TODAY, WE HAVE OUR TEAM MEMBER, AUTHOR EVA BIELBY, WHO IS SHARING HER FLASH FICTION STORY 'THE LAST VISIT' #RWRTeamBlog #ReadWriteRepeat

Image courtesy of Hisham Yahya from Pixabay

THE LAST VISIT

I enter the building, as I have done once a week for the last five years, via the broken main entrance doors. It’s dark inside, dark due to all the boarded-up windows. The windows have all been broken at some point and re-boarded many times, only to have them broken away again by local vandals.

My footsteps echo eerily as I walk through the vast open spaces. Soiled sleeping bags lay around in plenty of corners, empty beer cans and spirit bottles alike have been thrown everywhere. Discarded food wrappers and junkie’s used needles also litter the floor. Many of the walls are adorned with graffiti; some being quite artistic and talented work, but most are rebellious or crude. The place has been used as shelter by local ‘down and outs’ for far too long. No matter how many times the place has been secured, they have somehow always managed to gain entrance. I have even used some of those points of access myself when the main entrance has been re-boarded. I know it’s not dignified for a lady to be climbing through a broken window, but my need drives me.

I continue my journey through the endless corridors, passing amongst the detritus left behind by the local junkies and homeless. The empty wards and operating theatres have all fallen victim to the vandalism. The waiting room seating has all been unceremoniously ripped from the floors, the fake leather fabric slashed through by knives, the metalwork bent and tossed around. All the toilet and bathroom facilities have been used and abused. Toilet bowls are unflushed as there is no longer a water supply. Faeces has been smeared across the walls and tiles. The whole place reeks; a suffocating, nauseating Hell. I hold my handkerchief over my mouth and nose as I pass through.

Shallowfields Hospital closed its doors for the final time just over five years ago. Whether its closure was due to financial reasons, as stated in news reports and the local press, I’m not so sure. It hadn’t escaped anybody’s notice, though, that for the previous ten years, there have been many reports of the mysterious deaths of healthy people, medical malpractice claims, and one or two fake doctors’ qualifications. The whole place was a constant source of scandal with patients’ concerns about their surgeries and treatments. Its closure came as a relief to many of the local populace. All the departments, including A&E and Maternity, and all staff were merged with a much larger and new purpose-built University Hospital in a city thirty miles away. All referrals and emergency care patients would have to travel further. The media stated ‘economic burden’ as the reason for the closure, but the talk among the locals tended to feel that its unfortunate reputation was the most probable cause.

As I approach my destination, the Accident and Emergency department, I gaze around in amazement yet again that this area remains unscathed by the homeless, the vandals, and the drug addicts. I often wonder why. Although devoid of cubicle curtains, stainless steel trolleys, beds, and ECG equipment, the long corridor and side wards remain reasonably clean. Is it because it is situated at the farthest end of the hospital, and therefore too far to walk for the ‘stoned’ or inebriated visitors? Or was it something much deeper - an atmosphere some may call eerie, or perhaps malevolent? It was what I sensed on my first visit, but not anymore. I’m not afraid of the windowless corridor and its cubicles…or the dark.

***

For the first few years or so following my traumatic incident, I tried with great difficulty to put the experience to the back of my mind. However, years later and married with two teenage children, I’d somewhat succeeded. Yet once the hospital closed, I couldn’t help but dredge up the past, my heartbreaking memory. I was forced to drive past the abandoned building each weekday as I did the school ‘drop-offs’ and ‘pick-ups’.

On one such day, after the morning school drop-off and after the hospital had been closed for several months, I turned right, and the hospital immediately caught my eye. I felt a strong pull to the place as I was approaching. I parked up outside what had been the main gate and sat in my car for fifteen minutes, feeling a little shaken. A voice in my head was calling out to me; it was relentless. I noticed a section of the wire fencing had been cut through and folded back, a way in. Tentatively, I left the car and entered through the gap. That was to be the first of my regular weekly visits.

