This next story is a bit personal for me. It's one I'm still having trouble coming to terms with. One one hand, it could have been a trick of the mind. I was on some pretty powerful painkillers at the time. My life too it seemed had fallen apart, like a piece of priceless china that had been dropped on the floor. The tiny porcelain shards scattered to the four winds. I guess I should start at the beginning of the story.
Hospitals by their very nature are supposed to be among the most haunted places on earth. Many people take their first breath there and many take their last breath there. They are supposed to be a place for healing. But for every miracle that takes place there, another tragic event plays out. For every new life born another life must by the laws of nature come to an end. I feel like I could write a whole another book that is completely devoted toward haunted hospitals. And maybe I will, when I have more time to devote to my craft. But for now this humble collection of ghost stories must do.

The legend of the phantom nurse first appeared around thirty or so years ago. According to the legend there was a popular nurse named Amanda Bowman who was assigned to the pediatric ward. She was a petite woman with honey blonde hair that barely reached the collar of her scrubs. She had pretty blue eyes and was known for her loving bedside manner. She often went by the nickname Mindy. And was affectedly called Nurse Mindy by the children of the ward and her coworkers. She was quite popular and well loved by all. She was tragically killed one foggy morning in a car wreck as she was leaving work.

Now since her wreck, rumors of her returning from beyond the pale to care for the children of the ward. Her mission now seemed to go beyond caring for the sick. According to my sources she also acts like a guide. Often appearing to terminally children, offering them gentle assurance that she would be there to help them make the move from this world to the next. These terminally ill children who often report encountering her often seem more at ease and are reported to pass away with something of a smile and a look of peace on their face.

But being a guide from this world to the other is only one of her many duties, she also said to appear on the bedside of children and teens who are in deep emotional distress who suffer from homesickness or depression. With gentle words and a loving touch she guides them away from such thoughts and encourages them to push through them. She also said to patrol the hallways. Searching for children and teenagers who are roaming the ward at night or are breaking curfew. Those who are caught breaking curfew or roaming are often scolded on the spot and marched back to their room. And according to my friend Jamie Sarah Potter she also reported to employ corporal punishment in some cases. How she came about this information, she did not tell, but her cheeks flushed at the mention of it.

Now I've told you what little I know about the ghost. It's time I tell you about my own encounter with the fable ghost nurse. I remember that night because it was the coldest night of my life. I was in the Hospital and I was dealing with a lot of guilt. My mom had discovered me about a week ago wearing her new church going dress. Not before we go any further, I have an confession to make. I was not born Madeline Brewer, I was born Mark.

And let me tell you something right quick. I promise this would only take a few more minutes of your time. And it kind of sets the scene to my tale. I made a very poor boy, unlike my father who was tall, dark and handsome. Who had the strength of a hundred men, and could swing a twenty seven pound hammer from dawn till dusk. He worked on the railroad you see. Or he did till he was killed in a tragic accident at his work that left my mother a widow, I was ten years old at the time.

The death of my father had far reaching consequences for me and my mother. I could tell my mother was heart broken, I was too. My father though he was a strong man had been a weak willed man and had remained silent when my mother kicked my older sister to the curb a few years after I was born when she discovered she had been exchanging romantic messages with another girl over the internet. Anyway that is a story for another, a story I'll cover another time.

But again her discovering me standing in her room wearing her shoes, her panties, her bra and her dress sent her into a wild tailspin. She bawled and ordered me to march out to her car. It was a week after Christmas I believe a sudden cold front had dropped several inches of snow on the ground, enough snow remained that the front of the yard was covered in a good four inches of the stuff. Still in her dress, I was ordered to march through this frozen slush.

Once I was in the car, she jumped into the driver's seat, started up the car and pulled out of that drive way like a bat straight out of hell. She flew down the highway, she was still bawling me out as the bright lights of the city vanished behind us and the darkness of the open country swallowed us. She was taking me to my uncle, a small time hill farm in the country. There she said I would finally learn to be a man.

I never made it to my uncles. She took a hairpin curve too fast and rolled down the steep embankment. The car finally came to a halt when it crashed into a dozen or so close growing trees. My mother was killed upon impact her neck snapped and her head busted open like an overripe watermelon. I myself remained conscious through the whole thing. I remembered everything from the car swerving off the road to the roll down the embankment to the crash to the sight of my mother snapping her head and having her head slammed into the windshield. I was battered and bruised and wished for death too as I was removed from the twisted metal and broken glass.

