06 May 2026 | Ghost hunting, Haunted locations, Your True Encounters
It was the night when all sounds were silent. Clara first walked into Room 314 at this time. The hospital was ghostly still, the soft hum of machinery and the distant shuffle of the cleaning staff the only sounds breaking the heavy silence. It was the kind of night that made everything feel a little too still, too calm, almost unnatural. Only the flickering of overhead lights indicated the passage of time; it seemed, however, as if the world had come to a standstill.
Clara had worked three years on the med-surg floor of St. Alban’s Hospital, third shift. The routine was second nature: taking vitals, checking in on patients, and making sure that everyone was settled and comfortable. Nothing out of the ordinary. That night, however, something was about to unfold that would stick with her forever.
She knocked softly on the door to Room 314. It was one of those rooms that always felt too dim, too cold, like the darkness inside it never fully let go. Inside, Thomas Reynolds, a middle-aged man who had been recovering from a mild procedure, lay propped up in bed, his chart already marked with “discharge in the morning.” A good patient. He had been on PRN pain medication but hadn’t requested any all day. Clara expected to find him asleep when she entered, but his eyes were wide open, his gaze fixed in a dark corner of the room.
“Mr. Reynolds? How are you doing? Still not able to sleep?” she asked gently, yet not unkindly.
He slowly turned his head toward her, his expression blank, his eyes dull and tired. He looked as if he weren’t in an excess of pain, although there was something altogether disturbing in the way he was staring.
“I’m not hurting,” he said, his voice like sandpaper from disuse. “But… don’t get me wrong, I love kids. Always have. But why are y’all letting children run around the unit so late?”
Clara raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean? I haven’t seen any children tonight.”
He nodded slowly, his eyes drifting back toward the dark corner. “The kids. The ones in the dinosaur and cowboy costumes. They keep coming into my room.” His voice dropped into a whisper, though his eyes remained unfocused, distant. “They’re. they’re playing. I don’t know why nobody’s doing anything about it.
Clara’s blood ran cold for a split second, but she quickly masked it with a forced smile. “I’ll check with the others, Mr. Reynolds. No one should be bringing kids in this late. We’ll get them back to their parents.”
Her heart was racing in her chest, though she couldn’t even begin to identify why. She’d been around the hospital long enough to understand that patients often hallucinated during the night, especially after a long stay or on pain meds. But there was something in the way he spoke, so certain, so calm, that made her nervous.
Clara walked briskly back to the nurses’ station, her mind racing. She found Greg, the charge nurse, sitting behind the desk, scribbling notes in a chart. He looked up as she approached, and she could see the faintest flicker of exhaustion in his eyes.
“Greg,” she said softly, almost apologetically. “The guy in Room 31, Reynolds says he can’t sleep because these kids keep going into his room. He says they are dressed in dinosaur and cowboy costumes. Did you hear anything about that?”
Greg didn’t react as strongly as she’d expected. His face remained expressionless, as though he had heard this all before. He set his pen down and looked at her for a long moment.
“Oh, the kids in the dinosaur and cowboy costumes?” he said, as though it was the most normal thing in the world.
Clara blinked, taken aback. “Yeah, those ones. You’ve heard of them?”
Greg leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “Oh yeah. Happens all the time, especially around here.”
Clara’s heart skipped a beat. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Wait—what? You’ve had other patients say the same thing?”
Greg’s face didn’t change. He just nodded. “We don’t talk much about it, but yeah. A lot of the patients on this floor report the same thing. Kids in costumes running down the halls late at night. Sometimes they are just playing. Sometimes, though, they get closer. If you ask the night staff, most of us have heard the stories. Hell, I’ve seen them myself.
Clara’s blood ran colder still. Her mind raced to comprehend what she was hearing. She glanced around the nurses’ station, her eyes coming to rest on a few of the other staff members, older nurses who had worked at St. Alban’s for decades.
“Does anyone else know about this?” she asked quietly, afraid of the answer.
Greg sighed, nodding slowly. “You’re not the first to ask. But you’re new, right? You’ll get used to it. The kids aren’t dangerous. At least, not in any way you’d notice.”
Clara took a step back, her head spinning. “And you’re just okay with this? With kids… running around the unit in the middle of the night?”
Greg gave a short, humorless chuckle. “You’d be surprised what people see when they’re… close to the end.”
The words were barely spoken when a low, gentle voice cut in, interrupting Clara. It belonged to Sally, one of the older nurses on the ward. She was at the door of the break room, watching Clara with wide, knowing eyes.
“Did he tell you about the kids?” she whispered, her voice low.
Clara nodded, her mouth dry. “Yeah. He said there were kids running around, in costumes. Dinosaur and cowboy ones. Is that. is that normal?”
Sally’s expression was unreadable. “Normal? No. But it’s happened. Over and over again. Patients always say the same thing, like they’re seeing the same thing.”
Clara felt her skin prickling, a shiver running down her spine. “What do you mean, the same thing?
Sally hesitated for a moment, glancing around to make sure no one else was listening. “They’re not just kids. Not really. They show up for certain patients. Always the ones who are getting ready to go. They’re… like harbingers.”
Clara’s heart pounded painfully in her chest, and her throat tightened. She couldn’t breathe for a moment. “Harbingers?
Sally nodded slowly, the color draining from her face. “You’ve heard the stories. Some say they’re the spirits of kids who never made it out of this place. Some say they’re something else entirely. But every time someone sees them… it’s a sign. And you’ll never see them again. Because that patient is about to pass.”
Clara stood still, her thoughts spinning with shock and incredulity. She turned back towards Room 314, her legs feeling heavy as if the words she had just heard weighed her down to that spot.
It was on returning that she found Mr. Reynolds asleep, his breathing light and level. Again the lights switched, playing shadow in the corner of the room. And then, in the silent darkness, Clara saw it.
A little figure, invisible in the dimness, was standing by the bed. A child, clad in a dinosaur costume. It rustled in the fabric with a faint motion toward the window, its eyes never leaving Clara’s.
And just like that, the air turned cold. The quiet grew heavier. And Clara understood.
The child was not here for her. The child was here for him.
© 2026, G. Michael Vasey & My Haunted Life Too.com (Unless indicated otherwise by author’s own copyright above). All rights reserved.