Demonic Battles

This is one of the stories within The Ultimate Phantasms in the Infirmary...

Demonic Battles
It was a cold and dark night on the wards of St Augustine. The wards were silent as the inpatient population slept with the trustworthy watchful eyes of the nurses looking after them to rely on.
The silence was broken by the odd cough and windy escape from the patients as they relaxed into a slumber. All was uneventful and calm.
Gail, who was on one of the night shift, sat at the nurses’ station with her knitting on her lap as she created another matinée gown for her next grandchild, labouring away on hot clicking knitting needles as she industrially, conjured up another masterpiece. The clicking of the needles was rhythmic as she twisted the wool around the sharp long spines as she “knitted and pearled” the garment into shape.
Louise, her colleague, sat in the dim light, reading her novel and automatically answering the occasional yes and no to Gail’s intermittent conversation, trying hard to concentrate on her book. As the couple sat aimlessly waiting for a call buzzer or a patient groan to attend to, there was an almighty crash from the end of the ward.
Gail hurled her knitting paraphernalia clumsily on the desk, in total disregard of dropping a stitch and braced herself for a dash down the corridor, Louise did the same.

‘What in heaven’s name was that?’ remarked Louise, surprised by the sudden clamour. They both simultaneously lifted up of their comfy seats, nearly crashing heads at the sudden start and headed towards the source of the disturbance.
Not a further word was said as the flashlights were switched on and they purposefully propelled themselves down the long, dark corridor, like two sentinels looking for a break-in, shinning the beam of light from one direction to another, trying to source the ruckus.
It was at that point that they both noticed a dim bluish light emanating from the patient in bed eleven. It was not the patient but something indistinguishable, something hovering over the head of the bed.
‘What the fu..?’ exclaimed Louise, chocked into not finishing her uncouth exclamation.
‘Oh my god, what is it?’ replied Gail but there was no answer from her colleague.
Both nurses were experienced night shift workers and had seen a lot over the years but they had never encountered anything like this before. The Bluish tinge was ill defined and was emanating from the wall, it was impossible to determine what it was but it stood out of the ordinary and seemed like a human form but only partially human, it seemed to be a floating torso that was focusing on the patient who lay helpless and seemingly asleep beneath the apparition.

Mr Warren, the patient on bed eleven, had been an inpatient for the last three days, was an elderly man who had been transferred to the surgical ward with acute bowel obstruction, undergone surgery and was now recovering.
So why was this “thing” picking on him? They wondered about this as they tried to make sense of the unbelievable spectacle that they now faced. It was unusual in every way and unearthly to the extreme, frightening and ghoulish. As they hurried toward the figure, it must have sensed the oncoming rush of the two staff members coming to the patient’s rescue and it deliberately turned to face them. Both ladies were now frozen to the spot, petrified at encountering this unearthly spectre. It was soul and ugly to say the least.
Sunken eyes within a now well defined angry face, mouth snarling and the eyes focused on the two innocent nurses. The eyes were evil and piercing. Its arms were outwardly reaching for the patient’s face, as if wanting to extinguish the poor man’s life, suffocation was possibly it’s intention?
Gail shone the strong beam of light straight at it and the result was to make the demonic appearance angrier as it swooped further into the ward from the wall that had previously housed it and it turned more definitively towards them, as if ready for battle.
‘Shit, what do we do now?’ exclaimed Louise as Gail went into automatic pilot… She was wildly flaying her arms about, shooing it away and nervously talking to it.
‘In the name of god almighty, leave the poor man alone’ ‘Go away, shoo you ugly bastard’ as she lashed her arms at it in quick succession, as if in an attempt to push it away from her patient.
This did not seem to have much impact as it now stood in front of them, no longer floating horizontally but standing up to them, vertically and slowly making its way towards them, threatening the custodians of the ward. Both nurses were now very afraid but they were there to protect their patients although no book in their respective training courses had ever prepared for dealing with demons or ghosts. This was new ground and it was a sharp learning curve they faced. To make matters worse, Mr Warren was now awake, shaking in his bed as he could see the battle between good and evil was being fought over him. ‘Please don’t let it take me away, I don’t want to go with it, please’ he cried.
Soon the whole bay of patients was awake from the commotion and although they were mostly elderly patients, they got up off their beds and rallied round their nurses. They threw pillows at it, kicked and hit out at this being. The makeshift teamwork was having an effect as it now seemed to be confused and lacked the previous malevolent focus it had demonstrated. This dark force was now looking around at all the participants, trying to hit back when suddenly it turned back and jumped through the solid wall where it had originally appeared and now thankfully disappeared. It was all very quick, from the furore and commotion to sudden silence. Louise and Gail shook as much as Mr Warren was shaking and quaking, firmly cocooned in his bed with the bed covers around him like a protective shield. The three battling patients, Mr Jackson, Mr Williams and Mr McIver, although slightly dishevelled and confused, had helped the staff in battle and had won. The dark matter that had battled with them had vanished. ‘I don’t know what that was dear but can we do something about not having them back again, my leg is killing me’ Mr McIver said. ‘So is my back’ replied Mr Williams. Mr Jackson was now sitting on the side of his bed and just said ‘that was the most exercise I have had in years, reminded me of the old days when I boxed in the army’. Louise and Gail smiled and thanked them all, helped them back into bed and made them all a warm drink to help them rest.

