Lighthouse Horror Podcast - I work at a STRANGE HOSPITAL. These are my stories | Scary Stories

Episode Date: September 23, 2024

Something isn't right with this hospital... Scary Story exclusively written for the channel by Lighthouse Horror Team Cover Art from Ninerio More of the artist’s works at ninerioarts     ��                   Original YouTube link: I work at a STRANGE HOSPITAL. These are my stories       Merch: lighthousehorror.shop For more stories like this one, check out my YouTube channel: Lighthouse Horror | YouTube  Patreon: Lighthouse Horror | Patreon Music: Lucas King - YouTube Myuu - YouTube  Incompetech Darren Curtis Music - YouTube  Thank you for listening to this scary story! If you enjoyed this new creepypasta story, please check out some of my other horror stories. We'll be uploading new episodes every week, featuring ghost stories, haunted encounters, mysteries, true stories, creepypasta, and anything supernatural and paranormal. Don't miss out on the thrill and suspense that await you in each episode!

There are some things about this hospital that can't be explained. I've been at one life general hospital for a few months now. The hospital, it's this huge modern complex in New Jersey, and it had everything from the newest surgery robots to a library staffed with the latest medical journals. So when I heard they were looking for a night shift, doctor, I applied right away. I was getting burnt out by the client-facing aspect of the job.

I figured being on the night shift, meant I wouldn't have to deal with much small talk. And the cases that come through the door at 3 a.m., they're the real emergencies, the cases where I could really make a difference. It didn't take me long to pick up the routine at one life. It's like your average hospital for the most part. But a few stories from the past few months

have been really bothering me lately, and I think people should hear about them. I can't give any details about the patients themselves. I can't even mention names. But these stories, they're not really about the patients. A six-year-old girl came in one night with severe dehydration. She was unusually composed for a kid her age and didn't even flinch when we set her up with an IV drop.

I decided to keep her overnight for observation due to her condition. Later that night, it was unusually quiet, so I decided to check on her before I tried to catch some sleep. I walked into her room, and I saw her sitting up in bed, completely alert, wearing five surgical masks. I entered quietly. The door closed in with a soft click behind me. The room felt colder than the rest of the hospital. You know, you don't need to wear all those masks, I told her, trying to make my voice as gentle as possible.

She looked up at me. Her eyes serious, almost scared. She didn't remove them. She said it was because a woman kept trying to make her drink something, a woman with long hair that reached her hips. And she could hear the woman talking, but her mouth wasn't moving. And that set off alarm bells with me.

There shouldn't have been anyone like that near her room, not at this hour. I stepped out and I called security. explaining what the girl had told me. The response from the other end was a mix of concern and a strange sort of recognition. They mentioned doubling up security on the floor, and one said something about how the barriers should have kept the woman away.

At the time, that sounded fine to me. I had other patients to see, so I left them to it. But recently, I started to wonder what they meant, by barriers. Now and again, we'd get these weird equipment malfunctions. Once, we had some trouble with the X-ray machine, and I was called in to take over. They said it just wouldn't work when the regular attendant ran it.

The patient was a middle-aged guy, big and rugged. He said he was a swimmer and worked construction, which explained the muscles. He came in complaining about pain in his foot. Now, every time the attendant tried to do the scan, the images came back showing the guy's leg was completely shattered inside. I mean, the x-ray showed bones so broken. It looked like the leg should have just been a mushy mess from the outside. But you'd never guess any of that by looking at the guy.

He looked calm, and he barely winced when I touched his foot. Didn't make any sense. I ran the scan again myself. as soon as the other attendant left. And what you believe it? The x-ray came out normal this time. No breaks? Nothing.

Just a regular old foot with a mild ankle sprain. I ended up diagnosing him with just that, a sprain. I told him to keep it elevated and ice it regularly. He was relieved, and he said he had a big swim meet coming up that he didn't want to miss. I logged the incident. And I told my supervisor to get some maintenance guys to go over the machine. And of course, there were the unusual tragedies. You know, the cases where you tried your damnedest to save someone, but it just wasn't enough.

I remember when two men brought in their unconscious mother. They found her completely unresponsive in front of the TV. Since they didn't know for how long she'd been like that, they rushed to the nearest ER. My mind immediately went to a stroke or a heart attack. The staff did all they could, but she died that night. I could never forget the sound her son's made when I had to break the news. Later, I found out the real cause of her death. Asphyxiation.

