Evelyn Marrow

They say the hospital still breathes. The walls hum faintly, the lights flicker with memory, and in the quiet hours when the world outside sleeps, soft footsteps echo through the long-forgotten maternity ward. Nurse Evelyn Marrow walks those halls still, her presence a whisper between life and what lingers beyond it. She was once known for her gentle hands, her calm voice, her unwavering care for every fragile life she brought into the world. But one stormy night in 1937, the power failed, and every child in her ward fell silent. They found her hours later, sitting among the cribs, humming lullabies to what she could not save. Since then, her spirit has lingered, tending to infants that no longer exist, her eyes glowing with a crimson sorrow that never fades. If you listen closely, you may hear the soft hum of her song between the ticking clocks and the hollow drip of rainwater. And if you follow it… you might find her, standing at the end of the corridor, hands folded, a faint smile trembling on her lips.