Hospitals for children should not exist. I should probably explain a bit more than that though.
A person who has not even experienced life, who’s never had their first love, never fallen behind on their mortgage and all the other good and bad experiences life has to offer shouldn’t have to face death.
That anyone could imagine a world where innocents suffer is beyond comprehension, and if there is a being that allows all the suffering, I only hope I get to face them one day.
See, it’s my job to ferry their souls.
I’ll never forget the first one. She was only 4, and her parents were inconsolable as she lay taking her final breaths. I’d been hovering for weeks, waiting on the day to come. The doctors and nurses had been in and out, running tests and doing everything in their power, but there was never truly any hope.
I didn’t want this assignment either, it was forced on me by my boss. At first, I thought it was a joke of some kind, that he was just getting me back for the prank I’d pulled on him the year prior. No one wants this kind of job, but someone has to do it.
I only have to focus on one area, and there’s only a couple of hospitals where I spend the majority of my time. I’m not allowed to set foot outside the walls of these places, but there’s enough going on within to keep me busy most days.
I wander the halls, peeking into rooms where families wait, hoping beyond hope their child will be able to leave. And many do get to walk out. Some leave after a few days, never needing to return, some recover in a few weeks or months. The rest are the ones I watch closely.
I never know when their moment is. People think there is some kind of schedule or date they are destined to die, but in reality it’s all random chance. There’s been a few over the decades that I thought were doomed, only to see them get better. There’s also been more than there should have been that appeared to be recovering, only to take a turn and close their eyes for the final time.
You might wonder what it’s like to die.
I can’t honestly answer that question, as I’ve never died, but I can provide some idea based on my observations of those I’ve ferried.
Most of them take some time to fully realize what’s happened. They look around the room, some try to interact with their loved ones who are sitting there crying. The worst ones for me are the young children, usually those under 10, who will try to hug their parents and get their attention, not realizing it’s their body laying just feet away.
Fear usually takes over when they first see me. I’m not exactly the nicest-looking being. I have to comfort them, tell them it’s going to be OK. Sometimes they run, not realizing there is nowhere to go.
The soul can’t exist very far from where the body died. It’s tethered to the location in some way. They hit the limit, most often just down the hallway from their room, and they’re snapped right back to where they started.
This isn’t unique to children, even adults fall apart when they realize their life is really over. I’ve seen some of the most religious people you can think of fall to the ground and cry for hours. People who had spoken to their family only minutes prior about how they were ready to leave, afraid of what comes after when it’s actually time to pay the piper.
Through all of this, I wait. I’ve got all the time in the universe, after all, so I wait for them to come to grips with what’s happened. Sometimes, I even ferry other souls as those who weren’t ready figure out this is real.
When I’m not actively helping someone, I spend a lot of time walking the halls of the buildings that act as my prison. I know this particular assignment is only temporary, though that term is a lot different for me than it is for mortals. I was given the job the day the first hospital went up, and I’ll be here until the walls are crumbling.
Yes, there will be souls still here long after the buildings cease operation. I know of others like me, wandering the halls of buildings long since abandoned. They wait for the souls of those who still cannot accept what’s happened. It’s our job, after all.
So, why share this? Why reveal myself now?
Because something’s happening, something I can’t explain and I don’t know what to do about it. The number of souls I’ve had to ferry over the past few months has increased, nearly doubling. I’ve been trying to find a common thread, but I keep coming up short.
And it’s not just children you know are going to die, it’s those who seem perfectly healthy, in for routine checkups or broken bones. They’ll come in, seemingly alright, and within hours they’re being admitted and dying.
My first thought was some kind of disease, but the doctors and nurses haven’t been able to pinpoint anything. The children themselves aren’t much help either.
I’ve asked several of them if they remember anything odd, but none can point to anything in particular. So far, the only common, or at least seemingly common theme seems to be related to the time they arrive.
Most of them seem to be initially arriving early in the afternoon, and only on certain days of the week. They are registered and see the nurse, with no problems. It’s only after they see the doctor that the issues seem to arise.
I’ve tried to follow some of them around, waiting in the lobby for new arrivals and keeping up with them as they go through the process, but I do have others to keep an eye on and I find myself called to the rooms of those who’ve slipped away more often than not. By the time I return to the child I was following, they’ve either been released or it’s too late.
The worst part of it is that there is never a cause of death mentioned. I do my best to follow up, visiting the morgue and glancing at what paperwork I can, but it’s always listed as ‘undetermined’.
Now that I think of it, most of the ones I’ve checked might even have the same doctor listed, but that could just be a coincidence. After all, the doctor who signs the death certificate isn’t necessarily the doctor they saw when they arrived.
I feel so helpless in this situation. I can’t really do anything, and even if I figure it out, it’s not like I can tell anyone. Well, anyone alive.
If it is a doctor doing it, I can only hope they are caught before it’s too late.
I’ve ferried those who were killed in the past, and it’s never something I do willingly. When they know their life has been ‘cut short’ it’s much harder to convince them to come with me. They don’t understand that sticking around isn’t really an option, at least not as a way to get retribution.
There’s one child here, even now, that was murdered by someone he knew. I’ve spent years trying to get him to move on, but he refuses to go. He thinks his parents let it happen, and even when I told him the man was caught and killed for his crime it didn't help.
Several of these recent cases have been the same, even as I try to explain they likely weren’t killed. They refuse to leave and I’m running out of options. If something doesn’t give soon, I’m afraid the hospital is going to be overrun with souls, and a place like this should never have more dead than living.