The note said it was like her body just forgot to breathe. One of my first cases was a woman in a minor car accident. She swerved to miss a deer and ended up smacking a tree instead. Luckily, she walked away without any serious injuries. It was in the middle of a routine vision test when she asked me if I could tell the other nurse to leave the room. I glanced around a bit puzzled. We were the only two people there. Thinking it might be a bit of confusion from the accident,

I nodded and continued with the test. But she wouldn't let it go. She kept insisting, getting more upset by the minute. She said the nurse was creeping her out. Trying to keep the situation calm, I asked her to describe the nurse she was seeing. The patient described this nurse as having long hair and a mouth that doesn't move when she talks. Her voice rose a little with each word. She was getting so worked up that I decided to play along.

Okay, I've asked the nurse to step outside, I told her. The woman seemed a bit relieved, but she was still on edge. She said she wished the woman turned around like a normal person. I didn't know what she meant, but I didn't want to encourage any delusions. So I asked her about her family, where she lived, what she did for work, that sort of thing. But the patient was still pretty tense. Clearly, she wasn't going to relax, and I wasn't comfortable sending her home like this. I told her she needed to stay overnight for observation.

She was all right after that, and all the tests came back just fine. I discharged her the next day, but I couldn't shake off how hysterical she got during the initial examination. Now, most nights here at One Life General, pretty quiet. This meant I got plenty of chances to chat and to get to know the other folks on the night shift. Jen, the head nurse, seemed to know everything about everyone here. She was a little gruff at times, but she was damn good at her job. She was the one you'd want with you in a crisis. Then there was Missy, Ted, and Diane.

They were the nurses I usually worked with during my rotations. We bonded over abusing caffeine. and candy bars to stay in our feet. And then there was Don Barton. He was a GP I teamed up with a lot. He has been around for as long as anyone can remember. And on my first night, Don was the one who took me around and showed me the ropes. While he did, Don told me his own golden nuggets of wisdom, like where the best vending machines

were, and how to get on Jen's good side. But one thing that stuck with me was his warning about the elevators. He told me that if the elevator ever brought me to the sixth floor on its own, I should just stay put. The doors would close soon enough, and I could get out on the floor I was going to. I asked him what was so special about the sixth floor. Don waved his hand, and he said it was the administration floor. He said I wouldn't have much research.

reason to go there. So yeah, the crew is pretty great. Everyone looked out for each other, and you won't find a hospital with better bedside manner than the staff at One Life. I have met patients who have their favorite doctors and they won't meet with anybody else. I was working a late shift when a female patient came in. She was a nervous wreck, and she specifically asked to see Dr. Lansbury, said she was there to get results on some tests. The doc found lumps on the patient's back that needed to be tested for cancer. Now, I've never heard of a doc here with that name. I said I could read the results for her,

but the patient insisted on seeing this one specific doctor. So I went over to the nurse's station, and I asked Jen about it. And as soon as I said the name, a strange look passed over Jen's face. She looked like someone just punched her in the gut, but she also looked happy somehow. In a shaky voice, Jen said Dr. Lansberry had just retired after 50 years of service, but she waited until she received the test results before she left. Jen handed me the file. I took a quick peek at the result,

and I saw that the growths were non-cancerous, thank God. tucked under it was a handwritten note addressed to the patient. It said, I'm sorry I couldn't share this wonderful news with you, but I wish you a long, happy life. It was signed by Dr. Lansbury. I went back to the patient to give her the good news, and I let her know about the retirement. When I broke the news, she was very relieved to hear that her condition wasn't seen. serious, but seemed confused about the retirement. She thought Dr. Lansbury seemed too young for that.

I told her that 50 years is a long time to be working as a doc. And then the woman pulled out her phone and brought up a picture. She said her son took the photo just last week. It showed the patient smiling next to a woman who looked fresh out of med school. She pointed at the young woman. That's Dr. Lansbury, she said. Now my friends have asked me if I ever get creeped out working the night shift. I told them that the hospital looks the same at night as it does during the day.

It's not like we shut off the lights. When I used to work the day shift, I wouldn't even know it was evening until I stepped into the parking lot. Most places, they even had backup generators to make sure the equipment. But I remembered one incident where the lights failed us. I was assisting in surgery when the lights just blinked out. We were halfway through the procedure when the room suddenly went dark, and I mean pitch black. You could hear a collective gasp around the room. The only light came from the monitors.

