the night, but left the building with more questions than answers.
