The October Corridor

I had never been particularly sensitive to the supernatural. Growing up, I was the one who slept with the lights off and never felt a chill run down my spine. My friends would swap stories about ghosts and entities they’d seen, their third eyes wide open, but I remained a skeptic, an ordinary girl on the outside looking in. All that changed during the autumn of 2018, when I was a junior at Halverton University, enrolled in the nursing program.

That morning, the campus was bathed in a crisp, golden light, the kind that promises a beautiful day. But I wasn’t there for the scenery. It was the first day of registration for the spring semester, and as a part of the program’s requirements, I had to complete a medical examination at the affiliated St. Jude’s Hospital. The line at the hospital’s outpatient wing was brutally long, snaking through the corridors, so I decided to head to the university’s health center, hoping to check if my results had been processed.

The health center was tucked away in the basement of the old science building, a place that always seemed to be a few degrees colder than the rest of campus. I pushed open the door, and the fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting a pale glow over the linoleum floor. My friend Anya was already there, sitting on a plastic chair right in front of the reception window. She looked up and waved me over.

‘I saved you a seat,’ she said, patting the chair next to her. ‘The nurse said the results would be in by noon.’

I sat down, and we fell into easy conversation, catching up on the semester’s gossip and the upcoming exams. After a while, I felt a familiar pressure. ‘I need to use the restroom,’ I told Anya, and she pointed me toward the corridor that led to the back of the clinic.

The restroom was a small, windowless room with two stalls on the left and a long, rectangular mirror on the right wall. The mirror was tarnished, its edges black with age, and the light above it hummed with a nervous energy. I did my business quickly, but as I was washing my hands, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I looked tired, shadows under my eyes, but it was just my reflection.

As I dried my hands, I heard a faint scratching sound, like nails on a chalkboard, coming from one of the stalls. I froze, my hand hovering over the paper towel dispenser. The scratching stopped. I thought it was just my imagination, so I turned to leave. But then, the mirror flickered.

In the mirror, I saw a figure standing behind me. It was a woman, tall and gaunt, with long black hair that hung over her face. She wore a tattered white gown that seemed to bleed into the darkness around her. I spun around, but there was no one there. I looked back at the mirror, and she was still there, but now she was slightly closer.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I wanted to scream, but my throat was constricted. I watched, paralyzed, as the woman raised a bony finger to her lips, shushing me. Then she pointed toward the door, as if telling me to leave. But as I moved to obey, she lunged forward, her hands reaching out of the mirror. I stumbled back, but her icy fingers brushed my neck, sending a jolt of pure, undiluted terror through my body.

I turned and ran, bursting out of the restroom and back into the clinic. Anya looked up, startled. ‘What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

I couldn’t speak. I just shook my head, my eyes darting back toward the restroom door. A cold draft followed me, and I swear I heard a soft, mocking laugh emanating from that corridor.

Later that week, I couldn’t shake off the feeling of being watched. Every time I passed a mirror, I’d catch a flicker of something in the corner of my eye, but it would vanish when I turned. The image of the woman haunted me, and I began to research the history of the science building. An old newspaper article revealed that in the 1970s, a nursing student had disappeared from that very restroom. Her body was found days later in a nearby park, but the case was never solved. Some said she was a victim of a serial killer; others whispered that she still wandered the corridors, seeking revenge.

I knew I had to return to that restroom, to face my fear and perhaps find some resolution. A week after the incident, I crept back into the building at night, my heart pounding with each step. The hallway was dimly lit, the shadows deep and menacing. I pushed open the restroom door, and the smell of dampness and decay hit me like a physical blow. The mirror was covered in a thin layer of dust, but as I approached, I saw my own reflection, pale and wide-eyed.

Then, the air changed. The temperature plummeted, and I saw her again, this time not in the mirror but standing directly in the middle of the room. She wasn’t shushing me now; she was pointing at the mirror, a silent accusation. In the mirror, I saw a scene unfold: a young woman, clearly the ghost herself, crying and begging for mercy as a dark figure loomed over her. The vision faded, and the ghost turned to me, her face contorted in despair. ‘You must see,’ she whispered, her voice like a cold wind. ‘I was not lost. I was taken.’

Suddenly, the stall doors flew open, and I felt a force pulling me toward the mirror. I dug my heels in, but I was no match for the spectral power. The mirror surface rippled like water, and I was sucked through, tumbling into a world of grey and white, where I saw the restroom from the other side. The ghost was there, but now she was the one in the mirror, and I was outside, looking in.

Behind me, in that grey world, I heard heavy footsteps. I turned to see a hulking man, his face obscured in shadow, dragging a body. He stopped when he saw me, and his head tilted, as if he recognized me. The ghost’s voice echoed in my mind: ‘He is the reason I remain.’ The man lunged, and I screamed, squeezing my eyes shut.

When I opened them, I was on the floor of the restroom, gasping for breath, the mirror cracked from top to bottom. I scrambled to my feet and fled, never looking back.

I never spoke about it afterward, not even to Anya. But the cracked mirror stands as a silent testament to that October morning, a reminder that some places keep their secrets in the spaces between worlds, and that the ordinary can turn to the extraordinary in the blink of an eye. I now know that the universe is full of things we cannot explain, and that the ghost of that woman still waits, trapped in her reflection, forever seeking someone to see the truth.