Thankfully, it told us our patient was still stable. All the machines were fine, so we figured it had something to do with the wiring. The lights flickered back on a few seconds later, and I noticed something strange. Among our surgical tray's usual scalples and clamps were instruments I'd never seen before. One of them looked bizarre, like it had two-pronged. with feathers on the ends. Another was shaped like a metal flower, but the petals ended in sharp points.

There were a few more that I couldn't even begin to describe. I didn't say anything at the time. You focus on the patient in the middle of surgery, not on weird surgical tools. So, we all just continued with the procedure. When we finished the surgery, someone in scrubs took the strange instruments away. I watched them leave with a tray.

But I swear, I never saw that person enter the room. The door wasn't even open yet. And I hadn't seen them before or during the surgery. I never saw that person again after that. Now, I do admit some of our patients can be strange. One night, I was in one of the examination rooms with a young boy and his mother. The boy came in with a very high fever. He was barely responsive. I talked to his mother to try and get a medical history. I was about to sip my coffee. When the boy started to say something, his voice was hoarse,

and he was obviously struggling to get the words out. I leaned in closer, trying to understand him. pointed weakly at my coffee mug and shook his head. With a lot of effort, he croaked out that a lady had put something in my drink. His mother quickly reassured him that there was no lady in the room, but the boy kept trying to argue. I didn't want him to be stressed, so I told him I wouldn't drink any more coffee. That calmed him down, and I was able to finish the consultation. I had him admitted to the pediatric ward. As soon as they left, I took my mug and I went straight to the bathroom. I tip the mug over the sink, and I saw something solid fall out.

It was a rusty razor blade. And sometimes, even the visitors get into trouble. Now, one life has pretty generous visiting hours. They let people come in to see patients whenever they're going. they want. So it wasn't unusual for me to find random people wandering around the halls asking me where the bathrooms were. But I remember when one of those visitors turned into a patient. I was doing my rounds when I heard a loud thump down the hall, rushing toward the noise, I found a man crumpled up on the stairwell. He was clearly in a lot of pain. I quickly radioed for help,

and I went over to check on him. It was immediately clear that he had dislocated his shoulder. The man seemed shaken up as he explained that he'd just been visiting a friend, getting lost when searching for a bathroom. But then he heard someone call his name, and it wasn't like any regular shout across the hall. The voice used an old nickname only his friends would know. Curious.

He followed the voice to the stairwell, and he saw a woman there. She was looking off to the side, staring into space. He said her mouth wasn't moving, but the voice was coming from her direction. He called out to her, but there was no response, so he decided to approach her instead. The woman didn't move at all as he got closer, and that's when he saw it. The woman had a second-faced. face growing on the back of her head, and it was calling out to him. The face laughed, and he ran, slipping down the stairs in the process.

As he told me that, I tried to keep my face straight, but I made sure to recommend him for a CT scan. Now I know what you're thinking. I can't give CT scans to every patient who talks about seeing something weird here. But I wanted to cover my basis, you know. I had seen things at this hospital that I couldn't fully explain either. But that didn't mean I could rule out more natural causes. Not when a patient's life was on the line. I was with Diane.

When I first saw something, I didn't have an explanation for. It happened in my first week. We were reviewing patient records as we walked down the hallway together, chatting casually, when we realized we'd taken a wrong turn somewhere. Suddenly, we found ourselves in a part of the hospital that looked completely unfamiliar. Everything looked normal enough, but it wasn't a wing I'd been to before during my rounds. I felt Diane tense up beside me, before she grabbed my arm, dragging me to the stairwell. I was about to ask why she was rushing.

When I heard a squeaking noise behind us, it sounded like someone was pushing a cart. Diane told me to ignore it and just keep moving. But I couldn't help it? I turned to look, and there, rolling across the ceiling towards us, was a wheelchair. It was empty, with no one.

behind it. Diane told me to keep going and not pay any attention to it. She gripped my arm even tighter, anxious to get both of us away from there as soon as possible. She told me stuff like that happened there sometimes. In that case, the best thing to do was head for the nearest stairwell. She made it clear. Never stick around if you were lost in a hospital wing you didn't recognize.

just turn around and leave. I was glad there was someone with me who saw it too. Proved that I wasn't crazy. But Diane wouldn't ever talk about it again. So, I kept the incident to myself. Like I said, most of my shifts were pretty quiet. But mass casualty incidents still happened every couple weeks. Things like house fires or malls.

multiple vehicle collisions. We even had a Listeria outbreak at one point. But the biggest one I saw was the stampede. One night, we had a sudden influx of patience from a high school prom. Someone had pulled the fire alarm as a prank. It caused a panic, as everyone rushed to get out of the gym. Many of the teenagers suffered injuries ranging from minor to severe. A couple of bruises. here and there, some broken bones. The entire evening was a blur as we scrambled to help everyone. I learned the name of a high school while talking to some of the kids.