Mr Warren was a nervous wreck, unable to settle and wondering why he had been the target of this evil apparition. Of course there were no answers available at this point but they would of course report this and protect them all. Gail and Louise checked the patient’s observations and once satisfied there was nothing unduly wrong with them physically; they left the battling geriatrics and made their way to the nurses’ station to write their reports. As both baffled nurses worked their way to the office, they could not help but ponder on the events that had just taken part in. There were no explanations; there were no solutions or plans just questions. The main questions being what were that and what was it doing with Mr Warren?
They sat and sipped on a coffee that Louise had made them both and wrote down the reports. They read them and agreed that it did not make any sense but they had written facts, however hard to believe, they were facts.
‘Ghosts and ghouls should not feature on patient notes but this is an exception’ said Gail.
‘In all my years I have never felt so frightened, helpless and vulnerable’ she continued. ‘
Thank god the other patients came to our assistance, otherwise who knows what would have been the resulting outcome, brrrr, frightening’ Louise shuddered.
‘I’d better check on the old fellow, Mr Warren, poor old soul’ Gail said. Louise continued to pen her account and Gail made her way down the corridor of the ward. All was well, or so it seemed. Everyone was asleep and as she gently approached Mr Warren, she noticed he was still. He was more still than he should have been as she waited for his chest to rise and take a breath. This was never to happen again. Gail became very upset as she now felt for a pulse or any sign of life... He was dead. She shone her torch on the cold and lifeless corpse and noted his pallor and strangely distorted face, eyes fixed towards the wall where the spectre had originated from. Whatever the result of the last few minutes were, either it was too much for this frail elderly person to take or…. The demon had been back to reclaim the soul he had targeted.

Has this wet your appetite for more?
If the answer is yes, read on by clicking the link to my terrifying book.. The Ultimate Phantasms in the Infirmary

Glimpse into the content of Obsession

A look inside Obsession of The Damned...
This is part of chapter 2 and to five it some context,  it is following the evil three, the trilogy of terror as they get sent to prison...

Two long hours after setting off from the Old Bailey, handcuffed and sat in the cramped transport hold within it, doors closed, no windows or breeze, a hot light in close proximity making the journey more uncomfortable and claustrophobic. The van finally stopped meaning they had arrived at their destination.
The drama of the court hearing behind him, Felix Collins, handcuffs by the wrists, a broken and disgraced man, was helped off his seat and stood up as felt the relief of the cramped journey drain from his legs. He was escorted to the back of the transport vehicle which now had the rear door open and he squinted as the sunlight hit his eyes that had endured two long hours of sensory deprivation.
‘Mind your step prisoner’ the driver coldly directed himself as he ushered Collins off the vehicle and down the three steps to the ground.
Collins clumsily complied, the circulation still not fully restored to his cramped legs, as he looked around and saw they were within the prison grounds.
There were towering metal fences and high concrete walls casting long shadows on the rough gravelled terrain beneath him. The construction of this edifice was definitely centred on keeping the prisoners in and the public safe. Collins gulped as the point of no return and realisation hit him. He was now in the prison system and at risk from villains, murderers, rapists and the like he was not used to. Gone was the possibility of choice, he would not have the safety of his unholy trilogy to keep him safe. No support from his fellow conspirators to direct him and he was now alone, something he did not like to admit to himself but had to face.

A short walk later, they were at the first of many doors that opened for him and then banged shut after him. The transport officer handed him over to a prison officer and his handcuffs were removed and his journey into hell continued.
The cuffs coming off were a relief, the hairs and skin under them had been uncomfortable for hours but he had no control or way of relieving the discomfort, now there was finally some.

The escorting officer held Collins by the elbow directing him through the doors and passageways, a maze of concrete that was quickly suffocating him as he went further in.
He walked down the cold corridors and finally taken to a small room. Collins was asked to strip naked.

