The Admission

I work night intake at a small emergency hospital.

That night, the waiting room was empty except for one man sitting perfectly still in Chair 6.

He had no file.

No bracelet.

No record in the system.

But when I asked his name, he already answered.

“Patient 14,” he said, like it was obvious.

The Records

I checked the system again.

Chair 6 was already marked as occupied.

By Patient 14.

When I looked up, the man was gone.

The chair was still warm.

The screen refreshed on its own and added a new line.

“Patient 14 is currently speaking to staff.”

The Hallway

I found him standing outside Radiology, staring at the wall like he was waiting for it to respond.

I told him he needed to leave.

He tilted his head.

“I tried,” he said. “They won’t discharge me.”

I asked who “they” was.

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

The Truth

Security footage later showed me at the desk, talking to no one.

Chair 6 was always empty.

Except in the system logs.

Except in the signatures.

Except in the discharge forms I apparently kept approving.

At 3:07 AM, the intercom clicked on by itself.

A calm voice spoke through the empty hospital:

“Patient 14 is still waiting to be seen.”

And I realized I was the only one still on shift.