Whisper of the Forgotten

Silence… the heavy weight of quiet nights, when only the wind whispers outside. As doctors, we know that is never a good sign. It is 1936. Nights at the Hospital San Juan de Dios are usually exhausting, there are people moving everywhere, children crying, elderly patients struggling to stay awake. It is loud, chaotic, and alive. But that night was different. I, Francisco Vargas Vargas, have been working here for almost a year. I had seen everything, or at least that is what I thought. I thought nothing could surprise me, but fate has a way of proving us wrong when we believe we know everything. That night, I was about to learn how wrong I was.

The wind slipped through the corridors, and for a brief moment everything felt colder, I felt that weird sensation that runs through your spine before something happens. Then, the door opened. A woman stepped into the emergency room. She looked not older than twenty-three, her clothes were ragged and worn, she was barefoot against cold floors. There was a reek that followed them. Her long hair was messily braided, she looked thin, almost fragile. She carried a child in her arms, the boy was curled against her chest, his small body tense, as if he was in pain.

“Please, sir… I beg you, help my child.” The woman cried out as she walked towards me.

“No one would listen to us… no one would receive us.” There was something about her that I could not quite place. The ways she spoke, how she dressed… It felt out of time.

I ignored it. She needed my help.

There was no time to waste. I quickly led her to the examination room and reached for the child. As soon as I saw the boy more closely, I knew his condition was serious. His skin was cold and pale, his eyes sunken, his lips dry and cracked. He showed all the signs of severe dehydration, yet something did not make sense. His pulse was faint, almost absent. I knew these symptoms, but the illness they were associated with… I had read about these cases before, but those cases were from almost a hundred years ago.

I did everything I could to help the boy. I provided fluids, prepared what little I had, and stayed by his side longer than I should have.

The woman stood beside me while I helped her child. I could hear her desperate sobs. “They did not help us.” She cried. I still did not know who she was speaking of.

“I wish they had heard us…” She murmured, pacing restlessly.

“I hear you.” I whispered, almost unintentionally. The words came out of my mouth as a promise without even thinking of it.

I turned to her. I could see how worried she was. “What is your name?” I asked quietly, trying not to startle her more.

“My name is Carmen Teresa.” She walked towards the bed where her son lay. “His name is José…”

I approached her. My hand reached for her shoulder. “I hear you, Carmen. You can relax tonight. José may feel better tomorrow.” I said carefully, trying to give some peace to her, at least for tonight. I just saw how her face relaxed an inch. It was as if I had taken a heavy weight off of her shoulder.

I was about to leave the room when I heard her voice, calmer now. “Thank you Dr. Vargas… for helping us find peace.”

I simply nodded, letting her know I was there to help. After that I left the room with a strange sensation of calm I could not explain.

The corridors were silent once more, the wind whispering faintly through the halls. I glanced at the clock, it was already 3:33 am, I let out a small scoff, almost laughing as I remembered the stories my colleagues used to tell about spirits haunting the hospital. To me, those stories were ridiculous, I did not believe in such nonsense.

For me, that hour meant something else. It was time to sleep. “Sleep whenever you can.” That is one thing that doctors learn first. I was exhausted; my energy was completely drained.

That night, I went to bed as soon as I left the emergency room.

The next day, I arrived at the hospital early. My routine was the same as everyday, paperwork and going back to check on my patients. Though there was an unsettling feeling that followed me back to the ward, I dismissed it as stress, or maybe tiredness due to the poor sleeping schedule I had. There was something I needed to do, but to be honest, I did not remember at first, not until I walked past the room where I had examined the boy yesterday. I stopped. Slowly, I stepped inside the room. The room was empty.

“Did someone discharge José?” I asked a nurse.

I remember she looked at me with a puzzled expression. “José?” She asked. “The room was empty when I arrived.” Then she excused herself.

My friend Cesár approached me. “Hey, Francisco! Is everything okay? you look confused.” He said to me.

“There is a patient missing.” I said sure of my words. “I left a child named José here with his mother Carmen Teresa.”

Cesár frowned. “Pancho, that room has been empty for a few weeks. It is under maintenance,” He said without hesitation. “I think you saw a ghost.” He added with a teasing smile.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” I said, though a strange unease crept into my voice.

“You know,” he began.»There is a rumor here of a woman who appears on windy nights in the entrance asking for help, but nobody helps her.

I froze, could it be a coincidence?

“The guards say that in the past when the hospital was recently built, a poor woman showed up in the emergency room, begging for help, but nobody listened.” Cesár continued. ”They said the doctors at that time were too busy with other patients, and no one paid attention to her… not even with a child in her arms.”

“The boy died in her arms. And still, she waited, hoping for someone to help her. People say they heard her whisper until she died of starvation.”

At that moment I felt my blood run cold. Could it be possible?

“Hey! you are pale.” Cesár said worried. “Sit down. You look like you are about to faint. I will bring water.”

Those were the last words I heard before my mind started racing with a million thoughts.

The woman and the child I helped that night were not alive. They were the phantom of an injustice that had never been solved. At that moment the words she repeated constantly “I wish they had heard us.” They made sense. She just wanted someone to help her once, just so her, and her child’s soul could rest in peace. I want to believe, at last, that their souls now are resting somewhere in heaven, where no injustice could reach them.

She had not come seeking a cure… She had come to be heard.

Alessandra Alvarado & Alfred Esquivel