‘Remove your clothing and put it in this bag Collins’ the guard said.

This was not a request but an order, he still needed to get used to being spoken to in this manner.

There was no politeness and just cold hard statements.

Want to find out more and read the story from cover to cover,  then download Obsession of The Damned.
You can get a paperback copy too.

Phantasms in the Infirmary series... A chapter within

A chapter within....

Demonic Battle

It was a cold and dark night on the wards of St Augustine. The wards were silent as the inpatient population slept with the trustworthy watchful eyes of the nurses looking after them to rely on. The silence was broken by the odd cough and windy escape from the patients as they relaxed into a slumber. All was uneventful and calm. Gail, who was on one of the night shift, sat at the nurses’ station with her knitting on her lap as she created another matinée gown for her next grandchild, labouring away on hot clicking knitting needles as she industrially, conjured up another masterpiece. The clicking of the needles was rhythmic as she twisted the wool around the sharp long spines as she “knitted and pearled” the garment into shape. Louise, her colleague, sat in the dim light, reading her novel and automatically answering the occasional yes and no to Gail’s intermittent conversation, trying hard to concentrate on her book. As the couple sat aimlessly waiting for a call buzzer or a patient groan to attend to, there was an almighty crash from the end of the ward. Gail hurled her knitting paraphernalia clumsily on the desk, in total disregard of dropping a stitch and braced herself for a dash down the corridor, Louise did the same. ‘What in heaven’s name was that?’ remarked Louise, surprised by the sudden clamour. They both simultaneously lifted up of their comfy seats, nearly crashing heads at the sudden start and headed towards the source of the disturbance. Not a further word was said as the flashlights were switched on and they purposefully propelled themselves down the long, dark corridor, like two sentinels looking for a break-in, shinning the beam of light from one direction to another, trying to source the ruckus. It was at that point that they both noticed a dim bluish light emanating from the patient in bed eleven. It was not the patient but something indistinguishable, something hovering over the head of the bed. ‘What the fu..?’ exclaimed Louise, chocked into not finishing her uncouth exclamation. ‘Oh my god, what is it?’ replied Gail but there was no answer from her colleague. Both nurses were experienced night shift workers and had seen a lot over the years but they had never encountered anything like this before. The Bluish tinge was ill defined and was emanating from the wall, it was impossible to determine what it was but it stood out of the ordinary and seemed like a human form but only partially human, it seemed to be a floating torso that was focusing on the patient who lay helpless and seemingly asleep beneath the apparition. Mr Warren, the patient on bed eleven, had been an inpatient for the last three days, was an elderly man who had been transferred to the surgical ward with acute bowel obstruction, undergone surgery and was now recovering. So why was this “thing” picking on him? They wondered about this as they tried to make sense of the unbelievable spectacle that they now faced. It was unusual in every way and unearthly to the extreme, frightening and ghoulish. As they hurried toward the figure, it must have sensed the oncoming rush of the two staff members coming to the patient’s rescue and it deliberately turned to face them. Both ladies were now frozen to the spot, petrified at encountering this unearthly spectre. It was soul and ugly to say the least. Sunken eyes within a now well defined angry face, mouth snarling and the eyes focused on the two innocent nurses. The eyes were evil and piercing. Its arms were outwardly reaching for the patient’s face, as if wanting to extinguish the poor man’s life, suffocation was possibly it’s intention? Gail shone the strong beam of light straight at it and the result was to make the demonic appearance angrier as it swooped further into the ward from the wall that had previously housed it and it turned more definitively towards them, as if ready for battle. ‘Shit, what do we do now?’ exclaimed Louise as Gail went into automatic pilot… She was wildly flaying her arms about, shooing it away and nervously talking to it. ‘In the name of god almighty, leave the poor man alone’ ‘Go away, shoo you ugly bastard’ as she lashed her arms at it in quick succession, as if in an attempt to push it away from her patient. This did not seem to have much impact as it now stood in front of them, no longer floating horizontally but standing up to them, vertically and slowly making its way towards them, threatening the custodians of the ward. Both nurses were now very afraid but they were there to protect their patients although no book in their respective training courses had ever prepared for dealing with demons or ghosts. This was new ground and it was a sharp learning curve they faced. To make matters worse, Mr Warren was now awake, shaking in his bed as he could see the battle between good and evil was being fought over him. ‘Please don’t let it take me away, I don’t want to go with it, please’ he cried. Soon the whole bay of patients was awake from the commotion and although they were mostly elderly patients, they got up off their beds and rallied round their nurses. They threw pillows at it, kicked and hit out at this being. The makeshift teamwork was having an effect as it now seemed to be confused and lacked the previous malevolent focus it had demonstrated. This dark force was now looking around at all the participants, trying to hit back when suddenly it turned back and jumped through the solid wall where it had originally appeared and now thankfully disappeared. It was all very quick, from the furore and commotion to sudden silence. Louise and Gail shook as much as Mr Warren was shaking and quaking, firmly cocooned in his bed with the bed covers around him like a protective shield. The three battling patients, Mr Jackson, Mr Williams and Mr McIver, although slightly dishevelled and confused, had helped the staff in battle and had won. The dark matter that had battled with them had vanished. ‘I don’t know what that was dear but can we do something about not having them back again, my leg is killing me’ Mr McIver said. ‘So is my back’ replied Mr Williams. Mr Jackson was now sitting on the side of his bed and just said ‘that was the most exercise I have had in years, reminded me of the old days when I boxed in the army’. Louise and Gail smiled and thanked them all, helped them back into bed and made them all a warm drink to help them rest. Mr Warren was a nervous wreck, unable to settle and wondering why he had been the target of this evil apparition. Of course there were no answers available at this point but they would of course report this and protect them all. Gail and Louise checked the patient’s observations and once satisfied there was nothing unduly wrong with them physically; they left the battling geriatrics and made their way to the nurses’ station to write their reports. As both baffled nurses worked their way to the office, they could not help but ponder on the events that had just taken part in. There were no explanations; there were no solutions or plans just questions. The main questions being what were that and what was it doing with Mr Warren? They sat and sipped on a coffee that Louise had made them both and wrote down the reports. They read them and agreed that it did not make any sense but they had written facts, however hard to believe, they were facts. ‘Ghosts and ghouls should not feature on patient notes but this is an exception’ said Gail. ‘In all my years I have never felt so frightened, helpless and vulnerable’ she continued. ‘Thanks god the other patients came to our assistance, otherwise who knows what would have been the resulting outcome, brrrr, frightening’ Louise shuddered. ‘I’d better check on the old fellow, Mr Warren, poor old soul’ Gail said. Louise continued to pen her account and Gail made her way down the corridor of the ward. All was well, or so it seemed. Everyone was asleep and as she gently approached Mr Warren, she noticed he was still. He was more still than he should have been as she waited for his chest to rise and take a breath. This was never to happen again. Gail became very upset as she now felt for a pulse or any sign of life... He was dead. She shone her torch t the cold and lifeless corpse and noted his pallor and strangely distorted face, eyes fixed towards the wall where the spectre had originated from. Whatever the result of the last few minutes were, either it was too much for this frail elderly person to take or…. The demon had been back to reclaim the soul he had targeted.

