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I shake my head as the elevator doors slam shut.

Every job has its lore. You can’t work here a month without hearing some really wild rumors.

Like how this sprawling complex was supposedly built on an old pioneer era cemetery or something.

Ghosts of dead patients roaming the hallways at bewitching hours. Gone before you can blink.

Supplies disappearing into thin air and men in black roaming the halls.

Big promises from security that they’ll look into it, but they never do.

People disappearing, too. A few low-level support staff who love their jobs one day, and then poof, they’re gone the next without notice.

You get used to it, I guess.

I don’t mind a little spooky edge in the work culture here.

It keeps things fun on those long, hectic shifts where there’s barely time to share laughs, let alone gobble down a salad over break.

It’s not just the nurses, either.

Not a day goes by where I don’t hear cleaners whispering about ‘suits.’ Or surgeons with three degrees who write everything off as absurd half-baked stories crafted by underlings who really should be better educated against embracing conspiracies and superstitions.

Oh, but does that mean they’d back it up with a higher salary or a continuing education stipend?

Nah.

When I reach the parking garage, it’s not so fun.

The only sound now is my lonely feet scuffing the pavement.

Those silly stories don’t feel so cute anymore.

Long shadows loom ahead, hiding who knows what.

Without the summer humidity in the air, the coolness is a shock. I fish out my pink fluffy cardigan to throw around my shoulders while I press on toward my car and—

What’s that? Do I hear… whispering?

I swallow thickly.

If I’m the next MIA nurse, how long would it be before anyone noticed?

Look, I don’t believe in ghosts or government agents playing snatch and grab around here. But that doesn’t mean there couldn’t be a real-life crazy lurking around the garage.

I know that’s irrational. Security keeps this place tighter than a drum.

I’m sure there’s someone in a room watching me from a closed-circuit camera I can’t see right now. If a bad guy wanted to try anything here, help would be seconds away.

It’s just the construction lately that makes this place look creepier than usual and causes a longer trek to my car.

I have nothing to worry about.

Rivermont, Minnesota, is a minnow when it comes to big cities. Compared to Seattle’s dark streets and winter gloom and crime issues, it’s small-town Mayberry tier.

I got so used to the noise back there that sometimes the quiet wakes me up here.

Smaller means safer, I remind myself as I keep walking.