The Birthing Table's Curse

In the heart of a once bustling town, there stood an old, abandoned hospital that had been closed for decades. The once grand building, with its towering spires and eerie silence, was a stark contrast to the lifeless town it now dominated. Whispers of the hospital's haunted past were common knowledge among the townsfolk, but few dared to venture inside.

Eliza had come to the town not as a tourist seeking tales of the supernatural, but as a woman seeking solace from her past. She had heard stories of the Haunted Birthing Table from her grandmother, who claimed it was cursed. The table, she was told, had been the scene of a tragic and unexplained death during a delivery many years ago.

Eliza's grandmother had often recounted the chilling details: The mother had given birth to a healthy baby boy, but as the newborn was being cleaned and wrapped, he suddenly stopped breathing. The midwife, in a panic, attempted to resuscitate the child, but to no avail. The mother, witnessing her child's life slip away, had collapsed in despair, and it was at that moment that the curse had taken hold.

The legend spoke of a vengeful spirit that lingered around the table, seeking justice for the untimely death of the mother and child. It was said that those who dared to enter the delivery room and touch the table would be haunted by the spirit, forced to relive the tragedy over and over until their own death.

Determined to face her fears and free her grandmother from her lifelong fear, Eliza decided to pay the hospital a visit. She arrived late at night, when the town was asleep and the moon hung low in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the old building.

The hospital's once majestic doors hung loosely, and as she pushed them open, a gust of cold air swept through, causing her hair to stand on end. The interior was a labyrinth of forgotten memories, with peeling wallpaper and cobwebs hanging from every corner. The sound of her footsteps echoed in the empty corridors, creating an atmosphere of dread.

As she made her way to the delivery room, Eliza felt a chill that ran down her spine. The room was dimly lit by a flickering bulb, and the birthing table, covered in a thin layer of dust, was the centerpiece of the room. It was a large, wooden table with intricate carvings, its surface polished from countless deliveries.

Eliza approached the table with trepidation. She reached out, her fingers brushing against the cold wood, and immediately felt a shiver run through her. She stood still, her breath visible in the dim light, as the room seemed to come alive around her.

Suddenly, the walls around her seemed to close in, and the air grew thick and heavy. Eliza could hear whispers, faint at first, but then becoming louder and more insistent. She turned, expecting to see someone, but the room was empty except for her and the table.

"The baby was mine," a voice echoed in her mind. "He was my life, and you took him away."

Eliza felt a cold hand grip her shoulder, and she spun around to face the source. There was no one there, yet the hand was real, and it was pulling her closer to the table. She fought against the invisible force, but it was like trying to resist an anchor.

The whispers grew louder, and Eliza could hear the mother's sobs mingling with the sound of the baby's cries. She felt the spirit's anger and desperation, a powerful force that was driving her toward the table.

"No! Please, no!" Eliza pleaded, her voice breaking. "I'm sorry!"

As she reached the table, the spirit's grip on her shoulder intensified. She felt her breath being stolen from her, and her vision blurred. She closed her eyes, trying to push the spirit away, but it was too late.

The table suddenly glowed with an eerie light, and Eliza felt a sharp pain as her fingers brushed against the surface. The spirit's presence seemed to be trapped within the table, and it was fighting to break free.

"Let me go!" the spirit wailed, and Eliza felt the table shaking beneath her hands.

She opened her eyes to see a shadowy figure forming at the edge of the table. It was the mother, her eyes wide with terror and her mouth contorted in a silent scream. Eliza reached out, and the mother's hand passed through hers, leaving behind a chilling coldness.

The spirit was gone, but the curse still lingered. Eliza knew that she had not freed the spirit from its curse, but she had at least given it a voice. As she made her way back to the hospital entrance, she vowed to return and confront the spirit again, to help it find peace.

And so, the legend of the Haunted Birthing Table continued, a chilling reminder that some spirits are never truly at rest until their stories are heard.