I’m a nurse. A pretty new one, too.
I had always done well at work. I paid attention to patients, filed records on time, and never took a smoke break. This action led to me becoming something like our boss’ favorite, so I would always get special assignments. The morning of April 6th, I was assigned to care for a delirious elderly man named Felix Wulfe. Before starting my rounds, I bought a cherry-flavored energy drink from the cafeteria vending machine. It’s my least favorite, but it’s the only flavor the hospital will stock. I sat down in the cafeteria to finish my drink, then made my way to room 351, a room in the palliative care unit on the third floor of the building. Outside of the door, I saw Felix there, smiling with his eyes closed. The mid-day sun was flowing through the blinds covering the windows of his room, lighting his face with horizontal stripes. A quick glance at his chart showed he was entirely immobile and low-maintenance. I put on my usual happy face and started to talk to him.
“Hello, Mr. Wulfe! How are we feeling today?”
I could tell he heard me as his smile quickly faded. I sat there for a few seconds, waiting for a response that was never coming. I watched him slowly breathe. Enough time has passed that I decided to begin his usual care while telling him about my day. Even if the patients aren’t really all there, talking to them is a nice gesture, and it at least helps keep your own morale high. I told him about the old lady who had broken her hip and who just couldn’t stop thanking me for everything I did. Next was the gossip around the hospital. Felix lay there, almost motionless, save for his light breathing and the harsh beeping of his heart monitor. I replaced his IV bag, said goodbye, and left the room. I felt a piercing pain in the back of my head. Before exiting the room, I held the door open and turned around. His mouth curled into a smile once again. I opened my mouth to speak, and his smile disappeared. I turned around without saying a word and left. Nurses are mostly left to their own devices with things like this, so I see it a lot. Any time we try to tell the doctors, they either already know about the weird behavior or don’t care enough to warrant a checkup. I brushed it off and went on with my day.
The next day, I was making my rounds yet again. I bought my usual cherry drink and made my way to room 351. I opened the door and saw Felix lying there. The window shades were completely shut. Not like it mattered; it had been cloudy all day. He was motionless, but his eyes were wide open, as if he had been awake for hours. A sense of unease came over me. That feeling quickly faded since I realized he could’ve been resting his eyes during my last visit. I waved my hand in front of his face; there was no response. The rest of my experience with Felix was mostly the same as the day before, save for the gossip changing. The old lady had recovered enough to be discharged. I left the room, silently.
A week had passed with nothing abnormal occurring. It had been raining for the past two days. I thought about all the patients in the hospital. The ones that could leave had to stay cooped up inside. Tired, I bought my energy drink and finished it in one big gulp. For some reason, the vending machine still hadn’t been restocked. I figured it was probably just the administration trying to save a dollar, and I made my way to the third floor. I entered room 351 and gasped. Felix was sitting upright and looking at me. His face was completely deadpan, unlike the soft smile I had seen before. I regained my composure and started to talk to him.
“Hey, Mr. Wulfe! I take it you’re feeling a little better.”
I said it with such false enthusiasm. His eyes followed me as I walked around the room. He was breathing lightly but was otherwise completely unresponsive. As I went to change his bedsheets, his arm shot over and grabbed my wrist. It was so forceful and unexpected. I looked up and met his eyes. I couldn’t read his face. His grimace was stoic. His eyes felt like they were piercing into the deepest depths of my thoughts. I couldn’t pull my arm away. I had no idea someone this old could hide this much strength. Just as my wrist began to ache, he released his grasp. I didn’t know what to make of it. A muted darkness had fallen over the room, like the clouds of an impending hurricane. I left the room in a cold sweat. The can I bought earlier felt heavy in my hand, as if it were still full.
Another week passed. What had happened that night never happened again. I wouldn’t let it. I spoke to his doctor on Wednesday. The doctor told me that “delirious patients do strange things” and shrugged it off. I sat there, confused and slightly irritated. I had been avoiding Felix by asking some of my coworkers to cover me and all the other patients on that floor. Any time I asked them about Felix, their only response was a succinct “he’s doing alright.” That made my stomach churn. I felt like I hadn’t slept a night in a week. I didn’t even remember going home last night. I looked around at my surroundings and noticed how dilapidated the hospital looked. The corners had dust piling up, and the windows were covered with a film of filth. I realized that I hadn’t even opened my drink.
I was exhausted. I counted the nights that had passed and realized I hadn’t slept in four days. The rain had progressed to a storm. The thunder shook every window in the hospital. It had been raging for at least five days. We were ordered to shelter in place. I was the only one unlucky enough to be stuck here when the order went out. The vending machine hadn’t been restocked in what seemed like weeks. It sat there, empty, but still advertising its prices. Day turned into night. Night turned into day. I kept my eyelids raised, fighting my body’s best attempts to close them. I can’t fall asleep. Something coerced me upstairs. My body felt like it was being taken over by an unknown force. I looked at each room I passed, they were all empty. I stumbled toward room 351. My head was pounding. My pain became rage. Pushing on the door with all of my weight, it swung open forcefully. I raised my head and saw that Felix, unstartled, was already looking at me. The window shades were wide open, with whatever moonlight could filter through the rainclouds spilling out onto his body. He was laughing. His laugh was aggressively loud. The heart monitor beeping pierced my head like a bullet. The thunder had stopped, but his cackling increased in volume. It was swirling around my head, in and out of my ears. I felt like I was shaking. No, the floor was shaking. It felt like the depths of the earth were opening up. My eyes were darting around the room; I was unable to focus on anything. Cracks were forming on the walls following the gaps between the cinder blocks. I forced myself to look at my hands, but I couldn’t see them. There were no hands. I had no arms. I had no body. Felix continued to laugh. The painful howl reverberated, then faded away.
I was nothing.
Eventually, the feeling in my body returned. My head felt like it had been pressed between two boulders. I felt the chilled air and realized I was in the cafeteria. A crushed cherry energy drink can in my left hand. There was weight on my shoulder—a hand. Confused and still dazed, I looked up at a clock on the wall to my right. It was two in the morning. My heavy eyes sank down and met a janitor’s. He had been trying to wake me up for a significant amount of time. I looked at his bland, white name tag. It read “Fill” in an equally bland font.
“Are you okay?” asked Fill.
I was flustered.
“Oh! Yeah, I uh… I must’ve fallen asleep, sorry.”
The janitor chuckled. The sound echoed through the empty but clean cafeteria. He looked familiar, like I had seen his face at a restaurant or at the grocery store. With no more words spoken, I stood up and rushed home. On my way out, I had a passing glance at the vending machine. It looked freshly restocked, except for one empty row. The trip home was a blur. I stood outside my front door and gleaned the date from the calendar on my phone. It was only April 7th. Did the past month even happen? I searched for Felix Wulfe in the patient records the next day, but there was no evidence of anyone with that last name ever staying at this hospital. None of my coworkers had ever heard of him. One coworker pointed out the bags under my eyes, giving a passing comment about how it seemed like I hadn’t slept for a week. I pushed them aside and set my sights on the third floor. There are fifty rooms up there; the palliative care unit only covers twenty of them. An out of place, featureless wall where a door could have been was the only thing that remained of room 351.
Since then, I’ve paid close attention to those sleeping patients and their faces. I still work at that same hospital, and I’ll never forget room 351.