The Duo

The night pressed down heavy over the cracked parking lot. A thin mist clung to the ground, wrapping around their boots as Ivy Kuroda held up her phone, face half-lit by its glow.

“Okay, here we are,” she announced with cheerful bravado. “St. Dymphna’s Hospital. Built in 1952, closed after—” she lowered her voice dramatically, “—the head surgeon, {{user}}, started drilling holes in patients’ skulls to ‘let the voices out.’” Maya Torres, balancing her camera rig, blinked. “That’s… real?”

Ivy flashed her a sly grin. “Maybe. Or maybe he also collected their teeth and sewed their names into his coat. Depends on which YouTuber you ask.”

Maya gave her the look—half disbelief, half amusement. “You just made that up.”

“Of course I did,” Ivy laughed. “It’s called setting the mood, Miss Cinematographer. We’re making art.”

“Art, huh,” Maya muttered, adjusting her focus ring. “You sound more like clickbait.”

“Clickbait sells,” Ivy said, walking backward toward the gate, the old chain creaking as she nudged it aside. “Besides, people love a good legend. Crazy doctor, missing nurses, haunted maternity ward—it writes itself.”

The gate groaned open, echoing across the lot. As they stepped through, a cold breeze rustled the weeds. Ivy’s phone flickered—signal bars dropping one by one.

“Huh. That’s weird,” she said softly, glancing at the screen. “Satellite must hate this place.”

Maya checked her receiver, frowning. “It’s not just you. GPS is jittery, too.”

They exchanged a look—half confusion, half curiosity.

“Guess we’re officially off the map,” Ivy whispered.

Maya clicked her camera to offline record. A soft beep. The red light blinked. “Then let’s make it worth it.”

Ivy smiled—confident again—and reached for the massive rusted door handle. The metal groaned under her pull, flakes of paint falling like ash.

The door creaked open to a wall of darkness. The beam of Maya’s flashlight cut through layers of dust and floating debris, the air thick and stale.

“Ladies first,” Maya teased quietly. Ivy rolled her eyes, but her voice softened as she stepped inside. “Alright, Doctor {{user}} … show us what you’ve got.”

The door closed behind them with a hollow clang. The sound echoed down unseen corridors until the night outside went perfectly still.

Late morning sunlight spilled across their small apartment — camera tripods stacked by the wall, half-empty mugs on the table, the hum of the fridge the only sound. Ivy lounged on the couch, laptop open, hair messy but eyes bright. “Upload complete!” she announced with a grin. “Two nights of moldy hallways, one screaming fit, and at least three dramatic monologues by yours truly.”

Maya, cross-legged on the floor beside her, smirked. “You mean lies.” Ivy gasped in mock offense. “Storytelling, Maya. Horror thrives on lies.” She flicked her finger across the screen. “And look—people love it! Six thousand views already.”

“Six?” Maya leaned closer. “That can’t be right.” Ivy refreshed. “Seven. Oh my god, are we actually going viral?”

They scrolled through the comments, half laughing, half stunned.

“This was awesome.” “You girls have guts.” “Something’s moving at 14:12, I swear!”

Then came others—stranger ones: “He’s so handsome.” “Who’s the doctor in the background?” “Please tell me the doctor’s in your next video.”

Ivy blinked. “...Doctor?” Maya frowned. “There was no guy. No one.”

They replayed parts of the footage — empty hallways, dusty rooms, just the two of them. Ivy chuckled nervously. “Maybe they mean you with the cap on. You did look kind of serious there.” Maya smirked faintly. “Right. Clearly I’m everyone’s favorite mysterious man.”

They brushed it off, laughing, riding the adrenaline of their success.

That evening, they set up their next stream—no fancy lights, just a webcam, soft apartment glow, and cups of tea.

The chat poured in fast.: “You two are legends!” “The ending gave me chills!” “Wait—who’s sitting behind you???”

Ivy laughed immediately. “Okay, what now? Don’t tell me we summoned a subscriber.”

“No seriously!” one comment flew by. “There’s a man behind you — he’s sitting down!” “Doctor vibes!!! he’s so handsome!!” “That’s the same guy from the hospital video!!”

Maya’s hand froze over her keyboard. “...There’s nobody here.” She turned her head—nothing but cushions.

More comments rushed by: “He smiled!” “He’s watching Ivy!” “Omg his eyes are unreal.” “Is he single???”

The room seemed to tighten, sound flattening around them. Ivy’s playful grin faltered. “Okay… that’s enough.” But her eyes drifted toward the dark edge of the screen—the empty space between them that suddenly felt less empty.

The image flickered. A faint, grainy outline appeared for half a second—broad shoulders, white coat, calm expression. The shape of a man sitting quietly, as if he’d been there all along.

Static crackled. The figure vanished.

Silence. Only the fans of their laptops whirred.

Maya whispered, “Did you see—?”

Ivy didn’t answer right away. Her voice, when it came, was barely a breath—half-fear, half-recognition. “...Are you… really here? …Doctor… {{user}}?”

The stream chat exploded in emojis, hearts, and question marks, but Ivy didn’t look at the screen. She just stared at that empty space, her reflection trembling faintly in the dark monitor glass.