Hesitating at first, Sara spoke. “Ah…I’m one of the surgery students. I’m supposed to start tomorrow—just down here getting my scrubs.”
Sara waited for a response. There was none.
She cleared her throat. God, she had to get out of here. “What’s that terrible smell?” she asked in exasperation.
“What…smell…Miss?” Although the voice sounded almost mechanical, Sara detected an underlying sinister tone this time. What smell! She wanted to shout, but instead chose to keep quiet. This bozo had either lost his sense of smell or his marbles, or both. Whichever it was, Sara didn’t plan to wait around and find out. He and his deformed pumpkin could go and frighten someone upstairs if he thought this was so entertaining.
She could feel the stranger’s eyes on her as she stepped toward him. As she neared the spot where he stood, the vulgar stench increased in magnitude, leaving no doubt as to its origin. She felt her knees begin to tremble. Yet the strange figure remained quiet, never taking his cold stare from her. Sara did her best to avoid his eyes. Looking toward the damaged pumpkin instead, she took several rapid steps and rushed by.
Hyperventilating, she made a dash down the hall. Pushing through the metal door, she ran up the inclined passage out of McDermitt Building. She ignored the odd stares from onlookers as she rushed down the hall past the cafeteria. Nearing the closest exit, she began to slow her pace. Breathing deeply, a feeling of relief flooded her senses as she stepped out into the sunny California air.
Sara walked to a nearby concrete bench and sat down. Glancing at her hands, she was not surprised to see them still trembling. A group of nursing students, a few in witches’ garb, nodded to her as they strolled by. Wiping the residual perspiration from her forehead, Sara returned the gesture and forced a smile. Maybe she should loosen up some. After all, Halloween was supposed to be fun. Next year, she decided, she would wear a costume, maybe come to the clinics pretending to be a ruptured appendix or gallbladder. Perfect since she was going to be a surgeon.
The breeze tugged at her bangs clinging against her moist skin. She suppressed the desire to massage her throbbing temples. What a day, she thought in frustration as her fear gradually subsided. Reaching for her pack, Sara now wondered if she’d possibly misread her morning surgery schedule. She pulled the folded memo out from amongst her books. Eyeing a list of about twenty students’ names, it didn’t take her long to find what she was looking for. Sure enough, there, printed near the bottom of the page, was Sara McCaffe. And beside her name was a surgery case scheduled at 6:30 a.m. in OR 13.
On October 31st.
* * *
Having gulped down a ham and cheese sandwich, Sara retraced her steps down the hall to McDermitt Building, this time ascending the flight of stairs leading into the surgical suites.
Stepping into the second floor hallway, Sara approached two drab gray doors festooned with Happy Halloween. Under the pagan greeting, the words Operating Room stood out in bold black lettering. Walking briskly she stepped through them into McDermitt Surgical Suite.
Pausing to get her bearings, Sara’s attention focused on one of the nearby surgical rooms, OR 5 she thought it read. Two orderlies were busy transferring a patient to the operating room table. Several others, the surgeons Sara guessed, stood by the sink waiting to scrub in. Another doctor was busy with the oxygen cart at the patient’s head. The hectic pace of the entire scene acted on Sara’s adrenaline. She realized she’d be in their places one day—if all went as planned.
After a moment of reflection, Sara turned away from the ongoing scene and located the administrative nurses’ station. “Excuse me.”
The wrinkled gray-haired woman across the counter remained attentive to a chart in front of her.
“Excuse me,” Sara persisted. “My name is Sara McCaffe. I’m a new third year student.”
“And I’m Nurse Jenkins. What can I do for you?” She set the chart aside.
Sara reached into her knapsack and pulled out her copy of the AM surgery schedule. “Nurse Jenkins, according to my schedule here, I’m supposed to be in Operating Room 13 tomorrow morning. Is this—”
“That can’t be right. Let me see that sheet,” the craggy nurse cut in, reaching for the paper. “Miss McCaffe, I don’t understand. It says right here OR 12, not OR 13. Who told you OR 13?”
Sara opened her mouth to answer. However her reply caught in her throat.
