Aiden Krause never thought he'd die in a condemned asylum.
As a paranormal blogger with a hundred thousand subscribers, he'd seen his share of so-called "supernatural evidence"—but the "echo phenomenon" at Pennsylvania's Danvers State Hospital was a story worth the risk.
"Alright everyone, it's two AM," Aiden whispered into his live camera. "And I am broadcasting from the main hall of Danvers State Hospital. Local legend claims you can hear the voices of former patients every night, replaying the same final ward rounds from thirty years ago."
Over three thousand people were watching live, the chat feed a blur of taunts and worried messages. Aiden swept his flashlight across a corridor littered with broken glass. Paint peeled from the walls, revealing mottled brick beneath. The air was thick with the stench of mildew and the faint, chemical ghost of disinfectant.
Doors to the patient rooms on either side stood ajar, their numbers smeared in red paint that looked disturbingly like wet blood in his flashlight's beam. The wind moaned through a broken window down the hall, a sound unnervingly close to a low sob.
"Gotta admit, this place has a genuine creep factor," he said, panning the camera around. "But we're here to be scientific. First stop, the legendary Room 304."
Online forums pinpointed Room 304 in the east wing of the third floor as the paranormal hotspot. Aiden took the rust-eaten stairs, each step echoing in the dead quiet. The paint on the handrail had long since flaked away, leaving behind the slick, cold touch of metal.
The third-floor corridor was even more oppressive. A dangling light fixture swayed overhead, casting distorted shadows as his light passed over it. Faded notices and patient charts, their dates lost to time and decay, still clung to the walls.
"See? Vintage paperwork," Aiden told the camera. "My guess is the 'echo phenomenon' is just acoustic bleed-through from the old architecture, mixed with a healthy dose of suggestion."
He followed his memory toward the east wing, his footsteps echoing in the empty hall. The door to 304 was ajar. The number was stark, the red paint looking unnervingly fresh, as if it hadn't quite dried.
Aiden pushed the door open. Inside, beyond a rusted bedframe and an overturned chair, a broken radio sat in the corner. Stranger still, its indicator light was faintly blinking, as if it still held a charge.
"This is it, the famous Room 304," he said to the camera. "Let's wait and see if we can hear those legendary voices..."
He'd barely finished the sentence when a woman's voice cut through the silence, as clear as if she were standing beside him:
"Nurse, the patient in bed 15 is missing again..."
Aiden froze. The voice was too real, too distinct. It wasn't the wind or groaning pipes. Weirder still, it seemed to emanate from the center of the room, where there was nothing at all.
The chat exploded, the feed scrolling by in a frantic, unreadable blur.
"Hold on, I'm listening..." Aiden held his breath.
A few seconds later, a man's voice joined in, rushed and tense:
"Did he run to the basement again? Find him, quick. Don't let the supervisor find out."
Footsteps followed, the sound of doors being pushed open one by one, and a faint, muffled sob. It was as if invisible people were re-enacting a thirty-year-old scene right in the room.
"Did you guys all hear that?" Aiden raised his camera. "My equipment should have picked it up... This is unbelievable."
The chat was in chaos. Some claimed they heard it, others heard nothing. But more and more people were spamming the same message:
"SOMEONE'S BEHIND YOU!"
"A WOMAN IN WHITE!"
"SHE'S WATCHING YOU!"
Aiden whipped around, his flashlight beam cutting through the space behind him. There was nothing. Just the stained walls and the radio with its blinking red light. But as he turned, the temperature in the room plunged. He could see his breath plume in a white cloud.
The voices returned, clearer this time, as if the speakers were right at his shoulder:
"Supervisor, we found number 15... He's in the mirror..."
A cold dread prickled the back of Aiden's neck. There was indeed a shattered mirror hanging on the wall, the glass a web of cracks. As his light hit it, he saw the reflection was wrong. The room in the mirror was larger than the real one, and a hazy figure seemed to be lying on the bed.
"That's... that's impossible..." he tried to speak, but his voice came out as a weak rasp.
The livestream feed began to glitch, dissolving into static. The chat became a blur. Viewers watched as Aiden swayed, as if being pulled toward the mirror by an unseen force.
