The Old Hospital

A man, bleeding from a gunshot wound walks into a tall brick building. He screams for help, and two nurses rush out from a pair of swinging doors.

“Relax, sir,” one of them tells him. “We will take care of you right away.”

They lift him onto a stretcher and wheel him down a long hallway, full of typical-looking waiting rooms. However, from the rooms he can hear the sounds of muffled moans and the soft crunching of bones.

“What is going on in here?” he asked, panicking.

“We’re taking you to be taken care of,” a nurse said with a grin.

“The hell you are,” he shouted at he rolled off the stretcher and onto the floor, landing on his wound. “What kind of hospital is this? You’re supposed to heal people in a hospital, not kill them.

He backed up against a room and stole a glance into it. There, in a chair, a man with a rash could be seen being torn apart by hands that protruded from the walls and then pulled into the walls themselves.

“What is this?” he screamed as the nurses surrounded him and pulled out a syringe full of clear liquid. He struggled as they injected it into him.

As his vision began to fade, he muttered, “This is a horrible hospital.”

“Who said anything about this being a hospital?” the nurse asked. “This place just likes eating the weak.”