Few places have witnessed more concentrated human vulnerability than hospitals and asylums.

These buildings existed at the intersection of hope and inevitability. Within their walls, lives were extended, ended, altered, and sometimes forgotten.

Hospitals were places of transition. Asylums were often places of containment.

Many have long since closed, but the stories attached to them persist—voices heard in empty wards, figures seen in windows, movement in rooms that no longer serve their original purpose.

Whether interpreted as memory, environmental effect, or something more difficult to define, these locations carry a weight distinct from other haunted sites.

They were never meant to be permanent homes.

And yet, according to the stories, not everyone left.