I used to work in a hospital as a paid intern for my undergraduate medical degree. The hospital I worked in wasn't very big, although it was apparently deemed historical by local people.

People told me the hospital used to be a safe house for southerners fleeing to the north during the American Civil War. The building itself was refurnished and upholstered many, many times. So it wasn't run down or anything. There were even statues of Civil War troops from both the North and South outside the entrance, which only added to the fanciness of the place. I've even been told that the statues seem to glow from the sun's reflection during mid-afternoon.

However, I worked the night shift. They had plenty of help during the day, but no one wanted the night shift. Being the desperate, poor student that I was, I still decided to take it; even if it meant being nocturnal for four times a week.

My first week at the hospital was nothing to write home about. Patients were all sleeping soundly. The security guard was friendly when I entered and exited the building. The very few nurses I worked with seemed to be friendly and I actually liked working with them.

At the end of the third week, though, things began to change. Nothing major happened, at first, but I always had problems with one of the patients. It was an old man who suffered from mild schizophrenia. Doctors say he shattered his femur bone after he plunged three stories down. His family reportedly said he was hallucinating. During the entire duration of his hallucination he only kept mumbling "Fault", "Sorry", and "Abandoned" and stepped off from the roof.


During the middle of the third week, he would always scream violently before I found him awake in cold sweats. When I asked him what's wrong, he would only tell me he's sorry before sobbing viciously. I stayed by his bed and comforted him until he would sleep again. This continued for the entire week until the fourth. I alerted the doctors about the old man's symptoms, but they accredited the nightmares to his schizophrenic hallucinations. They consulted the old man's psychiatrist who prescribed more meds for him so he wouldn't wake more people. As I eventually realized, though, the meds didn't work. He would still wake up crying with rivers of sweat soaking his clothes and bed.

By the time the fourth week began, everything in that hospital changed. I would find the old man waking up violently as usual, but he stopped crying. He was so calm and peaceful it was unnerving.

I asked him if he was alright, he just calmly says, "I'm coming back to save my friends."

I asked, "What?"

He replied, "I'm redeeming myself. My company of armed brothers will sleep in peace, knowing I saved them."

He shuffled back into his covers and slept. I didn't understand a word that he was saying, but it looked like he was fine. At least he wasn't crying anymore which strangely comforted me.

As I walked out of the room, I gently closed the door behind me before the lights in the entire hospital went dark. This wasn't a power outage, the air conditioner was still on because I could hear it. Just the lights. I heard footsteps to my left and I saw that it was the security guard.

I asked him what happened, "Faulty wiring in one of the main power lines blew out the lights. Luckily none of the medical equipment was affected." He handed me a flashlight and said to watch where I was walking. I thanked him and began my daily routine.

Fortunately my computer was just fine. I had it plugged in, but didn't know it would still turn on. I resumed looking over patient files from the day shifts. An hour into my work, I began hearing the noises of furniture being dragged across the floor down the left hallway. I was taken aback, but I assumed it was one of the nurses moving furniture for some reason. I barely turned my head to my computer when the noise begins again. It's getting louder. Who would possibly require to move furniture at this time? I stood up from my seat and flashed my light at the hallway.

What I saw then would terrify me for the rest of my life.

It was one of the statues from the entrance. He was in a different position and his face was twisted with rage and anger. But the one thing that caught my attention was the blood from his bayonet. Pools of blood dripping from the soldier's bayonet flowed onto the white hospital floors. He was standing with his bayonet outwards, as if he was ready to attack.

I was snapped back to reality when I heard a bloodcurdling scream from upstairs. I blinked several times and the statue was gone. Not even the blood that dripped on the floor was there anymore. I ran upstairs to see who screamed and found one of the other nurses. She was completely mortified. Her face was pale and her eyes were wide open. She was crying and breathing unevenly. She pointed at the room where the old man was.

The white curtains were now soaked with red stains. The floor was dripping with blood. On the bed was the mangled body of the schizophrenic man. His stomach visibly cut wide open to show where his entrails and organs should be. Should be. The only thing left of his insides were bones, everything else was somehow gone. I wanted to retch, but my throat was too clogged to spit anything out.

We called the police and they investigated. Police couldn't find anything that would be evidence for murder. The only thing worth noting was the dog tag the old man held in his hand when his body was found. Strange enough, it wasn't his. It was an old, rusted dog tag with the name "D n Sm h". The other letters were no longer readable due to wear.

The night the murder occurred, I quit working at the hospital. I didn't want to experience something as horrifying as that night for the rest of my life. I wanted to tell the police about what I saw with the statue during that night, but I figured it was just hours of work stress finally taking its mental toll on me.

The last memories I had of that place was when I went through the back parking lot and drove my car to the front entrance.

One of the statues was missing.