“God that odor,” she whispered.
“What?” The nurse sounded perturbed.
Sara didn’t care. Looking around, she failed to see anything unusual, though. The door to OR 5 was closed and besides the old administrator and herself, the only other person in the area was a tall masked orderly in surgical greens standing motionless next to an oxygen tank a ways down the hall. Was he watching her? She glanced away. To her dismay, though, she could find nothing to explain the faint but unmistakable scent of dead tissue. Sara’s gaze darted back to Nurse Jenkins. The elderly lady’s eyes were fixed on her.
“Ms. Jenkins?” Sara started before clearing her throat. “Do you smell anything odd?”‘
“No, why do you ask?”
“I don’t know. It’s just that…well, I just got the whiff of something like…ah…decaying tissue.”
The old nurse grinned wryly. “You can do better than that for Halloween.”
“I wasn’t joking.”
Sara glanced back down the hall of the surgical suite but saw no one. The orderly had vanished, along with the oxygen tank. She sniffed again. The vile smell had faded, too. She stood in silence, a puzzled look on her face.
“Now, Miss McCaffe. Let’s get back to your schedule.”
“Sure,” Sara responded, her mind still clouded with the uncanny odor.
The wrinkled nurse continued. “As I was saying, your schedule is correct. Just show up on time tomorrow at OR 12 and your case will go as planned.
“What?” Sara questioned, reaching across the counter for the schedule.
“I said you will be in OR 12.”
With a confused look, Sara examined the Xeroxed copy carefully. She paused. Sure enough, next to her name was OR 12. She scratched at her neck. This was really getting weird. Folding the schedule, she returned it to her pack.
“I could’ve sworn it said 13,” Sara yielded, stepping away from the counter.
Without smiling, Jenkins spoke. “You’re just nervous about tomorrow. Others in the past have been the same way. Every year we lose one.”
“What do you mean?”
“Lose one—a student drops out, fails, quits, goes loony. The stress of medical school breaks some of them.”
Sara forced a smile. “Well, that’s not me. Oh, one more question. Why don’t they use OR 13?”
Already clutching another chart in her hands, Nurse Jenkins replied, “They rarely use OR 13 anymore, especially on Halloween.”
“Why?”
“The medical center has other operating rooms that don’t carry that…stigma.”
“I’m not following you. Are you alluding to the fire that happened a long time ago?”
The nurse wouldn’t look at her as she perused a patient’s admit note. “The accident, yes, but more because of superstition, I suspect, than anything else. Surgeons prefer not to operate where some of the medical staff burned to death.”
* * *
An unexplainable blanket of apprehension hung over Sara as she wound her way out of the medical school complex and over to the library. Several things were on her mind. How could she have misread her surgery schedule? Something was not right. She didn’t make mental errors like that. And then that damn dead odor. Why was it only her that seemed to notice it?
The ten minute walk in the early evening air helped clear Sara’s head. Gazing at some of the brighter stars in the dusky sky, she wished Halloween were already here and gone. Then she’d be through with her first case and she’d know what to expect.
“To hell with it,” she finally sighed as she
stepped up to the library entrance. Positioned on a wood planter sat two big orange pumpkins, their crudely cut-out eyes staring at her. She stuck her tongue out at the largest one and went inside.
“Hello, Erma,” Sara smiled. The buffalo-humped librarian was busy shelving some books when Sara entered. Erma had been with the medical school for ages, it seemed.
“Evening, Sara. You doing okay?” the bent librarian inquired, standing as straight as her arthritic spine would allow.
“Start my surgery rotation tomorrow. Got my first case in the morning.”
“Uh-oh. Long hours.” Erma sounded concerned as she went back to shelving.
“Well, it shouldn’t be too bad. You know that’s what I plan to do—surgery.”
“That’s great. A real-life surgeon,” Erma smiled.
“Yep.” Suddenly a thought entered Sara’s mind. “Erma, how long have you been working here at the hospital?”
“Years, Sara.” She paused. “This library used to be over in old McDermitt Building, you know. Right where the anatomy and biochem labs are now.”
“Really?”
“Yes ma’am.”
