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I had an appointment at the Leiden Medical Center in the Netherlands. I scheduled a checkup and went there today, not wanting to miss my appointment.
I drove to the hospital and went to the counter, where I met the admissions clerk. She asked, “Hello! Are you here for an appointment?” I responded, “Yes, I’m here for a check-up.”
“Oh? Okay, let me get you checked in,” she said, typing on her computer. I replied, “Okay.” After checking in, I was told to sit in the waiting room. Yes, they asked for my name, but I’m not sharing it for privacy reasons.
As I took my seat and looked around, I was startled by something sitting in one of the chairs. It was a statue of a legless, gray creature. Shocked, I called out to an employee.
“Sir, are you okay?” the employee asked.
“W-what is that thing?” I stammered.
“Oh, that’s a statue called Homunculus Loxodontus,” the employee explained. “It’s hard to say, but you can call it ‘The One Who Waits.’ It’s meant to represent patients waiting in the doctor’s office. It’s not going to hurt you.”
Relieved, I laughed it off. The employee also told me the sculpture was created by Margriet van Breevoort. After our conversation, my name was called, and I followed the doctor.
“So, how’s your day?” the doctor asked casually.
“It’s going well,” I replied, though I was still thinking about the statue.
“You saw the statue?” the doctor asked.
“Yeah, I did.”
“Don’t worry,” he reassured me. “I find it creepy too, but it’s just a statue. It’s not some demonic spirit. It can’t move.”
“You have a point,” I agreed.
I completed my checkup and went on with my day, but the image of the statue lingered in my mind, even as I left the building.
I drove home, but a wave of paranoia hit me. I kept checking the backseat, fearing that the statue might be there, staring at me.
By the time I arrived home, I had an appointment with a psychiatrist the next day to discuss my growing paranoia.
That night, I had a disturbing dream. When I woke up, I was horrified to see the sculpture sitting in my chair, staring at me. I closed my eyes, but I heard noises of plastic and epoxy resin scraping on the floor, leaving behind a clay-like substance.
I looked at the door and saw something that made my heart race. There was the statue again, peeking at me from the doorway, but this time it was covered in blood, rain, and dirt.
As I stared at the doorway, I felt something wet under my blanket. When I touched it and looked at my hand, there was blood on it. I pulled the blanket off and found a dead opossum lying on my lap, with maggots devouring its remains.
I almost vomited. I quickly examined the bed and found maggots everywhere, along with several dead opossums scattered across the sheets, blood pooling on the floor.
Suddenly, something began breathing behind me. I didn’t check, but I woke up in a cold sweat.
The next day, I went to my psychiatrist’s office. I checked my bed for anything strange, but everything seemed normal. To distract myself, I decided to watch SpongeBob SquarePants before my appointment.
Feeling a little better, I went to see the psychiatrist.
“Hello,” she said.
“Hi,” I replied.
“So, you scheduled an appointment because you’re scared of a statue?” she asked rudely, chuckling.
“Yes, I did. And that was rude. You don’t understand what it looks like,” I answered, annoyed.
“Don’t talk to me like that,” the psychiatrist snapped. “I’m trying to help you. Don’t waste my time. You know what? I want to see this statue. Draw it.” She handed me a pencil and some colored pencils.
I drew the statue, showing her what I saw in my dream.
“Oh, I’m sorry for how I acted,” the psychiatrist said, looking at my drawing. “Uh, it looks like this?”
“Yes, but the one in my dream had blood and dirt on it. I forgive you,” I replied.
“I’m sorry you saw this,” the psychiatrist said, clearly concerned. “I’m not sure how to react to something like this.”
“Well, looks like we’re out of time,” she added, handing me a phone number. “Call me if you need help or have any concerns.”
I left her office, still thinking about the statue. That night, I decided to sneak into the medical center to see if the statue was really cursed or haunted. I thought that if I did this, I might finally put my fears to rest.
I parked nearby, hid in the bushes to avoid detection, and waited until late. The building appeared empty.
I noticed a locked door but didn’t want to waste time looking for a key. So, I rammed into it with all my force. The door broke easily, and I ran inside.
It was dark and quiet. There was no security or even a janitor in sight. I felt uneasy, but I pushed forward. I found the door to the waiting room was locked too, so I repeated my previous actions and broke it open.
Inside, I found the statue, just as it had been during my checkup.
As I approached it, I could swear I heard faint weeping, a low-pitched sound that grew louder as I got closer. Suddenly, the statue’s head turned to look at me. A loud moan echoed through the room, and I fell to the ground in shock.
I tried to leave, but the lights went out. When I turned around, the statue was gone. Panicked, I looked around and saw it sitting in the same pose, right next to the light switch. It was staring up at me.
I had no idea what it wanted, but I felt a sense of dread. Had I made it angry by breaking in? I didn’t know.
Suddenly, I was pulled back into the wall by an unseen force. Something was slamming me against it, causing cracks to form. The statue moved closer to my face, its eyes staring into mine.
I noticed white dots in its eyes, with tiny black centers. Then, to my horror, it spoke.
“You shouldn’t be here late at night,” it said. The grip around my neck tightened.
“I’m a statue, right? Well, they’re wrong,” it continued angrily. “I’m nothing more than a spirit trapped in this shell.” The pressure around my neck grew stronger, and my vision blurred.
I tried to reach for my phone to call for help, but I didn’t think I’d make it in time. Finally, I called 911.
“911, what’s your emergency?” a police officer answered.
I gave the address, and the officer responded in a calm, but serious tone.
“Sir, you made a big mistake. You shouldn’t be in the medical center right now. Since 2016, this building has been dealing with paranormal activity. Everyone was told not to be there after dark.” The officer paused. “We’re on our way, and we’re contacting a priest for help.”
I stayed on the line as the statue’s grip tightened, almost suffocating me. But then, the police and priest arrived. The priest performed a ritual to remove the spirit haunting the statue. After the final attempt, the statue returned to its normal state.
I woke up on the ground with a police officer beside me.
“Why was the statue evil?” I asked.
“Well, there’s a history here you don’t know,” the priest replied.
“What history?” I asked.
“There was a family here, but they didn’t get along. The youngest son, named Lincoln after Abraham Lincoln, was abused by his father. When the injuries worsened, the mother sent the father to the hospital. But there was no cure, and the father, in his anger, drowned the boy. His spirit haunted this place and possessed the statue.”
The priest placed the statue back on the chair, and I felt a sense of relief. The curse was broken.
I wasn’t charged with trespassing, but I was given a warning.
That’s the story of the statue. It was possessed by the spirit of Lincoln, but now his soul is at peace. The statue no longer causes harm, and the legends have faded.
However, it’s still a good idea to avoid entering places without security late at night—you never know why there might be no security in the first place.
Written by JosephTheSnail
Content is available under NC-BY-SA