A Mysterious Patient and a Terrified Doctor: What Really Happened in That Elevator

I was wandering the hospital halls, like I often did, taking my time and minding my own business. It was a quiet night, and the hospital had its rules — patients like me were allowed to stretch our legs as long as we were back in our rooms before ten. I wasn’t in any rush.

When the elevator doors opened, I stepped inside. A doctor joined me, smiling politely as he pressed the button for the basement. I didn’t have anywhere in particular to go, and I wasn’t surprised when he looked a bit puzzled. Maybe he wondered why I didn’t press a floor myself.

As the elevator descended, it stopped and the doors slid open to reveal a man limping towards us from down the hall. There was something unsettling about the way he moved, but it didn’t seem to bother me as much as it did the doctor. In a panic, he jabbed the button to close the doors before the man could step inside.

“Why did you do that? He was just trying to use the lift,” I said, annoyed by his reaction.

The doctor’s face turned pale as he looked at me. “Did you see his wrist?” he asked, his voice shaking. “It was red. He died last night. I would know because I did his surgery.”

I couldn’t help but smile as I raised my wrist, showing him the red band wrapped around it. “Like this one?” I asked, my voice calm and knowing.