***

All I can remember is going for a stroll late one evening, a healthy, single, and eight-month pregnant young woman. Without any warning, I was snatched from the dark, deserted street and bundled into an ambulance, four men manhandling me and strapping me tight onto the trolley. A syringe was rammed hard into my arm, and things rapidly became hazy. I forced my bleary eyes open as I was being wheeled into an emergency cubicle. In my stupor, I gazed up at the sign above the curtain - room 2. After that, I remember nothing.

It was a sharp pain in my stomach that woke me up at 6.37 am. I didn’t know what day it was or how long I had been unconscious. Was it hours or days? It felt like forever. I realised I was no longer in a cubicle. I was now in a single-occupant side ward next to the nurse’s station. I shouted for help - I needed the pain to go away. I tried to lean forward to lift the hem of the hospital gown I was wearing, and the pain of the movement was excruciating. To my horror, there was a scar above my pubic area, and my swollen belly had dramatically reduced in size. My baby was gone. I yelled out again, and a nurse came running in.

“Oh! I see you’re awake, love. How can I help you? But first, I have some very sad news to impart. Your baby girl was in distress, and you were bleeding badly when you were admitted. We had to perform an emergency Caesarean. We tried to save your baby. We did everything we could, but sadly, it was not to be. I am so sorry to be the bearer of this tragic news.”

I struggled to take in her words, but eventually I managed to speak.

“But I wasn’t bl…”

She was quick to interrupt.

“You won’t remember, love. You were delirious when the paramedics brought you in.”

“No. NOOOOOO…” I screamed the place down, and it didn’t take long before someone came along with a syringe and sedated me.

I was allowed home the following day. My boyfriend came to collect me.

Something wasn’t sitting right about all this. The morning before I was snatched in the dark, I had attended the antenatal clinic with my boyfriend. The scan showed that my baby was doing fine with a strong, healthy heartbeat. I had experienced no pain or bleeding…nothing whatsoever! This had to be a lie.

I struggled through months of depression, and my boyfriend, the father of my little girl, couldn’t cope with me or my low moods any longer, so he ended our relationship. Subsequently, he moved out of our flat. Another devastating blow when I was already at an all-time low.

***

Four or five years passed by, and I met Justin. We were married within six months. Eventually, we were blessed with the arrival of our children, a son and a daughter, after trying for some time to conceive. We were extremely happy, but with the closure of the hospital came another fight for me to try and clear my mind of that horrendous memory. I had read and heard several stories about organ harvesting, Adrenochrome-drinking elites and celebrities, and some of the devastating uses of aborted fetuses. I convinced myself that something of this nature was the reason my baby girl was taken from me. I tormented myself each day until I felt I was being called by someone and ventured through that gap in the fence.

That first visit led me to my baby girl. She’s all grown up now, brought up in the spirit world by my great grandparents…and those on her paternal side too. I sat cross-legged on the floor and closed my eyes. I could see her and hear her. She’s so beautiful and amazingly clever. I’m proud of her. We chat about everything – her brother and sister, herself, me, and my life. She tells me about her life on the other side. She has a quirky sense of humour which never ceases to bring smiles and laughter to me.

“I’ve waited years to meet you, Mum. I was scared to come to you, but I knew in my heart you would come to find me one day. I called to you and you did…you came. I’ve waited for you to come and find me. Right here, in this room where I was…lost.”

I’ve visited her in Room 2 for just short of five years, since a few months after the closure of Shallowfields. Every week, I have returned to visit, sometimes for a few minutes, and at other times it has been a couple of hours. At times, our conversation is minimal, but I’m happy to sit in silence as long as I am in her presence. She’s not the only resident spirit in the hospital. Others roam the emergency rooms – spirits with no visitors.

This is my last visit today. The hospital is due to be demolished tomorrow. Room 2 along with the rest of the hospital will cease to exist. Fretting about whether I will see and be able to talk to my daughter again, I nervously ask where she will be.

“I have no reason to remain here now. My friends here will return to their loved ones, and I shall come to you, Mum. I will never leave you – not ever.”

*******

© Eva Bielby 2025

COMING SOON: On Wednesday, 8th October, we are delighted to feature author, Marlene Wagman-Geller, who is sharing Chapter 1 of her novel, 'A Room Of Their Own'