Didn't rainy bells, though. I have lived in New Jersey in my entire life, and I have never heard of that school. Curious, I asked where they were from, and I was surprised to hear they came all the way from Pennsylvania. Even more puzzling was that none of the kids could explain how they ended up at our hospital. Not that they cared, though. They were just happy to be getting care. Unfortunately, I didn't get to speak with any paramedics who brought them in. I learned that all the kids had been discharged when I returned the next night. But curiosity got the better of me, and later I looked up the school online.

Sure enough, there had been a stampede, just as the kids said, but thankfully no one died. Now I have a lot more stories like that while I worked at one life, and some of them still give me goosebumps when I think about them. When I was new, the text told me how they'd see human faces during routine CT scans. Not just any face, though. They described it as having a wide mouth. and eyes too far apart. It showed up randomly with no clear pattern. I thought it was just one of those urban legends when I first heard about it. But then I saw it myself.

One day we were scanning a man's torso, and I noticed something blurry on the first scan. I thought it was a glitch, so I asked for another scan to be done. The second one came back with large, shadowy, blotches on top of the patient's torso. It made absolutely no sense. I even held up the scan to the light to see if I was hallucinating.

Frustrated, I ordered a third scan, hoping it would clear up. But this time, the image showed a face, like someone was lying on top of the patient during the scan. The mouth stretched across, its face like a fish. Its eyes were huge and so far apart that they almost touched its ears. In the lower right corner of the scan were some blurry shapes. It took me a minute to figure out what they were. They were fingers spread out like they were waving hello. The tech guy said we had to reschedule the scan for next week.

We did, and the next scan went by without a hitch. The images were clear with no faces or strange blotches. The patient went home without worries, but I couldn't stop thinking about that face. From then on, I rescheduled patients when I heard the face was showing up in the scans again. I told people that the machine had broken down and that they could reschedule for next week. Sometimes these incidents hit too close to home. I noticed something weird during one of my nightly rounds at the hospital. As I walked down the hallway, a red glow caught my eye.

It was coming from one of the rooms. I checked my list to see who was assigned there. But according to my paperwork, the room should have been empty. Curious. I walked closer, and I saw that no patient name was listed by the door either. The red light from inside the room grew brighter as I approached.

I could hear the beeping of machines and what sounded like multiple people talking inside. It all seemed very normal for a hospital room, except for the fact that there wasn't supposed to be anyone in there. When I opened the door, the room was empty. There was no red light, no beeping machines, and none of the voices I just heard.

The only thing in there was my spare shirt on the bed. I kept it in my locker for emergencies, and I knew it was the same shirt, because I could see my initials embroidered on the cuff. The shirt was a gift from my mom when I graduated med school. And then there was the incident that really scared me. not because it happened to me, but because it put a patient in danger. That night, a very ill patient coded.

He was scheduled to be transferred to hospice care the next day. But his heart stopped in the middle of the night. We rushed over as soon as Jen shouted Code Blue. Thankfully, we were able to bring him back fairly quickly. When he came around, he started talking. about this nurse who'd been visiting him regularly. He'd mentioned her before, describing her as a kind woman with long flowing hair. But that night, she'd offered to ease his pain forever if he let her.

According to him, she started pressing down on his chest to stop his heart. When we entered the room, none of us saw a woman there. But the other patient in there confirmed the story. He said he'd seen this woman too, and had even tried to call for help when he saw what she was doing. We got another code that same night, this time for a violent patient. I wasn't there, but I heard the story from Diane. A patient recovering from heart surgery began seeing a reflection of a long-haired woman in his window each night. He told the nurses that she was whispering to him, telling him to remove his stitches.

Night after night, they found him more and more upset. At first, everyone thought it was just hallucinations from his medicine. But that night, a nurse found him taking out the stitches. He'd already torn a couple off before the team stopped him. He had to be sedated to keep him from doing it. doing more damage. At that point, I'd been in one life for a couple of months, and in all that time, I'd heard many more stories about this mysterious woman who kept showing up when my patients got hurt.

Everyone described her the same way. She had long hair, and her mouth never moved when she talked. After those two codes, I started asking around about her. But the responses I got were frustrating to say the least. Everyone told me to ignore her. They said the security team knew her and did their best to manage the situation. And the whole time, I sensed that no one knew anything about her.

