The Unassigned Patient

In 2008, I started my first nursing job at Silverpine Medical Center, a private hospital with a reputation for excellence. The orthopedic unit was on the third floor, and I was in my final week of orientation. My preceptor, Carol, handed me her patient assignment and said, ‘Go check each room on your own. You’re ready.’ I was nervous but eager, and I began with 301, making my rounds. The patients were as expected, many of them elderly, recovering from surgery or falls. I moved down the hall, checking vitals and ensuring everyone was comfortable. When I reached room 308, I saw the door was wide open, the lights on, which was unusual. I stepped inside and saw a man lying in the bed, completely covered by a thin white blanket, even his face. I checked my tablet: the room was marked vacant. I looked at the room number again, then back at the bed, and the blanket moved, as if the man was breathing. A chill ran down my spine. I called out, ‘Hello?’ but there was no response. Then, slowly, the blanket slipped down, revealing a gaunt face with sunken eyes and a strange, too-wide smile. He whispered, ‘You can see me.’ I was frozen. He sat up, and I noticed a red bracelet on his ankle with no name. ‘Who are you?’ I managed. ‘I’m the one they forgot,’ he said. I turned and ran.

At the nurses’ station, Carol asked if I was okay. I told her about the man in 308, but she frowned, ‘That room is vacant. I checked it earlier.’ I went back with her, but the door was closed, and when she opened it, the room was empty. I assumed it was a stress-induced hallucination and tried to forget it. But the next day, I saw him again, standing at the foot of a patient’s bed in room 311. The patient, a frail woman, was asleep, but the man was pointing at her, his smile wider. I called security, but they found nothing. The patient mentioned she saw a ‘nice man’ in her room. I started to feel like I was going crazy. I asked other nurses if they had seen anything odd, but they just laughed, saying that room 308 was cursed, but no one believed in ghosts. One older nurse, Anita, took me aside and said, ‘You’re not the first. There’s a spirit in that room. He’s been there for years, ever since a patient named Elias died alone. They say he’s been trying to get someone to notice him, to help him cross over.’ I asked how to help, but Anita shrugged.

That evening, I couldn’t leave. I was about to go home when I passed room 308. The door was open, and Elias was standing in the doorway, his expression sad. ‘You see me, but you don’t help me,’ he said. ‘I need you to release me.’ I asked how. ‘Bring me something of mine,’ he said. ‘My old nurse had my locket.’ I remembered that in the hospital’s lost and found, there was an old locket that had been there for years, unclaimed. I ran to the lost-and-found, and I found a silver locket with the initial ‘E’ engraved. I brought it to the room, and Elias smiled. ‘Now, burn it,’ he said. I hesitated, but I took the locket to the incinerator, where they disposed of medical waste. As I dropped it in, I heard a sigh of relief. When I returned to room 308, Elias was gone, and the room felt peaceful. I closed the door and never saw him again. But sometimes, in my dreams, I hear a whisper, ‘Thank you, nurse.’ And I smile, knowing that some ghosts just need a little help to move on.