El muerto... Phantasms in the Infirmary Vol II

Story one in the new book...

‘Don’t look at him straight in the face, whatever you do’the grandfather said to his grandson ‘Why grandad?’enquired the young child as he held his grandfather’s hand, now with a firmer grip than previously.
‘He is a zombie, the living dead’ he remarked. ‘If he looks at you and you look back at him, he will measure you up for the coffin you will soon be lying in’he added. Julian never forgot that. After all, this was quite the weighted statement for a young child to hear in the sponge-like formative years where all is absorbed, digested and learnt.
The person he was referring to was a strange; dysmorphic man that always wore a shirt, tie and dark suit.
He was dishevelled despite the attire, which incidentally was ill fitting and looked like they belonged to somebody else, twice his size. This man, Mr O’Hara, looked quite frightening as his head seemed out of proportion to the rest of his body, small and pea-like in comparison. His arms were long and a short torso carried him through the busy streets of the town. He always seemed solemn and down. What made matters worse was that he never seemed to be clean shaven or sport a beard. It was that scruffy and annoying in-between growth. The eyes were his worse feature. One looked at you, the other away from you…! All in all, it was easy to believe why he was called “El Muerto”the dead man. His function was that of an assistant to a funeral director. He was lowly paid for all the grafting he did when a funeral was in the planning. He would liaise between the local grave diggers and the family and help ensure all went well. As well as a funeral could go. The rumour had it that he was born from an incestuous liaison between siblings. This was unverifiable but it created the negative mystique this man bared and carried on a daily basis. He was visible on a daily basis. He would walk through the town conducting his funereal business and occasionally run into some kinfd of argument with a passer by taking the liberty of bullying him. Nevertheless, Julian always respected and remembered what his grandad had said and never looked him in the eye. It was many years later that as a young student nurse, he came in on duty for a shift on the surgical ward and lo and behold, there he was…Mr O’Hara was sitting on a bed, in red and white, candy stripped pyjamas, again, looking like they had been borrowed off someone else. The shoulder areas hanging well off the shoulders, top tucked in the trousers and his trousers tied around the top of this with a thick cord. Not a great sight by any means. He looked at Julian, straight in the face and smiled as if to say hello. This young student was taken aback by this. How was he supposed to react with the inner conflicts that now run through him? His grandfather had advised avoidance of any contact in his formative years but now he had to be professional and make some kind of contact with him. This was his duty and obligation. Julian smiled back, a disingenuous smile but none the less a minor breakthrough. ‘Hello young man, what is your name?’Mr O’Hara directed the question straight at him. ‘Erm, Julian’he replied. ‘ErmJulian?, that is a strange name?’remarked the patient, mocking the young man…‘No Just Julian’he added hastily. ‘Pleased to make your acquaintance, I am Tony’the man said as he now stretched his hand out in friendship and awaited the young nurses reciprocal hand. What a dilemma, not only was he having to face him, talk to him but now having to touch “El Muerto”but he did. He inwardly shuddered but made no obvious signs of outward revulsion. This was awful as the judgements he had made over the years that were just malicious rumours were having an impact on his interactions with a patient. Julian composed himself. ‘So, Mr O’Hara, what brings you into St Augustine’s then?’‘I have a hernia that needs repairing, been shifting too many bodies around I guess’as a broke into an eerie chuckle. So much for the breakthrough, the inner child kicked in and he stepped back slightly, enough to be noticed by the older man sitting next to them. He said, ‘don’t let this old bastard tease you with his stories, he is alright really, don’t be frightened, it’s the living you have to fear, not the dead’and they burst out laughing. The ice broken, Julian slowly recognised that this poor man had been dealt a very raw deal in life, remarkably well spoken and witty; he had never been given the chances he should have had, because of his physical appearance. Julian felt sorry for him rather than fear. Over the coming days he got to know the man and not the infamous legend that shrouded him. He managed his care and grew quite fond of him, helping out wherever he could in the pre and post-operative stages to his full recovery. He had spent a good week in hospital, he was now clean shaven daily and seemed to have filled into his attire a little more. Mr O’Hara was now mobilising well and his pain was under control, the wound was healing and discharge home loomed over the horizon. It was just after the evening meals had been distributed and prior to the evening medication round, Julian stood beside his patient and asked, ‘All ready to go home soon then Tony?’