My breath turned to frost before more as I loaded up on the stretcher and carried up the hill and pushed into the open door of an awaiting ambulance. The last thing I remember is the door to the ambulance being closed and locked and that it.

Anyway back to my story. Back to the night I encountered Nurse Mindy. Now I have been in hospital for a few weeks. My strength was returning and my desire to roam and play was returning. And so feeling bold, I tossed my covers to the side and started to inch toward the door of my room. Gathering what little strength I could muster I pushed open the door and stepped into the hallway.

I wandered the hallway for a good thirty minutes before settling down in the children's playroom. Now the children's playroom was a wonderland. In the far corner of the room there was a bookcase with around four wooden shelves, I remember the shelves were overflowing with books. Classic hardbound copies and paperback copies too. In front of the bookcase there could be seen a dozen beanbags scattered around in something of a circle. In the center of this circle of beanbags there could be seen a small coffee table.
A wooden toy chest that was filled with toys of all kinds. From where I stood in the doorway I could see an old hand sewn doll, a wooden locomotive, an orange and blue ball, a hobby-horse and clear box that held a collection of tiny metal cars and finally what appeared to be an old barbie dollhouse.

And finally across from the toy chest there could be seen a small television, hooked up to the television was vintage old SNES with a few games laying beside it. And in the center of the room, like in the very center. There was a large neon pink oval rug with a small table sitting in the center of the rug. Placed around the low legged table were three small plastic chairs. On the table I noticed an open coloring book and a few crayons.

As I entered the playroom, I felt a sense of wonder take hold of me. I felt like I was a child again. Being a bookworm by nature, I felt drawn toward the overflowing bookcase, there I found a book that reminded me of my long forgotten childhood. The book was a children's book, the book showed two lines of six little girls all wearing yellow dresses. At the head of the group there looked like a gentle nun who was leading them toward an old manor house. The title at the top of the book was “Madeline” and at the bottom was the name of the author being “Ludwig Bemelmans”.

I stood there thunderstruck. My fingers reached up and pulled the book down from the wooden shelf and as I held the book in my hands, I started to recall a powerful childhood memory. One that caused me to break out in a cold sweat, my breathing became shadow. The force of the memory was causing me to shake, I could feel my knees starting to buckle. My fingers gripped the book tightly. This book, this book had been what started it all. I started to recall those lazy summer mornings when me and my older sister would gather in the living room of my grandmother's house in rural Benton, a township some fifty miles from where we lived in urban Canton.
Returning to my story, as I stood there rooted almost into the ground, gripping that book so tight my knuckles turned white, I started to almost remember why I had started to dress like a girl in the first place, I had been enchanted by the whimsical adventures of Madeline.. and in play, I had started to go under that name, even know the name seemed to stir hidden emotions, it not only stirred them but brought them to the surface were they could get the attention they so desired and undoubtedly deserved.

Then I heard a voice, a choice that echoed across the chamber and knocked me out of musing. It was a woman's voice, and she seemed quite cross. Today I can still hear her words knocking around my head, because it was the last time anybody called me by my old name. It was the last time I was ever called “Mark”.

I quickly turned toward the source of the voice and there in the doorway stood a nurse, she was dressed in pastel pink Her hair was the color of honey and in the dim light it had an unearthly glow about it. Her baby blue eyes too seemed to shine and when she spoke, she spoke with the authority of a woman who was used to giving orders and having them obeyed without a seconds delay.

I remember locking my eyes with the woman and a chill ran down my back. The way she looked at me, the way she peered at me The way she moved her eyes up and down, starting at the very top of my head and slowly working her way down to my bare ankles struck me like a verbal tone of bricks. I felt like I was being sized up. Already breathing hard, I felt myself breathing even harder when she placed her hands upon her hips and leaned in as if preparing a stern lecture.

What happened next surprised me. Her facial expressions softened and she took me by the hand and guided me back to my hospital room. When I told her my name was 'Madeline' instead of 'Mark' she accepted and even made me look the part. What followed was a very special but brief period of time that lasted no more than an hour or two but had the most profound impact on my life.
So, I'm going to finish this story with this note. Yes I believe I encountered the spirit of Nurse Mindy that lonely night in Mississippi Medical Center. I believe she is the guardian of the hospital. I hope one day I will get a chance to thank her. Because of the love she showed me that night and the love, support and kindness shown to me by the rest of my medical team gave me the strength to vow to live the remainder of my years as 'Madeline' and to make something of my life. Something worthy of that new name.