I don't know how many times I've laid awake at night. I control my breathing. I am silent. I don't want her to hear me. She lingers in the hallways. Her white hands move along the walls searching for what she is missing. 

I don't know how long she has been dead now. All I know is she can't move on from this house until she finds him. Many of us have died from her anger. That is why it's so important to be silent.

She must not hear you, not even your breathing. The boy in the cot next to me lets out a small cough. He had been sick for days now. His cough made my blood freeze. Did she hear it?

I could hear the scratching of her fingertips along the walls. She was coming this way. I dare not move. I could see her in the doorway. Her black hair draped over her face. Her eyes looked to be misted over. Her hospital gown was stained with blood as she walked this way keeping her hand on the walls. 

The closer she came, the colder the room became. I watched in horror as she made her way past my cot to his. Her hands lingered from the wall before touching the railing of his bed.

Like a snake, she slithered her hands across the cot to find him. For a moment, I saw the glimmer of hope go across her face as she touched his face. That hope quickly turned to anguish.

She let out a scream of sadness as she placed her hands on his throat. I closed my eyes in terror and fear. The room was filled with his gasping and her crying before going silent. I held my breath for what seemed like hours.

I kept my eyes tightly shut until all went quiet. I could no longer hear his gasps or him kicking his feet. I listened to her sob as she placed her hands on the wall and slowly made her way past my bed. 

All was quiet in the ward again. Who knows how long she will haunt here. She will never find her baby.