‘Yes indeed I am, I cannot wait to get back to work and get out of here’. ‘Oh, why the hurry?’‘Well Julian, you know they call me “El Muerto”don’t you?’Ashamedly he replied ‘Well yes, but that is nonsense and very cruel’‘Thank you for the vote of confidence but there is some truth in that I do see and speak to the dead’Julian now regressed to his child-like state, all the work he had done to ensure he was not put off by the malicious myth that surrounded this man was well and truly out of the window…Tony sensed this and replied ‘You have nothing to fear as long as you remain as helpful and compassionate as you are but be aware’. ‘Aware of what?’he asked nervously, not really looking forward to the reply. ‘Be aware that there are many spirits in this place, the long departed that have remained here for their own gains, some are good but many are not’. Julian was uncomfortable with this and challenged the patient by saying ‘surely you do not believe in all of those ghosts stories do you?’‘They are not all stories, be warned, be careful and be vigilant, there is a lot of danger in here, I have seen it over the last few days’. ‘Do you remember the last two patient’s that passed away?’‘Yes of course’he replied. ‘Well they were taken by the Dark Angel’. Now terrified, he tried to rationalise the statement by saying that the patients he was referring to had died as expected due to their underlying pathology. O’Hara now looked at him straight in the eyes. His meandering eye, strangely focussed on him and said ‘There is a dark Angel in this ward that does its rounds every night, it floats in and looks at everyone, whilst they sleep, I have seen it’. ‘Once it decides on who it wants, the dark matter engulfs he person and they are taken by it…’‘Come on Tony, don’t say these things, they cannot be true’‘Well if they aren’t true, then tell me why they seem to die between the stroke of two and quarter past the hour?’‘Check the records if you do not believe me’‘I will’replied the young man ‘…but why are you telling me this?’‘I like you, you have been kind to me and I want you to protect yourself, the Dark Angel will take many and is not fussed by who it takes, if he takes a fancy to a staff member, it will take them…’Mr O’Hara now said firmly as he held Julian’s arm ‘Leave this ward, leave this hospital as soon as you can, it is not safe’. Saved by the bell, the call buzzer was loudly blowing and Julian made his excuses and left him to attend to the needs of another patient. The shift got busy with numerous tasks and admissions galore. Although he was intrigued by the tête-à-tête with his unusual patient Julian did not have a chance to return to his patient “El Muerto”. The conversation had remained unfinished and maybe this was a small blessing. Julian had pondered on the significance of this all and how it would affect his career choices, based on ghost stories? Maybe leaving the dialogue hanging could help him in not making any rash decisions? He was on another late the next day so he knew he would not get to say goodbye to the much maligned man he had got to know, like but now fear again. The next day, on shift, he came in a little early in order to look at the ward register. He was inquisitive and a little intrigued. Was there any truth or pattern to this ? He took out the old register and looked at the deaths and noted the vast amount of “time of death”entries for 02: 00 –02: 15. It seemed unnaturally high. He looked down at the register over the last few weeks and it seemed to give substance to the supernatural theory That O’Hara had eluded to. He followed the register down to the last week and then …there it was, the latest entry “Mr Anthony O’Hara; time of death 02.14”. The “Dark Angel”, the angel of death he had referred to had come to collect him. Julian wondered if Mr O’Hara had guessed this was going to be the outcome? Improbable and quite impossible however the facts were there…Mr O’Hara was expected to make a full recovery, but as “El Muerto”himself had said if the angel wants you, he will take you…. There is no choice!

