The Last Patient - Reddit Horror Stories

The Last Patient - Reddit Horror Stories

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
I worked nights as a nurse in a small hospital
in northern Michigan. I'm not going to name it for
obvious reasons, but anyone from around here could probably guess.
I've been on the night shift for four years, and
you get used to a lot of strange sounds when
a building is that old pipes, rattling vents, groaning, machines

(00:22):
beeping for no reason. But what happened last winter wasn't
just noise. I was covering a quiet wing, one of
those long hauls with maybe a dozen patient rooms. By
one am, most patients were asleep, monitors steady, no alarms
going off. The only occupied rooms were one two, one

(00:43):
O six, and one one one. Room one oh nine
was empty. We discharged the patient earlier that day, at
around one thirty, I was doing paperwork at the nurses
station when I heard it, the sound of the call
button buzzing. I glanced at the monitor Room one O nine.

(01:05):
I frowned, checked the chart, nobody assigned. I figured maybe
someone hit the button by mistake during cleaning, so I
grabbed my tablet and walked down the hall. The light
outside one O nine was on the little red signal.
The mental patient had pressed the button. I opened the door.

(01:25):
The room was dark, bed stripped bare, just the standard
chair in the corner. Nothing. I switched off the light
and went back to the desk. Fifteen minutes later, buzz
Room one O nine again. This time I felt my
stomach twist still. I walked back, same thing, empty, room,

(01:47):
lights on. But when I looked closer, I realized something.
The chair in the corner had moved. It was angled
toward the bed. I hadn't touched it earlier. I pulled
it back against the wall and left fast. Around three
a m. I heard footsteps, soft, steady down the hall.

(02:09):
I peeked out from the station, expecting maybe a patient
who'd gotten confused and wandered out. The hallway was empty,
but the footsteps didn't stop. They echoed circling the hall,
slow and deliberate, until finally they stopped right in front
of room one O nine. Then the call button buzzed again.

(02:31):
This time I didn't go inside. I radiosed security. When
the guard showed up, I told him what was happening.
He rolled his eyes, walked straight into one O nine
and flipped on the lights empty. He checked the closet,
the bathroom under the bed nothing. He shrugged, told me

(02:53):
it was probably a wiring glitch. He left. I sat
at the desk, trying to convince myself he was right.
But when I looked down at the log book, my
skin went cold. On the page for Room one o nine,
in handwriting I didn't recognize was a single word stay.
I swear I hadn't written it. By four am, I

(03:16):
was jumpy at every sound. I kept checking the rooms
one O two and one O six were fine. Patients
asleep in one hundred eleven. The older man inside was awake,
staring at me. When I passed, he called me over
you hear it too, don't you? He whispered? My mouth

(03:37):
went dry. Hear what the man in one hundred and
nine he keeps walking? I wanted to ask more, but
the monitor in his room beeped, pulling me back to reality.
By the time I looked again, he had rolled over,
eyes shut tight. At four point thirty, the power cut
out in that entire wing, just so islands darkness and

(04:02):
the low emergency lights glowing red in the hallway. I
sat frozen. That's when I heard the door of Room
one O nine slowly creak open. Not slam, not swing,
just creak inch by inch. I wanted to run, but
my legs wouldn't move. The red light flickered, and in

(04:23):
that stuttering glow, I swear I saw a figure step
half way out, thin, tall, leaning slightly like it wasn't
used to standing, and then it was gone. When the
lights came back on, the door was shut. I went inside, yes,
against every instinct in my body, and the chair was

(04:45):
facing the bed again. But now the bed wasn't bare.
The sheets had been pulled up, tucked in perfectly neat,
like someone was lying under them. I didn't touch them.
I couldn't. The next morning, I reported everything to my supervisor.
She listened quietly, then said, you're not the first to

(05:09):
complain about that room. I asked what she meant. She
wouldn't answer, just said, we don't assign patients to one
O nine unless we have no choice. Since that night,
I've refused to cover that hale. I've swapped shifts, begged
co workers, even risked getting written up. But here's the
worst part. Two weeks ago, I was charting in a

(05:32):
completely different wing when the call button light blinked on.
I looked down at the panel Room one O nine.
That room was on the other side of the hospital,
nowhere near me. Still, the light buzzed, and even though
I couldn't hear it, I knew in that moment what

(05:52):
I'd find if I walked down there. A chair turned toward,
the bed sheets tucked in wait, and maybe this time
whatever is lying under them won't stay still.