Elena felt a chill. The hospital hadn't employed religious sisters since the late 1970s.
The old General Hospital was a labyrinth of cold tiles and echoing hallways. For Elena, a young nurse on the graveyard shift, the silence of the maternity ward was never truly silent. It hummed with the rhythmic beep of monitors and the distant, unexplained shuffling of feet. Monjas, hospitales y fantasmas | Relatos del lado oscuro
That night, Elena watched the monitors from the station. At exactly 3:33 AM, the lights in the north corridor flickered and dimmed. A soft, rhythmic sound reached her ears—the distinct click-clack of heavy wooden beads against fabric. From the shadows of the old wing emerged a figure draped in a vintage nursing habit, her face obscured by the stiff white wimple. Elena felt a chill
One rainy Tuesday, Elena found a patient in Room 402—a woman recovering from a difficult surgery—sleeping soundly. To her surprise, a small, ceramic cup of water sat on the nightstand, though the woman had been strictly NPO (nothing by mouth) until that morning. "Who brought this?" Elena asked during the morning rounds. For Elena, a young nurse on the graveyard