Phantasms

Volume II... One of the stories to wet your appetite...

One of the stories contained in Phantasms in the Infirmary Vol II 

The Meandering Monk
The ancient building housed an old chapel that had been used for many different ceremonies and services over the years. The structure, although majestic and beautiful with a tall tower that stemmed from within the heart of the building also had an aura of menacing discomfort to it. It was the source of numerous reports that involved a ghostly monk. This monk had been witnessed by many individuals over the decades and was supposed to haunt the chapel, often described as wearing a dark hooded cloak, hands tucked inside his sleeves with a small crucifix hanging from the girdle around his cloak. A sinister glow emanated from the apparition that unmistakably differentiated it from a live human form, it was definitely a ghost. What made the sinister figure frightening was the fact it would circle the chapel slowly and effortlessly, hovering above the grass and concrete that surrounded it. It would then suddenly disappear, reappearing at the top of the thirty foot tower before letting out an unearthly screech as he fell onto the ground below. The thud would be heard and felt by any witnesses and the mangled body of the monk could be seen for a couple of minutes before dematerializing in front of their eyes. The screaming banshee of the monk could never be pre-empted; it was always a random appearance and not something anyone could prepare for. The only certainty was that it always remained a shock to any innocent witnesses to this tragedy that was caught in a perpetual catastrophic loop in time, replayed over the years. Over the decades, it was established that this was Brother Piers, a monk from an order of Franciscan Monks that had helped in the days when the hospital was an orphanage. It transpired that Brother Piers seemed to be very attracted to the young boys and was overly familiar with some. The then Abbott of the St Augustine friary had been informed of this Brother Piers’affinity for children and suspected him of being a paedophile. One afternoon, following another accusation of child molestation, the Abbott summoned the Brother Piers to his office and addressed the issue. He laid down the law as the accused monk protested his innocence, however the evidence had been gathered and his investigations had irrefutable proof he had sexually molested at least three boys. The Abbott had told him that he would be excommunicated and he would never work with children ever again. The disturbed Piers apparently run away from the office, crying in shame and confusion. He was next seen at the Chapel, praying and then walked around the building, encircling the area several times before climbing up the tower and leaping off it, plummeting to his shameful death. It was said that his ghost could never leave as he was in purgatory due to his actions and sins. He was destined to walk the earth in a shameful act of penance, chained to the area of his eventual act of cowardice and despair. There was never any issue with this spectral phenomenon, he had not harmed anyone else until one night one of the witnesses, Mr. Huddart, an acutely ill patient’s relative had snuck out of the main building for a calming cigarette and had found his way to the area of the chapel. The moonlight shone on the small, disused graveyard that harbored many of the previous inmates of the hospital in its different guises through the ages. The gravestones were ancient but nevertheless, interesting reading. Mr. Huddart was intrigued by them and innocently approached one of the older gravestones as he took another big puff from his cigarette. All was quite serene and calm when unexpectedly he felt coldness focused on the area he stood in. He turned to look for the origin of the change and was facing the Monk. At first, he was unable to distinguish if the man that faced him was moral or not but then noticed the aura around the hooded apparition and also the way he glided around the area. This was not a human. The proof of this encounter with a ghost was summed up when the ghost walked straight through Mr. Huddart, as if he was not there. He felt a shudder and the instant terror of what he was experiencing, goosebumps and all. He turned and cried ‘get off me…’as he now looked at the back of the cloaked sullen figures head. He hoped that he would carry on, the phantom monk would continue on his eternal treadmill and not focus on him, however the reverse transpired. The ghostly figure of Brother Piers turned and now, at a quickened pace, was heading back to the man who was definitely n the wrong place at the wrong time. ‘Please no, why me? He cried with a worried plea. ‘Please, leave me alone’I don’t mean you any harm’he remarked. However the spectral presence was now upon him. He took out his ghostly right arm from the left hand sleeve where he had housed it for eternity and plunged into the man’s chest. The screams echoed in the silent night. The cry of pain was soon accompanied by a cold sweat and a crushing chest pain as he writhed and slumped on the wet night grass, clutching at his chest. Help was soon at hand as other visitors and members of staff run purposefully to aid the fallen man. As they approached, they saw the unearthly presence with his right hand firmly protruding into the dying Mr. Huddart. The phantom monk was not dissuaded by the oncoming would be rescuers. He stood his ground and seemed to grasp at the very soul of his victim. The cries and laments were audible as he cried out ‘please, please don’t kill me, I didn’t mean to hurt her, oh god, I am sorry’and these were the last words he uttered as the life was extinguished by this murderous paedophile from the past. Around eight people witnessed this execution by the executioner from another dimension. The monk now faced the small crowd and his face, contorted by an evil driving force changed. Brother Piers now seemed satisfied and strangely peaceful following this unsolicited murder. Why he had changed his mood puzzled the on looking and worried crowd? ‘Who is he going to target next?’one of the pack cried out, perturbed by the ghostly sight before them. At this moment the spectral force extracted his supernatural arm from the lifeless body of the man laying at his feet, he sighed and disappeared. The gathered mass now doubled in number as some of the medics amongst them tried to resuscitate the cold remains of Mr. Huddart but alas in vain. The motionless face of the dead man peered straight at the night sky, unresponsive and taken by the paranormal dark force. One of the people called the emergency services, now that would be one hell of a statement they would all have to give! How could they explain the inexplicable events they had just been unfortunate enough to