It was almost the end of my shift. I was running on empty—feet throbbing, head foggy, and just trying to finish my final charting before heading home.
I figured I’d do one last sweep—just a quick pass to make sure everything was in order: no supplies left out, nothing overlooked. When I opened the door to Exam Room 3, I wasn’t expecting anything out of the ordinary.
But then I saw him.
A young boy—maybe five or six—stretched out on the hospital bed like it was his own couch. Hands behind his head, one leg crossed lazily over the other, eyes fixed upward at the ceiling like he was watching something no one else could see.
No adult nearby. No staff. No chart.
I froze.
He didn’t look scared or out of place—just completely relaxed in a room that should’ve been empty. Like he belonged there. Like he’d been waiting for this moment.
“Hey there,” I said cautiously as I stepped closer. “What’s your name?”
Nothing. Not a word. He didn’t flinch or turn. Just kept gazing at the ceiling, lost in whatever was unfolding in his mind. My pulse started to rise. There was no record of this. No explanation.
“Are you lost?” I asked again, a bit more firmly. I couldn’t walk away—not with this mystery sitting calmly before me.
Then, finally, he turned his head to face me. A faint smile crept across his face. “I’m not lost,” he said softly. “I’m just waiting.”
I moved in a little. “Waiting for who?”
“For you to ask the right question,” he replied, like it was the simplest thing in the world.
That’s when something shifted. There was something off—not in a scary way, but in a way that didn’t match his age. He was too calm. Too aware.
I pulled out my phone and searched for any record of a child patient matching his description. Nothing. No file, no ID, no history of admission.
Something felt wrong. I headed straight to the charge nurse’s desk. “Quick question—do we have a kid in Exam Room 3?”
She glanced up, confused. “A kid? No, that room’s supposed to be empty. Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. He’s lying on the bed—no guardian, no paperwork, nothing.”
She frowned. “That’s… strange. Let’s go take a look.”
Those next few seconds felt unreal. A part of me expected the room to be empty when we got back. But there he was—still there. Same position. Same calm stare.
Only now, the nurse’s face drained of color. Her whole demeanor shifted. Without saying a word, she reached for the phone and called security.