The figure in the mirror sharpened: a middle-aged man in a hospital gown, his hand outstretched, mouth opening and closing silently. Aiden felt a powerful tug, as if the world on the other side of the glass was calling to him.
Just as the terrifying scene held his audience rapt, the livestream cut to black.
---
"How was that?" Aiden asked, shutting down the equipment and speaking to the shadows in the corner.
A lanky figure stepped out. It was his assistant, Mark. He was holding a small remote control, and next to him sat several speakers and a portable projector.
"Flawless!" Mark said, beaming. "They're totally freaking out. The surround sound from the hidden speakers was perfect, right? I ripped some authentic audio from a 1980s nurse's station recording."
Aiden smirked, packing up their gear. "And the projection in the mirror?"
"Ultra-thin projection film," Mark said, gesturing proudly at the broken mirror. "Slipped it on before you went live. The cracks in the glass are the perfect camouflage. The 'patient' they saw was just pre-recorded footage."
"The temperature drop was a nice touch, too," Aiden remarked as he packed.
Mark produced a small canister. "Dry ice. I timed a small release from the air vent right as you turned. Instant 'paranormal cold spot.'"
Aiden nodded, satisfied. This was his business model—a meticulously engineered "supernatural experience." Every haunting was a carefully crafted script, every scare backed by technology. His audience wanted a thrill, and he delivered the most realistic illusion possible.
"We could try a more complex script next time," Mark continued. "I was thinking, maybe use holographic projection for a more realistic 'ghost'?"
"Good idea," Aiden said, shouldering his backpack. "But remember, the key is making them believe. The tech is just a tool. The performance is everything. Bloody Mary, worlds in the mirror... the classic urban legends never get old."
Mark checked the stats on his phone. "Gift revenue's already over ten grand, and you've got three thousand new subs. The comment section is pure chaos. It's all 'OMG HE'S GONE! SOMEONE CALL THE COPS!' and 'THAT GUY IN THE MIRROR GAVE ME A HEART ATTACK!'"
They started for the exit, Mark still buzzing with ideas for the next stream. Aiden listened, already mapping out his next project. Another abandoned asylum, maybe. A cemetery, or perhaps...
"Aiden, did you hear that?" Mark asked, stopping short.
"Hear what?"
"That voice... I think it's back."
Aiden paused. All their sound equipment was off, and Mark wasn't touching the remote.
Then, the familiar female voice echoed clearly down the hall:
"Nurse, the patient in bed 15 is missing again..."
They stared at each other. This wasn't a scripted repeat. They couldn't pinpoint the source, and the quality... it was different from their recording. Ethereal, yet disturbingly real.
Mark held up the remote, his hand trembling. "I-I didn't press anything... and our gear can't produce a sound like that..."
Aiden wanted to say it was an equipment malfunction, but before he could speak, a sickening metallic groan came from the ceiling.
He looked up—and saw a massive steel beam overhead groaning, slowly descending. The rusted bolts holding it were giving way. Decades of corrosion had rendered the entire structure fatally weak. This was an effect no technology could fake.
This time, there was no script. No special effects. No performance.
Only the raw, undeniable threat of death.
"Run!" Aiden yelled.
They scrambled for the exit, but the hallway seemed to stretch before them, impossibly long. The deafening tear of metal shrieked behind them as a dozen steel beams began a chain reaction of collapse.
Aiden had just enough time to see a girder crush Mark before a slab of concrete swallowed him whole.
His last thought: *This isn't part of the show.*
And in the final second before darkness took him, he heard a voice—not a recording, not an echo, but something truly beyond nature:
"Welcome to the real world of ghost stories, Aiden Krause."
---
He didn't know how much time had passed when he opened his eyes.
He was lying on a patch of grass. Above him, a deep blue sky. The air was crisp and cold. This wasn't the asylum. It was the outskirts of some small town.
Mark was gone. In fact, he was utterly alone.
Aiden sat up, feeling his head. The impact should have been fatal, yet he was completely unharmed. Stranger still, his clothes had changed. His black hoodie was gone, replaced by a dark blue jacket with an unfamiliar silver pin on the chest.
But the most baffling thing of all was the small booklet in his hand: *A Newcomer's Guide to Blackpine Town*.