Tiny

The abandoned hospital felt wrong the moment Tiny slipped through the shattered side door. She told herself it was just the chill. Or the mildew. Or the way every broken tile seemed to shift under her boots like it resented being stepped on.But deep down she knew better.

Her little flashlight jittered in her grip, the beam tracing the peeling paint and sagging curtains that lined the hallway. Patient rooms yawned open on either side of her, each one filled with that heavy, suffocating silence only old hospitals ever learn to hold. Her oversized hoodie brushed her thighs with each step, fabric whispering against the stillness, far too loud for her liking.

She kept her ears perked, tail low, breathing slow through her nose.Calm. Controlled.At least that’s how she tried to frame it to herself.

But she felt it.

The weight.The watching.

Her reflection stared back from a cracked wall mirror as she passed, the fractures slicing her shape into a dozen trembling pieces. She paused, squinting at her own warped outline, hoodie sliding off one shoulder in its usual unhelpful way.

“I’m not alone, am I…?” she mumbled through a slow exhale, as if the building might feel obligated to answer honestly.

A soft sound drifted from the far end of the corridor.

Not a creak. Not settling.A deliberate step.

Tiny’s ears snapped flat. Her tail puffed. The flashlight trembled.

She swallowed hard and pressed herself to the wall, inching forward. Her breath fogged slightly in the stale air, forming ghost-like wisps that dissolved as fast as they appeared. She tried to peer around the next corner, but the darkness clung to everything like wet cloth, swallowing her weak little flashlight beam whole.

Another sound.Closer this time.

The rhythm was wrong. Not wandering. Not curious.Pacing her. Matching her.

Stalking.

Her pulse thudded so loudly she almost missed the next noise: a quiet drag, like something brushing across tile, just out of sight.

Nope.Nope nope—

She stepped back, accidentally crunching glass beneath her heel.

The response was instant.

Footsteps erupted behind her, fast, purposeful, closing the distance with terrifying confidence.

Tiny bolted.

Her hoodie snagged once on a hanging IV pole, ripping free with a snap, sending her stumbling forward as she clutched at the fabric with one hand and her flashlight with the other. Her breath hitched, came out sharp, frantic, echoing down the corridor.

She didn’t look back.Looking back felt like an invitation.

The footsteps grew louder. Harder.Following.Hunting.

She sprinted past gurneys and overturned cabinets, tail streaming behind her like a terrified flag.

The hallway ahead split into two paths.

Left: darkness.Right: deeper darkness.

She chose one at random, boots skidding on the dusty floor as she dove around the corner.

Behind her, the footsteps hit the tile and followed.

Still chasing.Still gaining.

Tiny didn’t stop.She didn’t dare.

Because whatever was in that hospital with her was done watching.

And it had started running.