Even Diane didn't know much. She simply told me that I'd have to get used to it. She said that the woman had been around since the hospital was founded. Diane turned to walk away, and I tried to grab her arm to stop her, but I missed. She spun around.

Don't touch me, she said. I'm sorry, okay? I just wanted some answers. I said, genuinely kind of shocked. Diane's face softened a bit. I'm sorry for yelling, okay? It's just... It's been a really long night.

She said. It's all right. Hey, look, how about I take you out for breakfast, okay? Truce? I offered. She was my closest friend at the hospital. I wanted to make sure she was okay. But Diane shook her head.

No, thanks. I think I'll just stay here at the hospital. "'Gees, you ever go home?' I began. "'You know, you need to take care of yourself, too.' Diane shook her head. "'Trust me, this is where I'm happiest. "'I choose to be here.' And that's when I realized

"'I'd never actually seen Diane leave the hospital. "'I'd never even seen her in the parking lot. "'When I thought about it, "'I'd never seen any of the staff end their shifts. Whenever I was leaving, they all stayed behind. When I came in for my next shift at the hospital, I decided to pay closer attention. As usual, everyone was already there when I arrived. People were busy chatting and working. Everything seemed completely normal. I found Don pouring himself a cup of coffee in the employee lounge. He gave me a friendly pat on his shoulder as he's

took a sip. So far so good. Nothing out of the ordinary. But as the night progressed, I began to notice odd little things. I saw a nurse having trouble picking up a pen. It was like it kept slipping through her fingers. Another time, I saw Jen's reflection in the window. I thought I saw it flicker for just a second before snapping back to normal. These small incidents became more frequent as the shift wore on. By the early morning hours, almost everyone around me looked unusually pale. I'd always assumed that was just from exhaustion. And then I heard something that made me wonder.

It was the end of my shift. I was finishing up a candy bar in the employee lounge. And that's when two docs came in, Dr. Nelson and neurologist, and Dr. Brinkman from the psych ward. Nelson said he was glad patients didn't ask for lobotomies anymore. He claimed he knew it was bunk when he heard about it in the 40s. Brinkman snorted and said he actually met the crackpot who invented it. He said he knew the guy was crazy as soon as they met. Okay, here's the thing. These two did not look that old.

They were about my age. Way too young to have been alive in the 40s. I stayed at the hospital, and I watched as patients came and went. It operated as usual. Curious about the night staff? I headed to the nurse's station to talk to Ernie. He was the head nurse for the day shift. I asked him about the nurses from my shift, wondering where they were.

He said they were resting, and he told me I should do the same. But I hadn't seen any of my night coworkers clock out and leave. And then I asked about the long-haired woman some of us had seen at night. All he said was that security was taking care of it, and to let him know if I saw her around. Everything seemed kind of normal. I wandered over to the stairwell, and I climbed up to the sixth floor on a whim.

To my surprise, there was no sixth floor. I admit, I never really used the stairs. So I never noticed how the floor numbers went from five, then straight to seven. I headed back down and walked over to the elevator. As soon as the doors opened, I stepped in and waited. The door shut, and I didn't move a muscle. Eventually, the button for the sixth floor lit up on its own. Bingo. But when the doors opened, the only thing I could see was a single dark hallway.

It looked completely abandoned. The tiles were cracked, and the lights didn't work. The only thing I could see was what the elevator lights could touch. There didn't seem to be any doors on either side. of the corridor. To the right, I noticed a wooden sign fixed on the wall. It read, patience. Below that, was a list of names and dates on the wall. The list was written in columns stretching far back into the hallway. I recognized some of the names as people I've treated. Next to their names were dates. For some, there was only one date. I figured that was their birthday.

But other names had two dates, the most recent, was for a patient that it died the other day. And then I noticed that more patients were still alive for the first couple of columns than those who had passed. I looked to my left. There was a wooden sign on this one. The sign read staff. Under that sign was a different list of names. The list was long, and some of these names I recognized. Ted Garcia, Jen Davis, Don Barton, Diane Abrams,

all my friends on the night shift. But beside each of their names were two dates, a birthday, and the day they died. Every single name on that wall had both sets. And those dates, a lot of them were way older than the ones I saw on the patient list. I saw dates from the 60s, the 30s, even the 1800s, even the 1800s if I looked far enough. I squinted at the wall, looking for the most recent name. It was mine, and it was the only one that didn't have a death date next to it.