witness? The police arrived, two cars initially with four officers in them and then more. They busied themselves with the initial segregation of the murder scene as they hurriedly cordoned off the murder scene. The others were occupied with taking names and writing them down on their black note books, pens scribbling away manically. Almost immediately, the members of the press were buzzing around, like flies on a newly laid turd, they hovered and ear wigged into conversations, interrupting proceedings at times and filming everything and anyone they could. Innocent man slaughtered by ghostly paedophile monk …This story would sell. The Police crew amassed as now the people in the white overalls appeared, hooded and gowned, masks around their faces and gloved up to the hilt, they erected a small tent around the fatally wounded Huddart. Large lamps supplied the much needed light as they did their investigating and gathering for the clues that forensic science would yield and allow the eventual conclusions, hoping to ultimately solve the murder. The multitude of witness statements were taken by the officers as they traced all the detail to its minutia. ‘Anything, however insignificant can be important, please tell us what you witnessed?’was the standard statement. Every statement related the same scenario “a ghostly monk had murdered this seemingly innocent man”who by all intents and purposes was only guilty of smoking a cigarette in the hospital grounds. Surely the anti-smoking lobby had not resorted to these lengths to stop smoking! Within a matter of hours, the teams of the local law enforcement agency had all they would need and area was vacated, the body decanted to the mortuary where a post mortem would follow. The details of who the victim was were acquired by one of the officers, Mr. Edward Huddart, a forty six year old local man. He was a single parent and father to one seven year old daughter, Naomi. There were no relatives other than his young daughter who was an in-patient at the hospital. Everyone anxiously awaited any answers to this unprovoked and bizarre murder. The post mortem was carried out the next day. The pathologists conclusion were that the man had suffered a ruptured heart. He claimed he had never seen anything like it in all his years. ‘The patient’s heart had been crushed to a pulp’. ‘The force that needed to have done this was equivalent of an industrial car crushing machine…’They now knew how he died but still no clues as to why. The clues were pieced together slowly over the coming days. It transpired that the relative, Mr. Huddart, was visiting was his daughter who was in hospital. He wasn’t the innocent victim but more like a reprisal from beyond. He had abused Naomi for many years, sexually and physically harming the blameless young girl and in a state of passion had strangled her on the day of admission to hospital. In the conscious efforts to right his wrong, he had brought her into the emergency department concocting a lie of how the Naomi had strangled herself on the cord from the bathroom blinds. This was never believed by the staff as the mechanics of the injuries were inconsistent with the bruising and conclusions of initial assessments. Naomi now lay on a life support machine in the intensive care unit. Fighting for life. Huddart was a paedophile and when Brother Piers had walked through him, he obviously detected this and was determined to rid the world of this evil. The social workers had suspected he had been abusing Naomi but were never able to get enough facts to arrest and convict him. He had been very clever in covering his steps. Brother Piers however, had. His spectral detection was spot on. He had uncovered the truth within seconds and sentenced the perpetrator to death…Judge, jury and executioner in one. So why was this paedophile monk so keen to uncover a fellow child molester and expedite this gruesome act? As more interest in the case grew, more research into the history of the place and the killer monk was undertaken. The archives proved stated that Brother Piers was innocent of his crimes. He had always loved children and would never harm anyone. It transpires that some of the children who were in the workhouse at the time had confessed to wanting to play a sick prank on this gullible holy man. The prank had gone horrifically and disastrously wrong. Unimaginable as it was, this tom-foolery had led to the innocent man taking his own life. This man of the cloth had been wrongly accused but the shame of it all lead to his untimely and horrid death from the leap of shame. He’d taken his own life; he could not face the slur and accusatory repercussions. Rightly or wrongly, he committed a mortal
sin by choosing suicide and this was why he had remained in purgatory. These actions now exonerated him from everything, he was acquitted and he was now able to finally rest. He was never seen in the chapel area since but did make one more appearance. Naomi had been attached to machines and tubes for days, she was not responding to treatment and the nurses and doctors in the Paediatric Intensive Care Unit were considering switching her life support off. As sad as this was, there seemed no way back for the poor little victim of such horrific injuries and repeated abuse. It was hours before the decision would be executed that a nurse saw a bright light coming from the room where Naomi was. On investigating the source, she clearly saw the figure of a monk, Brother Piers had returned. This time though, his dark cassock was bright white, he was silent and composed. There seemed to be no pain or dark force attached to him now. He was like an angel. Although sinister, as any supernatural encounter must be, it was a calming presence as the cassock wearing ghost reached out and placed his hand on the young girls head. The apparition now seemed to bow his head and pray. The nurse called for one of her colleagues to urgently witness what she was seeing. Both stood aghast as the glowing light intensified. They were rooted to the spot but intrigued, not frightened and did not call for help. It seemed like an eternity that the unresponsive child lay there in the medicalized environment, the obscure silence broken only by the bleeps and whirs from monitors and the rhythmic ventilator, set at twenty two breaths per minute. The light intensified, blindingly bright and warm. A few seconds later, the ghost of Brother Piers lifted his hand and stood there admiringly at the young child. As if by a miracle, Naomi slowly opened her eyes from the long slumber she had been in. She faced this radiant angel and she smiled at him as he smiled back. He then turned towards the flabbergasted nurses, smiled at them and dematerialized. Was this a miracle of medicine or a helping hand from a friendly ghost? Brother Piers was never to be seen again

