The Nurse of Block 13

The wind moaned through the alleyways of Yau Ma Tei like a forgotten voice. Neon lights flickered in vain attempts to penetrate the thick mist that had settled over the city after dusk. Hong Kong, usually pulsing with the rhythm of people and lights, was frozen under the strict curfew declared just hours earlier.

Jian and Mei-ling sat quietly inside their 10th-floor apartment, the television murmuring news updates in the background. Mei-ling, her round belly rising and falling with each breath, winced.

"It’s time," she whispered.

Jian stood up so fast he knocked over his tea.

"But there’s curfew... No taxis, no MTR... Mei-ling, what do we do?"

Another contraction surged. Mei-ling clutched the sofa, face contorting. The baby was coming.

At 2:03 a.m., defying the empty streets and the city’s silence, Jian bundled his wife into their old silver van. The air outside was heavy—oppressive. He drove through the vacant roads with hazard lights flashing, praying they wouldn't be stopped.

Their destination: Wing Wah Memorial Hospital in Kowloon Bay.

They reached the hospital gates, surprised to find them open. No security, no staff—but the entrance lights were on.

Inside, the white hallways echoed with their footsteps. Mei-ling’s breaths came fast, shallow.

"Is anyone here?" Jian called out. "Please! My wife... she's delivering!"

A soft voice floated through the silence.

"Room 203. This way."

A nurse appeared around the corner, serene in her crisp white uniform. Her name tag read Nurse Lin Chenhua. Her hair was tied in a neat bun, and her presence was oddly calming.

"You're safe now," she said. "Come."

Lin guided Mei-ling into the delivery room. She moved with grace and confidence, her hands warm and steady. Jian, frantic and overwhelmed, was ushered aside.

Within the sterile quiet of the room, pain gave way to life. At 3:27 a.m., a cry pierced the gloom.

A baby girl.

Mei-ling wept softly. Nurse Lin placed the infant in her arms and smiled, a light that seemed to radiate from inside her.

"She’s beautiful," Lin whispered. "Strong heart. Just like her mother."

Jian took photos. He asked the nurse where he could file papers. She told him, "Staff will return in the morning. For now, rest."

She brought them warm water, extra blankets, even food that seemed impossibly fresh.

As dawn approached, Nurse Lin stood by the window and looked out. Then she turned to them with a tired, almost melancholic smile.

"You’ll be alright now. My work here is done."

She walked out quietly.

At 7:15 a.m., the hospital came alive. Lights fully brightened. The security guard yawned at his desk. Dr. Wong, the head physician, arrived along with a few nurses.

Mei-ling was nursing her child. Jian stood up.

"Doctor! Thank you. But please—can you thank Nurse Lin for us? She was incredible. We want to nominate her for a service award."

Dr. Wong paused. "Nurse Lin? There’s no one on shift by that name."

Another nurse, Ivy Liu, looked up. "Did she say her full name?"

"Lin Chenhua," Jian said. "She helped us last night. Room 203. She delivered our daughter."

Ivy froze. Her clipboard slipped from her fingers.

Dr. Wong looked solemn. "That’s not possible. Lin Chenhua was our most devoted nurse. She died a year ago."

"What?"

"There was a fire. Electrical short in the maternity wing. She refused to leave until every patient was safe. She got them all out. But... the roof collapsed."

Jian turned pale. "No. It’s not... We saw her. She helped us."

Ivy walked over, trembling. "Last week... a mother who came in alone during another night emergency described the same thing. Nurse in white, name tag Chenhua. No one believed her."

Jian and Mei-ling exchanged glances, their baby sleeping soundly between them.

They all walked to Room 203.

Inside: spotless. No sign of use. No files. No food trays. The bed untouched.

Only one thing stood on the window ledge: an old photograph in a frame. A young nurse in white, smiling.

"That’s Lin," said Ivy. "We keep it here in her memory. This was her favorite room."

Mei-ling wept. Not out of fear, but grace.

They named their daughter Chenhua Mei.

Years later, her favorite toy would be a nurse’s kit.

When asked what she wanted to be, she’d say:

"Someone who stays behind when everyone else runs. Someone who helps even if she’s not seen."

And somewhere beyond the veil of the living, Nurse Lin smiled again.

Moral: In the darkest hours, it is not power, fame, or authority that saves lives—but kindness. Even beyond death, the soul that lives to serve can become light for the lost. Conscience, once awakened, walks farther than the body ever could.

What Inspired Me to Write “The Nurse of Block 13”

I was inspired by the quiet heroism we often overlook—especially in times of crisis. During curfews, pandemics, or disasters, it's not always the loudest voices that save lives. It's the nurses who stay behind, the strangers who help at 2 a.m., the people who act simply because it's the right thing to do.

I wanted to tell a ghost story not just to frighten, but to awaken conscience—to show that even in death, a soul guided by compassion can continue to serve. The idea that goodness can linger, even when the body is gone, felt powerful and deeply moving to me.

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Readers will come away with:

A sense of awe and reflection, not just fear

A reminder that courage doesn't always look heroic—it can be quiet, unseen, and deeply human

A belief that kindness has weight, even beyond this life

A deeper appreciation for the people who serve behind the scenes, especially in healthcare

This story isn’t just horror. It’s a candle in the dark—a way to remember that some spirits don’t haunt… they help.

Every story starts with a whisper—and for me, Whispers of Penamabegan with one quiet question:

“What if an island remembered everything… even the people who tried to forget it?”

I’ve always been fascinated by forgotten places, eerie legends, and that fine line between memory and myth. Penama, a beautiful and mysterious province in Vanuatu, caught my attention while reading about lesser-known islands in the South Pacific. Its real-world beauty, mixed with its untold stories, sparked my imagination.

That’s when the seed was planted:What if someone disappeared on such an island, and the island itself wasn’t done with them yet?

From that spark came the character of Ellie Harris, an investigative journalist chasing the truth behind a decades-old disappearance. What she uncovers isn’t just a missing person case—it’s a chilling reminder that some places don’t want to be understood.

What Is Whispers of PenamaAbout?

Set in the rain-soaked jungles and coastal villages of Penama, the story follows Ellie as she tries to uncover what happened to a group of missionaries who vanished in 1978. But as strange sounds haunt her nights and local warnings grow more urgent, Ellie realizes she may be part of the island’s story now—whether she wants to be or not.

Expect:

Slow-building suspense

Psychological mystery

Tropical gothic vibes

A story that leaves you wondering: What would you do if the place you were investigating… started investigating you?

This is my first published story—feedback is gold to me!

I’m open to thoughts on pacing, suspense, and what you loved