Live from the Red Room

The notification appeared on thousands of screens simultaneously: "Tonight at midnight - Live from the Red Room. Are you brave enough to watch?"

Yuki Tanaka adjusted her camera equipment one final time, checking the battery levels and memory cards.

At twenty-three, she had built a reputation as one of Japan's most daring paranormal investigators, with her YouTube channel "Digital Ghosts" attracting over half a million subscribers.

Tonight's stream would either make her career or destroy it completely.

"Are you absolutely certain about this?" asked Kenji, her childhood friend and technical assistant.

His hands trembled slightly as he packed the portable WiFi router and backup batteries.

"The stories about this place... they're not like the usual urban legends."

Yuki's co-host, Masa, laughed nervously while testing his microphone.

"That's exactly why we're doing this. The Red Room is the holy grail of Japanese internet mysteries. No one has successfully documented it."

The legend of the Red Room had circulated online for years.

According to the stories, it was a hidden chamber in an abandoned hospital in the mountains outside Nagano, where unspeakable medical experiments had been conducted during World War II.

Those who entered the room reportedly experienced visions so terrifying that they either disappeared entirely or emerged completely insane.

"Remember the rules," Yuki said, reviewing their plan one last time.

"We stream everything live. No editing, no delays. Our viewers will see exactly what we see."

The fourth member of their team, Rika, looked up from her laptop where she was monitoring their social media feeds.

"The chat is going crazy already. Ten thousand people waiting in the stream lobby."

As they loaded their equipment into the van, Yuki thought about how this investigation differed from their previous ones.

Usually, they debunked supposed hauntings, revealing logical explanations for mysterious phenomena.

But the Red Room felt different.

Every person who had attempted to investigate it had either vanished or refused to speak about their experience.

The drive to the abandoned Yamamoto Hospital took three hours.

The building had been closed since 1987, following a series of unexplained deaths among the staff.

Local authorities had sealed the entrances, but urban explorers had found ways inside over the years.

"This is it," Kenji announced as their headlights illuminated the crumbling facade.

The hospital looked like a wound in the darkness, its broken windows resembling dead eyes.

They parked behind a cluster of trees and began setting up their equipment.

Yuki wore a head-mounted camera while Masa carried a professional-grade video camera with night vision capabilities.

Kenji managed the technical aspects, ensuring their signal remained strong, while Rika stayed in the van to moderate the live chat and maintain communication.

"Going live in thirty seconds," Rika announced through their earpieces.

Yuki took a deep breath and faced the camera.

"Good evening, Digital Ghosts family. I'm here with Masa and Kenji at the infamous Yamamoto Hospital. Tonight, we're attempting something no one has successfully done before - we're going to find and stream from the Red Room."

The chat exploded with messages - warnings, encouragement, and skepticism in equal measure.

Some viewers shared their own stories about the location, while others placed bets on how long the team would last inside.

They entered through a broken window on the ground floor.

The hospital's interior was a maze of decay.

Peeling paint hung from the walls like dead skin, and their footsteps echoed through empty corridors lined with abandoned gurneys and overturned medical equipment.

"According to my research," Yuki explained to the camera, "the Red Room should be in the basement level, in what used to be the psychiatric ward."

As they descended the stairs, the temperature dropped noticeably.

Their breath became visible in the cold air, and the musty smell grew stronger.

Kenji continuously checked his equipment, noting that they were maintaining a strong signal despite being underground.

"That's weird," he muttered. "We should be experiencing some interference by now."

The psychiatric ward was a long corridor with cells on either side.

Most doors hung open, revealing small rooms with padded walls.

At the very end of the hallway, they found a heavy metal door painted bright red.

"This is it," Masa whispered. "The Red Room."

Yuki approached the door slowly.

Unlike everything else in the hospital, it appeared to be in perfect condition.

No rust, no peeling paint - as if someone had been maintaining it.

"The chat is going insane," Rika's voice crackled through their earpieces.

"Viewer count just hit fifty thousand."

Yuki reached for the door handle.

It was warm to the touch, which should have been impossible in the cold basement.

She looked back at her team, then at the camera.

"Whatever happens next, remember that you're witnessing it live. No tricks, no special effects."

She turned the handle.

The door opened silently, revealing a room bathed in deep red light.

The source of the illumination was unclear - there were no visible light fixtures, yet every surface seemed to glow with an internal crimson radiance.

The room was larger than expected, with walls covered in what appeared to be medical charts and photographs.

In the center stood an operating table, its metal surface reflecting the red light like blood.

"The temperature reading just spiked," Kenji reported.

"It's twenty degrees warmer in there."

They entered cautiously.

Masa panned his camera across the walls, capturing the dozens of photographs pinned to every surface.

They showed patients - men, women, and children - all with the same expression of absolute terror frozen on their faces.

"Look at the dates," Yuki said, pointing to the timestamps on some photos.

"These are from different decades. How is that possible?"

That's when they noticed the writing.

Japanese characters covered every inch of the walls between the photographs, written in what looked like dried blood.

The same phrase repeated thousands of times: "They never leave."

"Guys," Rika's voice came through, distorted and crackling.

"Something's wrong with the stream. The video is... changing."

"What do you mean changing?" Yuki asked.