Sara remained silent a moment, her mind working. “Erma, you don’t happen to know anything about an accident in one of the old surgery rooms some years back?”
Erma leaned back against one of the bookshelves, taking some of her weight off her feet. “You don’t mean that terrible Halloween fire, do you?”
“What happened?”
“Sara, dear, it was God-awful.” Erma looked solemn. “If I remember correctly, back then one of the operating rooms was used to treat psychiatric patients.”
“Psych patients?” Sara wavered.
“Used to take the really crazy ones up there for, what do you call it…shock treatment? Anyway, it was on a Halloween. They don’t really know what happened, but they think someone had turned the oxygen on and a short in one of the electrodes ignited the tank. Kaboom! The entire room became a raging furnace.”
Sara purposely tried to slow her breathing. “Any survivors?” she asked, trying her best to hide her angst.
“Are you kidding? The devil himself would have burned in that inferno. It was so unfortunate. We lost two doctors, both nurses, and oh that poor patient. Supposedly, he’d once been an orderly here, but was dismissed when a med student reported him for starting a fire in one of the hospital rooms. He was being treated for pyromania and severe schizophrenia.”
“How terrible.”
“What’s past is past.” The librarian patted Sara’s arm. “Study hard, dear.”
“I will.” But the throbbing in Sara’s head had returned.
* * *
Sara McCaffe, gowned in her surgical greens, stood outside the observation window of OR 12. An aseptic smell permeated the entire surgical suite. A short distance away, two surgical residents were busy scrubbing their hands, getting ready for the morning’s first case. Feeling anxious, Sara reached for her right eye in an attempt to mask the irritating twitch that had suddenly become evident. Screw Halloween. Just her bad luck—her first case in surgery fell on the devil’s day.
“Morning, Sara. You nervous?”
Sara turned toward the friendly voice. Recognizing Julie Charmaine, a fellow third year student, she smiled ruefully. “Got my case coming up, and for some reason, I don’t feel real confident.”
She was telling the truth, too. From the time her alarm went off at 5:00 a.m., Sara had felt a strange premonition about today.
Julie eased her pretty figure beside her. “Hey, don’t worry. From what I hear, they don’t let us third years even near a suture, much less a scalpel. We just gotta watch and act interested. Besides I’m going into psychiatry, not surgery. What room you in?”
Sara glanced back, somewhat puzzled. “OR 12, here.”
Julie thought for a second. “That’s odd. My case is supposed to be here. See, there are the two residents scrubbing in.” Julie pointed to the near scrub sink.
Sara didn’t answer. Damn, she should have brought her schedule with her, she cursed quietly.
“Who told you OR 12?” Julie asked, tying her surgical mask in place.
“Some nurse on the evening shift.”
“Hm. There’s one other OR on the other side of that surgical supply room.”
“Julie, you ready?” A loud voice boomed from the scrub sink.
Julie turned to Sara. “See ya later. Oh, and good luck. Don’t let the goblins bite you.”
“Not funny.” Sara watched Julie leave. “What is this bullshit,” she muttered under her breath. Her first day on the toughest rotation of med school and already a screw-up. Happy fucking Halloween.
Checking her watch, Sara decided against rushing back to scheduling administration. She’d definitely be late then. Shrugging her shoulders in frustration, she walked toward the next operating room. With each step, however, she noted an increasing awareness to all her senses. She could hear each breath clearly. She was conscious of each beat of her heart. She even felt the muscles of her legs tense.
Just past the open door of the surgical supply room, Sara slowed. Nearing the next observation window, she came to a halt. A one and a three glared at her from above the door.
Without holding back, Sara stepped up and peered into the gray interior of OR 13.
* * *
Expecting to see an empty operating room, Sara experienced an immediate feeling of relief at the scene on the other side of the glass. She watched as two individuals in green scrubs arranged several trays of instruments on the metallic table next to the far wall. Although they were facing away from her, Sara thought they looked like scrub nurses getting things ready prior to the patient’s arrival. Green surgical sheets were draped across the OR table. Off to the side stood the anesthesia cart. Even the OR lights were on. So they still use this damn room, she thought, somewhat vexed that she’d allowed herself to be disturbed by the scheduling confusion.
