The Haunting of Bed 6

It was one of those nights. Quiet. Too quiet. The kind where the

silence starts to feel wrong. I was covering the psych overflow wing. Mostly low-risk

patients. A few with anxiety, depression, insomnia. Nothing too heavy.

But Bed 6… That one always gave me a weird feeling. Middle-aged man.

No diagnosis that made sense. Just… said he “couldn’t sleep.” He’d stare at the

ceiling all night. Didn’t blink much. Didn’t talk. But every time I passed his room,

he was already looking at me. Like he knew I was coming. Around 3 a.m.,

I go to check his vitals. He’s sitting up. Wide awake. Smiling.