"The viewers are seeing things that you're not showing. People in the background, shadows moving..."

Masa swung his camera around suddenly.

"Did you see that?"

"See what?"

"Someone was standing in the corner. A doctor in a surgical mask."

They all looked, but the corner was empty.

However, on Masa's camera screen, they could clearly see a figure in a white coat standing motionless in the shadows.

"This is impossible," Kenji said, his voice shaking.

"It's showing up on the recording but not in real life."

The red light began to pulse, slowly at first, then faster.

With each pulse, the photographs on the walls seemed to change.

The terrified faces turned to follow the team's movements.

"We need to leave," Masa said. "Now."

But when they turned to the door, it was closed.

Yuki grabbed the handle - it wouldn't budge.

"Rika, we need help!" Kenji shouted into his microphone.

No response.

Their connection to the outside world had been severed.

The pulsing red light grew more intense.

In the rhythmic flashing, they began to see things - figures in surgical attire moving around the operating table, patients struggling against restraints, procedures too horrible to comprehend.

"It's showing us the past," Yuki realized.

"This is what happened here."

The visions grew more vivid.

They watched as doctors performed experiments that defied medical ethics and human decency.

The victims' screams seemed to echo across time, filling the room with a cacophony of suffering.

Then, suddenly, silence.

The red light stabilized.

The photographs had changed again - now they showed Yuki, Masa, and Kenji, their faces frozen in the same expression of terror as the original victims.

"No," Yuki whispered. "This isn't real. It can't be real."

A new figure appeared in the room - not a vision this time, but seemingly solid and present.

An elderly man in a doctor's coat, his face hidden behind a surgical mask.

When he spoke, his voice sounded like it came from inside their heads.

"Welcome to my collection," he said.

"You've broadcast our work to the world. How wonderful. Now you'll help us continue our research."

The operating table began to glow brighter.

The metal restraints opened invitingly.

"Run!" Yuki screamed.

They charged at the door together, slamming into it with their combined weight.

It burst open, and they tumbled into the corridor.

Without looking back, they ran - through the psychiatric ward, up the stairs, through the twisted corridors of the hospital.

Behind them, they could hear footsteps - not just one set, but dozens, as if an entire medical staff was pursuing them.

The red light seemed to follow, seeping through the walls like blood through bandages.

They reached the window they'd entered through and dove out into the night.

Kenji's equipment scattered across the ground, but they didn't stop to retrieve it.

They ran to the van where Rika was screaming for them to hurry.

"Drive!" Yuki shouted as they piled in. "Just drive!"

Rika floored the accelerator, and they sped away from the hospital.

In the rear window, they could see a red glow emanating from the building, pulsing like a heartbeat.

"The stream," Masa gasped. "Is it still running?"

Rika shook her head, tears streaming down her face.

"It cut out when you entered the room. But the viewers... they saw things. Horrible things. Some of them are saying they can still see the red light, even though the stream is off."

They drove in silence for an hour before anyone spoke again.

"We can never go back," Kenji said finally.

"And we can never tell anyone what really happened."

"The footage," Yuki asked. "What happened to the footage?"

Masa checked his camera.

The memory card was blank.

Their phones showed no photos, no videos - as if the last three hours had never happened.

But they knew the truth.

They had seen the Red Room, and more importantly, the Red Room had seen them.

Over the following days, reports began to surface online.

Viewers of the stream reported nightmares, all featuring the same red-lit room.

Some claimed to see figures in surgical masks in their peripheral vision.

A few insisted that their computer screens would randomly flash red, displaying images of medical procedures they couldn't possibly have witnessed.

Yuki disbanded Digital Ghosts.

She, Masa, and Kenji agreed never to speak publicly about what happened.

Rika deleted all their social media accounts and moved to another city.

But the Red Room's influence didn't end there.

New urban legends began to spread - stories of a livestream that could infect viewers with visions of past horrors.

The abandoned hospital was eventually demolished by authorities, though workers reported strange incidents during the destruction.

The basement, they said, seemed to resist every attempt to fill it with concrete.

Some nights, Yuki would wake to find her room bathed in a faint red glow.

In those moments, she could swear she heard the whispers of the doctor: "You helped us reach so many. Our research continues through you."

The Red Room had found a new way to spread its horror - not through physical walls, but through screens and streams, reaching victims across the digital world.

The experiment, it seemed, had never truly ended.

It had simply evolved.

And somewhere in the data streams of the internet, buried in forgotten servers and cached pages, the final frames of their livestream remained.

If you knew where to look, if you were brave or foolish enough to search, you could still find them - images of four young people entering a red door, unaware that they were about to become part of a collection that transcended death itself.

The Red Room waits, patient and eternal, for its next visitors.

And in this connected age, you don't even need to travel to find it.

It can find you.

The legend lives on, spreading like a virus through fiber optic cables and WiFi signals.

Every view, every share, every whispered retelling adds to its power.

The Red Room no longer needs physical victims when it can harvest fear through screens, collecting terror one viewer at a time.

And late at night, when Yuki closes her eyes, she can still see the photographs on those walls - including the ones that showed her own face, twisted in an expression of horror she had not yet experienced.

Not yet.

But the Red Room is patient.

It has all the time in the world.