Let me tell you a true story from my past, and even though you might think this is fiction, I assure you, it is 100% a true story.
It was the winter of 1996, around mid-October. I was a fresh graduate from the faculty of medicine, and I wanted/thought to make a difference. I was only 22, and I was naïve. Time taught me to aim low and expect the worst later on, but not at that time.
Because I wanted to make a difference, I wanted to be the best doctor in record time, so, I threw myself at the Emergency Room, where life-threatening situations are a matter of fact, and a noob becomes a master in less than a year.
I chose an ancient hospital in an overpopulated neighborhood that was infamous for being understaffed. More patients to help, my young arrogant brain thought.
The hospital was so old; it had its history and its own superstitions. Later in life, I learned that even new hospitals develop their own superstitions quite fast. It has something to do with dealing with death daily. Something always has to give, and throwing a layer of the supernatural over normal occurrences helps people deal with the grim facts of life and death.
Anyway, at the time, an intern didn’t have a salary, but would get a “Reward” of sorts, and it was the grand total of $15 per month. You might think this is a joke, it is not. A resident was far better off, with a real salary of $45. Again, not a joke.
As you can imagine, this paltry sum of money created a reality of its own. Either intern or resident would skip their shifts to go make money, as what they were given was not even enough for public transportation. As an intern, if your parents were willing to support your claim to greatness (now, that’s a joke), they would keep giving you an allowance, one that you could bribe the residents with to do some advanced procedure. The bribes came in two forms, food, and, of course, cigarettes.
A resident was a god among interns, until you managed to sneak them a pizza, then the god would become a humble Demi-god. And as gods and Demi-gods, their decisions were final, and they could get away with literal murder. It was slightly better than prison, and worse than the army, but at the end of 4-5 years, you became a doctor (insert daddy joke, I am too ill to think of one).
Now you have an idea about that time in my life, on with the story. Mind you, just put in mind that all the events are real, and it is a true story even if it seems not to be.
It was 3:00 A.M.; the resident jumped board around 9:00 P.M. to go for some private work, and of the three interns, one followed suit at around midnight.
Between 2:00 and 5:00 A.M., the ER was usually no-man’s-land. This time was quiet as tomb, the accountant snored lightly, the three orderlies would usually sneak out to a nearby dirty and rickety coffee joint to smoke Shisha, the two nurses would be slumped over from tiredness, and the residents would start debating philosophical matters like the affordability a couple of vegetarian sandwiches from said coffee joint.
Usually, the worst of cases arrived at said time, and quite ER would turn into a central train station at noon (insert busy metropolis here, let’s say Cairo). But for most of the time, it would be so quiet you could hear the soft patter of rain and the occasional sigh of the wind outside the windows.
To pass the time, the nurses exchanged some terrific stories about the history of the hospital.
I couldn’t help but listen. My colleague was deep in thought about the sandwiches and you could hear his brain gears churning slowly and sluggishly from hunger.
“To this day, her ghost haunts the ER.” Nurse N said in a whisper.
“Ghosts don’t exist. Not a single so called True story about them is actually true.” I said smugly. “There is no subjective proof of their existence.”
“But they do exist, Dr. Sherif.” Nurse S looked at me with troubled eyes. “I heard the sounds in the walls.”
“What sounds in the walls?” Dr. M, my colleague, managed to pull out of his reverie.
“They talk to each other in demonic tongues all the time.” Nurse N pointed to the wall next to her.
“Nonsense.” I barked. “This is an old building, and the walls are made of stone. Over time, the pores in the stone make tunnels that carry the sound from the upper floors or from neighboring buildings.”
“What about the story of nurse Donnia?” Nurse N challenged me.
“Nurse who?” I stared blank faced.
“Let me tell you a true story from the history of this hospital. Back in the seventies, Donnia was an ER nurse, like us.” Nurse S said in a low voice. “Around this time of year, rain came very hard, an as you know, the ER is below street level from the side of operation rooms.”
It was true, the designer of the hospital made strange decisions, like having an entire wing of operation theaters joined to the ER, with no other entrance, and of course, they had to make it lower by around four feet from street level.
“They had a patient in critical condition in operation theater C.” Nurse S continued.
“Here goes he true part of your true story. There is no operation theater C.” I blurted. I know of only operation theaters A & B.
“Sure, there is, it is just not in use since the incident.” Nurse N insisted.
“Let her finish her story, Sherif.” M nudged me.
“The rain soon flooded the room, and because of the many electrical cables of the floor, all doctors and nurses fled the room.” Nurse S said with a ragged voice. “All except Donnia, who climbed the bed and continued to operate the Ambu-bag manually to keep the patient breathing.”
