Ward 407

I am a night shift nurse in charge of the third floor of the inpatient department. The head nurse repeatedly warned me that I must never take the initiative to enter Ward 407 at the end of the third floor, nor respond to any sounds coming from inside. She said the patient inside had a special condition, their family had given up treatment, and only basic monitoring was maintained. The door is normally locked from the outside, and it is only opened when doctors make their fixed weekly ward rounds. The first few nights were completely quiet. When I passed Ward 407, I could only hear the faint, regular beeping of the monitor inside. Until my third night shift, at two o'clock in the morning, I heard a soft call coming from the ward. It was a girl's voice, soft and gentle, constantly calling: "Nurse... help me..." I remembered the head nurse's words, quickened my pace and walked away, pretending not to hear. But every night after that, this sound would ring on time. Sometimes it was a cry for help, sometimes soft sobbing, and occasionally there were knocks on the ward door, "tap, tap, tap". That night, I was sorting medical records at the nurse's station when I noticed that the call bell for Ward 407 was actually lit. I hesitated for a long time, and curiosity overcame my fear. I took the keys and walked to the door. The old lock made a harsh creaking sound when I turned it. I slowly pushed the door open a crack. The ward was dimly lit, and the monitor was still beeping. A person was lying on the hospital bed, covered by a thick quilt that hid them from head to toe. I asked softly, "Did you press the call bell? Is there anything that hurts?" There was no answer from under the quilt, and the monitor continued to beep steadily. I took two steps forward, wanting to reach out and lift the quilt to take a look. Just then, a cold, dry hand stretched out from under the quilt and grabbed my wrist. I was so scared that I tried to break free, only to find that the hand had terrifyingly great strength. I hurriedly looked at the monitor screen at the head of the bed, and the heartbeat line on it was a flat, straight horizontal line. I screamed for help as hard as I could, but the entire third floor was empty, with no other nurses or patients around. The next morning, the relieving nurse came to the nurse's station. The medical records were neatly arranged, my work uniform was draped over the chair, and I was gone. The door to Ward 407 was still properly locked from the outside.