The story
Andrés, barely seventeen, had spent his teenage summer volunteering in the emergency ward of the Hospital General de Montería. The routine was a mix of fluorescent lights, the constant din of monitors, and the smell of disinfectant that soaked into every corner. That day, however, the air felt heavier, as if the building itself were breathing with difficulty.
In the observation room, a man named Ernesto had been admitted weeks before. In life, his reputation had been as feared as the shadow of a storm: he threatened neighbors with a machete, got into brawls, and left a trail of fear. His face, weathered by violence, was now pale beneath the white sheet, and the nurse in charge described him as a difficult patient, but one who had stopped fighting the pain.
It was noon, the clock chiming twelve with a toll that echoed down the empty hallways. Andrés, sitting in the observation chair, was reviewing a patient list when a draft of freezing air swept down the corridor, even though the windows were closed. A subtle creak, like that of an old door opening by itself, came from the darkest corner of the room.
Turning his head, Andrés saw a figure he never could have imagined. It was not human; its outline was made of shadow, but its limbs looked like black mist writhing like burned wings. The eyes, two glowing coals that flashed with a light of their own, watched him with an intent that chilled his blood.
Without a word, the entity moved toward the bed where Ernesto lay. With a force that defied logic, its ethereal hands placed themselves on the man's shoulders. A tremor ran through the patient's body, and in an instant, Ernesto lifted off the mattress as if gravity had decided to forget he existed.
Andrés stood paralyzed, his heart pounding against his ribs like a war drum. The demon, making no sound, held Ernesto several inches off the floor, its shadow fingers brushing against the man's skin like a deadly caress. A whisper, barely audible, slipped through the room: "Judgment is near."
Suddenly, the figure vanished, letting Ernesto crash back down onto the sheet, seemingly lifeless, though his breathing was still ragged. The monitors emitted a sharp beep announcing the absence of a heartbeat. The nurse, upon arriving, found the young man motionless, his gaze fixed on the empty space where the shadow had been.
Two days later, the news spread among the staff: Ernesto had been found hanging in the isolation room, an improvised rope tied to the window bar. The death was ruled a suicide, but the rumor of the presence that had lifted him lingered in the hallways, like a mist that never clears.
Andrés, his skin still marked by the trembling, never crossed the door of the emergency ward again. The experience stayed with him for years, and every time the clock struck noon, a gust of cold air reminded him of the lifting of that hospital demon. He learned that the world holds shadows that only reveal themselves when daylight grows its brightest, and that astonishment may be the only key to open the door to the inexplicable.