Accomplished

It's been difficult... Heavy week at paid work however I have managed to finish another chapter of Phantasms in the Infirmary Vol II in the evenings. 

I am setting my deadline for another Halloween release.
Yes it's a little corny but also appropriate for the genre. 

Fingers crossed 

In the meantime, read Phantasms in the Infirmary,  the first of this potential series....

Sampler of the book's contents

Here is a little sampler to entice you, wet your appetite to find out more and enjoy the horror within Phantasms in the Infirmary..... 

This is taken from the chapter: "Visiting Angel" 

"Throughout St Augustus’ life, existence and being, there had been numerous rumours of ghostly apparitions, strange lights, unearthly sounds and noises, piercing screams from beyond the grave and bizarre shadows in the many rooms, wards and corridors that were secreted within the old building.

That feeling of “not being alone”, that there was “something else” there with you was ever present. The building felt haunted and many of its live inhabitants shared the negative and unnerving feeling.

There were copious stories of objects moving on their own, propelling themselves across surfaces lacking any logical explanation.

There were tales of poltergeist activity aplenty, ghostly movers and shakers at their clinical best, or at their worst. It was dependent on the views of the witnesses. 

Local legends and numerous shared stories of bits and pieces of equipment, patient’s personal belongings and even food going missing. 

Some of the recollections told of things suddenly disappearing for no obvious reasons or explanation in front of witnesses eyes. 

People had recounted and experienced unearthly and unexplainable creepy noises, squeaky floors and footsteps that had no apparent or visible physical source. This was not all...." 

Want to read more?

I'm afraid you will have to get a copy...

Here is the link: Phantasms