“Eventually, the electricity got cut. With candles and flashlights, the doctors and nurses rushed into operation theater C to find the patient sleeping, with the charred body of nurse Donnia on top of her.” Nurse S said with tears pearling in her eyes. “Even since, her ghost haunted operation theater C, and the surrounding area.”
“Bullshit!” I cried out, and the corridor lights went off for a second. Both nurses made sounds of alarm. “Oh, come on, you know that corridor lights are wonky and they do this all the time.”
“So, you don’t believe in ghosts?” M turned to me with wide eyes. “They are real, you know. I also heard quite a few true stories about ghosts.”
“Oh, come on M, ghosts are not real.” I scoffed. “They are just inherited superstitions to explain natural phenomena.”
“It is a true story, Dr. Sherif.” Nurse N put her hands on her waist. “I dare you to go to operation theater C.”
“I will, if you buy us Foool sandwiches (fava beans, classical Egyptian sandwiches, and they were dirt cheap, 8 of them would cost around $0.3)” I looked smugly to M. I solved the question of the sandwiches.
“I don’t think it is worth it.” M shook his head.
“Well, I am doing it anyway.” I wrapped my huge white coat around me and waltzed in the direction of the operation theater wing. My coat was huge because I used to practice martial arts, and my arms were quite thick, so I usually bought everything three sizes bigger to accommodate. It was cheaper than having them tailored.
Between the ER and the operation theater was a long corridor that passed the ER-ICU, the 12 hour observation ward, and the burns ward. Total distance, around four hundred feet.
The light above me flickered as if it was about to enter seizure. The floor was clean and slick, reflecting the flickering lights into hellish shapes.
I finally reached the operation theater wing. There were A & B, but where was C? Around the corner of B, was another corridor. I groaned and entered it. Another forty feet, I stood in front of an operation theater door without the usual markings. No warnings that it was personnel only, no sign of no entry and no glass window in the door.
I pushed the doors, and they opened. It was so dark you would think I went blind. Touching around the wall where the light switch in A and B used to be, I found it and the lights came alive.
In front of me was a bare room. Nothing resembling an operation theater. It looked like it was an unfinished project. “Huh! Ghosts! As If!” I snorted and left the room to its sorrow state.
Just as I passed the operation theater wing, I heard feminine high heels clickety clacking behind me. I turned to see who was there. No one. Damn those sound transferring walls.
I continued walking, and the sound of the heels followed exactly my pace. I know you might think it came from my shoes. You would be wrong. I always wore sport shoes with soft rubber soles. It was not me.
Ok, maybe if turn the speed up a bit. The heels followed suit.
Then suddenly, the corridor section lights went off, one after the other, just behind me.
At that stage, I was sprinting to the ER. By the time I turned the corner, I was met with screams of horror and the light went out completely.
I reached to the wall to walk my way to the exit in complete darkness. Soon, the generator would kick in and the lights would be back.
What the hell am I touching?! Were these boobs? AHHHHH.
The light came on with a broom swishing and hitting me smack in the face. It was the cleaning lady who woke up to the screams and rushed into the darkness. Phew, not nurse Donnia then.
For a woman aged around 109, our cleaning lady was quite agile. I quickly apologized before rushing out to see where everybody went.
M, N, S, and the accountant huddled beside of the ambulance cars.
“Did you see her?” M started.
“See who?”
“Nurse Donnia, she came at us with flowing white robes.” N cried.
“You challenged the ghost, and we will all pay the price.” S shouted at me.
“Oh, calm down.” I snorted. “All you saw was me and my coat flying behind me as the light went out.”
They all looked at me in silence.
“Were you running doctor?” The accountant gave me a dirty look.
“Sure, I didn’t want to be lost in the darkness.” I mumbled.
They all laughed, I laughed, and I think I heard the cleaning lady laughing very loud inside the ER as well.
We went back like sheep herded by the accountant and sat.
“Where is the cleaning lady?” I looked around.
“Which cleaning lady?” M scrunched his face. “We have a dude cleaning the ER.”
“What kind of nonsense is this?” I scoffed. “For the last six months, we had Mrs. G, the cleaning lady. I spoke with her on many occasions.”
“Dr. Sherif.” Nurse N looked at like a lunatic. “We don’t have a cleaning lady for years.”
Well, either they were playing me, or I talked to a ghost about her daughters, sons, grandchildren, and the political climate no less than twenty times over six months.
Here you go folks, a true story from my past.
Sherif Guirguis
If you like this story, check these as well: The battle at the mountain edge, and Staying Alive.
Be sure to check our books:
Eye of The Storm, The Green Boy, Red’ Soul, Through The Storm, The Eternal Agarthans, and The Trinity’s Dream
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