The Nightly Visitor

Chapter 4: The weight of life

The first rays of dawn filtered through the windows of the hospital, casting a pale, washed-out light across the linoleum floors. The night shift nurses were preparing to hand over to the day staff, their tired faces reflecting the long hours they had endured. For Clara, the exhaustion went beyond the physical. Her thoughts were heavy, burdened by the sense that something in her life was beginning to shift, a change she could not yet fully understand.

Clara had always been sensitive to the presence of death. As a child, she had often been able to sense when a family member or neighbor was about to pass away, a gift—or curse—that had only grown stronger with time. But it was here, in the hospital, that her connection to the unseen had become almost unbearable. She could feel it when a patient was close to death, the room growing colder, the air thickening with a palpable sense of finality.

But last night had been different. The presence she felt wasn't just a vague sensation; it was something almost tangible, a shadow that seemed to move just beyond her sight. As she walked the corridors, checking on patients and administering medications, she had felt as if she were being watched—not by the living, but by something far more ancient and inevitable.

Her thoughts drifted back to Mr. Whitaker. She had been the one to find him, his body lying still in his bed, the expression on his face one of surprising peace. Clara had seen many deaths in her years as a nurse, but something about Mr. Whitaker's passing had struck her as different. It was as if he had been ready, as if he had made peace with whatever had haunted him in life.

The memory of his daughter's name—Ellen—echoed in her mind. Clara had read it in the old man's chart, alongside a note that they had been estranged for years. She wondered if Ellen even knew her father had died, or if she would hear the news from some impersonal source, too late to say goodbye.

Clara pushed open the door to the nurses' break room, hoping a cup of coffee might help clear the fog in her mind. The room was empty, save for a single chair pulled up to a table by the window. She poured herself a cup and sat down, staring out at the early morning light creeping across the city. It was a view she had seen countless times before, yet today it seemed different—distant, as if the world outside the hospital had receded into the background of her life.

Her thoughts drifted to her own past, to the deaths she had witnessed in her family. Her grandmother, who had died peacefully in her sleep; her younger brother, taken suddenly by a car accident; her mother, who had fought a losing battle with cancer. Each loss had left a mark on Clara, a scar that had never fully healed. It was part of why she had become a nurse—to be there for others in their final moments, to offer comfort when she could, to ease the passage from life to whatever lay beyond.

But lately, she had begun to feel as if she were the one in need of comfort. The weight of so many deaths, so many souls slipping away under her care, had begun to wear on her. She found herself waking in the middle of the night, unable to breathe, as if the ghosts of the past were pressing down on her chest, stealing the air from her lungs.

Clara shook her head, trying to dispel the dark thoughts. She had a job to do, patients who depended on her, and she couldn't afford to dwell on things she couldn't change. But as she sat there, the unease in her heart grew stronger, and she knew that something had to give.

The door to the break room opened, and Dr. Singh stepped in, looking just as tired as Clara felt. He gave her a nod and reached for the coffee pot, pouring himself a cup before sitting across from her.

"Long night?" he asked, his voice gruff but not unkind.

Clara nodded. "Yeah. Mr. Whitaker passed away."

Dr. Singh took a sip of his coffee, his expression unreadable. "He was ready. You could see it in his eyes the last few days. Sometimes... people just know when it's time."

Clara looked down at her cup, the steam rising in lazy curls. "Do you ever feel like... there's something more? Like we're not just here to treat symptoms and heal wounds, but that there's something deeper going on?"

Dr. Singh sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I've been doing this job for a long time, Clara. I've seen things I can't explain, things that make me wonder about what comes next. But I've also learned not to dwell on it too much. If I did, I don't think I'd be able to keep going."

Clara nodded, but she could see the flicker of doubt in his eyes, the same doubt she felt gnawing at her own heart. "It just feels like there's more to it. Like we're all connected in ways we don't understand. And lately... I've been feeling like someone's watching me. Or something."

Dr. Singh's brow furrowed, and he set down his cup. "Watching you?"

Clara hesitated, not sure how to put her feelings into words. "It's hard to explain. It's not just a feeling, it's... almost like a presence. I can't shake it."

Dr. Singh studied her for a moment, his gaze thoughtful. "You're a good nurse, Clara. One of the best. But this job can get to you, if you're not careful. The things we see, the things we deal with... it can mess with your head."

Clara wanted to believe that it was just stress, just the weight of her responsibilities bearing down on her. But deep down, she knew it was more than that. Something had changed, something she couldn't ignore.

"Maybe," she said, forcing a smile. "I probably just need a good night's sleep."

Dr. Singh returned her smile, though his eyes remained serious. "Get some rest. We've got a busy day ahead."

As he left the room, Clara remained seated, staring into her cup of coffee. The sun was higher now, the city outside fully awake. But the sense of unease hadn't lifted. If anything, it had grown stronger.

She knew that she couldn't keep pushing it aside, pretending it didn't exist. Something was coming, something that would change everything she thought she knew about life and death. And whatever it was, Clara had the unsettling feeling that she was meant to be a part of it.

Taking a deep breath, Clara stood up and left the break room, ready to face the day. But as she walked back into the corridors of the hospital, the shadow of something unknown followed her, a silent reminder that her life was on the verge of a profound and mysterious transformation.