“Let’s do it,” Sara mumbled. Walking to the scrub sink, she reached for a mask at the nearby dispenser. After tying it in place, she began scrubbing—five minutes each hand. Hearing the OR door open, she looked up just in time to see three more figures dressed in green enter the room, the last one carrying an oxygen tank and something orange. Straining her neck, Sara caught glimpses of them through the window as they moved pieces of medical equipment in an animated fashion. She looked for some of the other surgery residents, but the rest of the surgery area was oddly deserted.
With her sterile hands held out in front of her, Sara walked to the OR door. Placing her back against the hard surface, she pushed her way in so as not to contaminate them. Once inside, she turned and faced the operating room table.
At the sight of the empty surgery sheets, her pulse quickened. Wondering where the patient was, Sara groaned beneath her mask when the same irritating twitch she’d felt earlier returned. This time, though, she was helpless to massage it without dirtying her hands again. The two individuals by the surgical trays stood motionless, their backs to Sara. The doctors faced each other by the OR table, as if locked in an emotionless trance. Neither moved.
Sara took a deep breath, and then another. Suddenly the air seemed so stifling. Her temples began to throb, only making her twitch worse. Breaking out in a cold sweat, she felt her legs shake. Damn, she wanted to scream, “What’s happening?” but her voice strangled in her constricted throat. An instant later, the now familiar decaying odor penetrated her mask. Gasping, Sara froze in fright. Afraid to look, she slowly turned in the direction of the anesthesia cart.
Sara stared in shock at the sight before her. The same tall emaciated figure she’d encountered in the basement two floors below now stood by the oxygen tank. His partially melted pumpkin sat at his feet.
Only this morning—he wore no mask!
Sara suddenly felt queasy as she tried in vain to keep from looking at his face, or what was left of it. The horrendous hypertrophic burn scars of mounded skin made his feature
s humanly unrecognizable. Charred teeth jutted grotesquely from a gaping wound where his mouth should have been. Two irregular holes piercing an ill-angled scar were all that remained of a nose. And those eyes! Sara gulped hard. God, those eyes—those mean unblinking eyes. They had no lids! Horrified, she stepped back toward the operating room exit.
“Who…are…you?” she stammered. The stench thickened.
Still the ghastly figure did not move. He remained silent, wearing only a hideous sneer on his inhuman face.
A subtle movement caught Sara’s attention. Her eyes darted to his hand. Within seconds, she heard a hissing noise, like the sound of a tea kettle beginning to boil. She stared in abject terror and disbelief. The hissing was coming from the single tank of oxygen! It increased in intensity as the horribly contorted fingers twisted their grip.
With sweat stinging her eyes, Sara rushed for the OR door.
“Help me… Damn… Help me!” she screamed as the palms of her hands immediately blistered from the burning surface of the metal door. Panicking, she tried again. The door still would not budge. Terrified, Sara spun away, clasping her seared hands together in a hopeless attempt to lessen the pain. The putrid odor thickened more, choking the air from her lungs.
No longer able to hold it back, Sara doubled up, heaving into her mask. The acidic fluid stung her throat as she ripped the surgical covering from her face. Gagging, she coughed again in an effort to clear her lungs.
Suddenly a new terror touched her senses. Sara’s head shot up at the strange shuffling sound.
“Oh, God, no,” she grieved, as she felt the blood drain from her face. She looked on in horror as the other four lifeless forms turned and confronted her. All wore the hideous facial scarring of long past burns. None spoke as they moved robotically in her direction. Panic-stricken, Sara flung all her weight against the operating room exit door. It didn’t budge. She tried again and failed, only this time a sharp pain stabbed her chest. Gasping for air, she swung around.
“Help me! Goddammit, someone please help me!” she screamed, smothering in the foul stench. Sinking to her knees, Sara began to weep. “Oh no, please, no, not me. I want to be a surgeon.”
Looking up in desperation, her eyes glimpsed the intercom speaker. In one futile attempt, Sara lunged for it, flipping the button to the ON position.