The Haunted Asylum

In a quiet town, there were three friends named Gabe, Tim, and Mark who loved exploring spooky places. They called themselves The Daredevils. They had visited creepy houses, dark tunnels, and even old cemeteries, but nothing scared them enough to stop.

One evening, Tim showed the others a picture of an old asylum deep in the forest. \"I heard this place is haunted,\" Tim said with a grin.

\"Haunted or not, we have to check it out,\" Mark added.

Gabe leaned closer to the photo. The asylum looked huge, with broken windows and vines crawling up the walls. \"Are you sure this is safe?\" Gabe asked.

\"Don\'t tell me you\'re scared,\" Tim teased.

Gabe smirked. \"Of course not. Let’s go tonight.\"

The three friends packed their gear — flashlights, cameras, and snacks — and drove toward the forest. The road was narrow, and twisted through thick trees. By the time they reached the asylum, the sun had set.

The building loomed before them, dark and broken. Its windows were shattered, and the paint peeled like dry skin. A rusty gate hung crooked at the entrance.

\"This place looks worse than I imagined,\" Mark muttered.

\"Scared already?\" Tim grinned.

\"Not a chance,\" Mark replied.

They stepped inside. The air was cold, and the smell of dust and mold filled their noses. The floor creaked beneath their feet, and cobwebs clung to the ceiling.

“This place is creepy,” Gabe whispered.

\"That\'s the fun part,\" Tim said, holding up his camera.

They walked down the long, dark halls. Each room was empty and silent. Broken beds, dusty chairs, and torn curtains filled the spaces. Tim snapped pictures while Mark recorded sounds.

“Imagine if we caught a ghost voice,” Mark joked.

“I’d rather not,” Gabe muttered.

They reached a large wooden door at the end of the hallway. It was locked.

“Let’s find another way in,” Gabe said.

They explored the side of the building and found a small window.

“I’ll go first,” Gabe said. He squeezed through the narrow gap and landed inside the room. He turned back to Tim and Mark. “Come on, it’s safe.”

Just as Tim was about to climb through, the heavy wooden door behind them slammed shut with a loud bang.

“Gabe!” Tim shouted.

“I’m fine!” Gabe called back. He hurried to the door and tried to pull it open. It wouldn’t budge.

“Don\'t worry! We’ll find another way in,” Mark shouted.

“Be quick!” Gabe’s voice echoed through the cold air.

Inside the room, Gabe’s flashlight flickered. “Not now,” he muttered. He shook it, and the light dimmed even more.

Then he heard something — a faint whisper.

“Who\'s there?” Gabe called out.

The whisper grew louder — soft crying, like someone weeping. Gabe turned around, but no one was there. The sound seemed to crawl along the walls.

“Guys?” Gabe called again, his voice shaking.

Meanwhile, Tim and Mark hurried down the halls, searching for another entrance. The whispers seemed to follow them. The air grew colder, and the shadows seemed to move.

“Did you hear that?” Mark asked.

“Yeah… but let’s just keep going,” Tim said. His voice wasn’t as steady as before.

The whispers got louder, and the walls seemed to breathe. The old floor creaked, even when they stood still.

“I don’t like this,” Mark muttered.

“Me neither,” Tim admitted.

Inside the room, Gabe’s flashlight finally died. Darkness swallowed him whole.

“Please… not now,” he whispered to himself.

The crying turned into quiet sobs — several voices now, whispering and weeping. A cold breeze brushed past his face.

Suddenly, something cold touched his arm — icy fingers crawling up his sleeve.

“Stop it!” Gabe shouted, stumbling back. His voice barely carried through the air.

The sobbing grew louder. The whispers circled him like a cold wind. He felt fingers tugging at his shirt, brushing against his face.

“Help!” Gabe tried to scream, but his voice was nothing more than a whisper.

Meanwhile, Tim and Mark found another door. It was old and covered in dust. Mark reached for the handle.

“Wait,” Tim warned. “What if it’s not safe?”

Mark grabbed his arm. “Gabe’s inside. We have to try.”

They pushed the door open and rushed inside.

“Gabe?” Tim called out.

The room was empty. Old beds were scattered around, and the walls were covered in stains.

“He\'s not here,” Mark said in a shaky voice.

They searched every corner, but Gabe was gone. The whispers had stopped, and the air felt still. Only the icy chill remained.

“Where could he have gone?” Tim asked.

“I don’t know... but we need to leave,” Mark said.

They hurried back through the dark halls. The asylum seemed quieter now — too quiet. The whispers were gone, but the cold air clung to their skin.

Outside, the forest was silent. The wind had stopped, and the trees stood still.

“Where’s Gabe?” Mark asked again, his voice breaking.

Tim shook his head. “I... I don’t know.”

They reached their car and stood by the door, breathing heavily.

“We should’ve stopped him,” Mark said quietly.

“We’ll call the police,” Tim said. “They’ll find him.”

But when the police searched the asylum the next morning, they found no sign of Gabe. The room where he\'d been trapped was empty, but faint marks were scratched into the walls — small handprints, like someone had tried to claw their way out.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. Gabe’s parents hung posters all over town, but no one ever found him.

Some say the asylum claimed him, that his voice joined the whispers that echoed through the halls. Others believe he’s still inside, searching for a way out.

And the whispers? They never stopped. On cold, dark nights, people say you can still hear soft cries coming from the asylum — voices calling out for someone who is lost.

If you listen closely, one of those voices sounds just like Gabe.