The Echoing Asylum

The wind howled through the skeletal remains of the old Graham Asylum, carrying with it whispers only the lost could hear. The building stood abandoned for decades, its windows shattered like vacant eyes staring into the void, its walls steeped in silent secrets. Locals avoided the place, warning children not to stray near its crumbling gates, telling stories of madness that clung to its corridors like a dark stain.     Tonight, the asylum breathed again.     A single light flickered deep within the labyrinthine halls, casting elongated shadows that danced with every flicker.
Footsteps echoed faintly - hesitant, uncertain - breaking the oppressive silence. Somewhere in the darkness, a voice barely above a whisper called out, but it was not a voice of the living.    It was a voice from a broken mind, trapped in the endless echo.   And the asylum was listening.