A Short Storyof mine, published in The Weekly News

OH, MONICA

 

By

 

Catherine Short

 

9.8.09

 

 

Sister Fay Ridley opened the store-room cupboard, immediately unnerved by an unexpected blast of deadly, freezing air which hit her in the face.  She reasoned that the north side of the building was always cold, especially at this time of year. Staring in disbelief at the empty space, she groped along the dusty shelves for the box of electro-cardiograph paper. It had been right there the previous week. She’d seen it; she was sure, right on the middle shelf, to the left side of the cupboard. Self-doubt crept over her as she wondered whether she had been mistaken. Perhaps she had dreamt it.  Dr Cummings is going to have a fit now, She thought to herself, as she nervously flicked her soft, wavy brown, hair. What would happen if she needed to do an urgent electro-cardiograph?

      er

 Her worse fears were realised later that afternoon.

     “Fay!” It was Janice, the head receptionist on the phone. “I’ve got Mr French here complaining of chest pain. What do you want me to do?”

     “Is he breathless?”

     “I don’t think so.”

     “Is he alert?”

     “Well…yes.” Janice replied. “He’s a bit sweaty though!”

     “Right, I’m coming now. Make sure Dr Cummings knows he’s here.”

     Fully aware that breathlessness and profuse perspiration were signs of an imminent heart attack, Fay rushed to the reception area.  

      “It’s me chest…It’s dead tight!” gasped Mr French, as he clenched his fat fist to the centre of his torso; his pale, sausage-shaped fingers of his other hand, gripping onto the reception counter. His grey, clammy, face was twisted in agony. He looked to be on the point of collapse.  

      Linking her right arm through the crook of his left, Fay quickly ushered Mr French through to the treatment room, all the while assessing his condition. She worried that Dr Cummings might not be back from his afternoon visits, but felt a bit more reassured when she realised that the old man’s colour was beginning to return. It was probably heartburn, but you never could tell. Fay sat him down next to her desk in the treatment room, and allowed him to get his breath back.

     “Don’t talk just yet Mr French. Just you relax and I’ll take your blood pressure. Dr Cummings will be here soon.” She was thankful that his blood pressure was only slightly elevated. All was well. Fay reached for Mr French’s fat, wrinkled wrist, feeling for his pulse rate; relieved to see that his hands were neither cold nor clammy. When he got his breath back, the patient began to tell her all about his terrifying symptoms.

     “The terrible pain … it came on suddenly, like.” he explained.  “I was having a snack and it came on so severe, that I thought I was going to die right there and then in me vest and undies. It took me all me time to get in the car and drive to the surgery!”

     Fay knew she should do a heart trace, but it was hopeless without any paper. Mr French didn’t look as if his life was in danger, but she reasoned that you could never really be sure about these things. The fact that he weighed twenty-five stone, smoked forty cigarettes a day and was diabetic, didn’t really swing things in his favour.  Helping Mr French to remove his stained shirt and vest, Fay ushered him onto the examination couch.

    “You’ll need to just lie down here.” she explained as she readjusted the headrest. “The doctor will want to examine you.”

     Dr Paul Cummings, who had been summoned by the reception staff, sauntered into the treatment room. He looked over the top of his glasses and asked, “Have you done a tracing then Sister Ridley?”

    “Sorry Doctor Cummings.” replied Fay, eyes downcast, as she squirmed uncomfortably. “We’ve run out of paper.” Her boss glowered at her with angry, piercing grey eyes; his bushy black mono-brow held in a tight frown.

     “Well Sister, what are you going to do about that then? It’s not the first time is it?”

     “No Doctor Cummings.” Panic and humiliation rushed through Fays’ body, stinging her eyes, threatening to explode into a torrent of uncontrollable, angry tears. “I’ll order some more straight away!”

    Suddenly, the patient sat bolt upright, leaned forward, and let out a loud, echoing belch. “Ah… that’s better!” he exclaimed, rubbing his protruding paunch. “I’ll have to stop eating those bloody banana sandwiches!”

     Fay looked on in amazement. Dr. Cummings lean over Mr French and with the aid of his black stethoscope, he quickly listened to his patient’s heart and chest.

     “I’m quite sure that your symptoms are all down to a particularly bad case of indigestion.” offered Dr, Cummings. “Here, take this prescription once a day and you’ll soon be right as rain.”

    “Well, thanks. You’ve been a great help.” gushed Mr French, as he leaned across the desk. He shook hands with the doctor, and with a hearty wave, he left the treatment room.

     Dr. Cummings turned in his swivel chair and looked sternly at Fay.  “What is happening to the nursing team at the moment? Aren’t any of you communicating? It’s just one thing after the other isn’t it? First stock isn’t ordered, and then mistakes are made. I know that your two other nurses are on holiday, but it’s not good enough Fay! That man’s health could have been compromised by you not having the correct equipment ready!”

     “I’m sorry Dr Cummings. I can’t explain it. We had plenty paper last week. There’s no way it could have been all used up. I just wonder if someone has moved it.”

     “I don’t want to hear excuses!” he retorted as he made to leave the room. Stopping suddenly in the doorway, he added, “Just make sure it doesn’t happen again!”

    “No Doctor, it won’t.”

    With a shaking hand, she wiped away a stray tear and took a deep breath.  It was so unfair. She was normally so organised. Fay decided there could only be one explanation; it must be Monica again.

    The next thing to go missing was Dr Cummings’ mobile phone. Thank goodness it had been in his room all morning. There really was no obvious culprit, but he deliberated over which patient might have stolen it.

     “Ben Symons…you know, that drug addict…I left him on his own in my room when I went to get some blood bottles… I bet he took it!” fumed Dr Cummings as he told Phyllis, the practice manager, of his suspicions. “I’ve had enough. This is a matter for the police!”

    “You can’t go around accusing people of stealing.” reasoned Phyllis, as she calmly placed her hand on his arm. “Why don’t you wait and see if the missing phone turns up?”

     “All right then, but if it’s not found by tomorrow, you’re to phone the police. Do you understand?”

     “Yes, Dr Cummings.”

      Later that day, Fay, and Janice, the receptionist, received a computer message from Phyllis.

     URGENT STAFF MEETING TONIGHT AT 9 O’CLOCK

      Fay pressed “F3” on her keyboard and deleted the message.  This was the last thing she needed. The headache from Hell that she had been quietly nursing for hours was making the day difficult enough. She was so looking forward to a nice relaxing bath and an early night. Why hadn’t she asked to go home early, rather than staying to tough it out? Then she would have been excused from the meeting.  It would probable be a boring event as usual. The focus of the meeting would, no doubt, be nothing more important than Dr Cummings having another tantrum about something or other.

     With stoical concentration, Fay tried to ignore her ill health. She resigned herself to the job in hand, providing care to her patients, some with the most minor of ailments. She wondered where common sense came into it. Obviously some people had none. One idiot patient had come in to see her, demanding some antibiotics to treat a coated tongue! Fay couldn’t wait for the day to end. Feverish and generally aching all over, she worried that she wasn’t able to concentrate on the job; so afraid of making a mistake.    

     When the shift ended, she wasn’t sure whether to breathe a sigh of relief or to burst into tears. She resigned herself to the fact that she would have to attend the meeting.

     At eight forty-five that evening, Fay parked her blue, Peugeot 305 outside Mansfield Court, the block of private retirement flats that stood only five minutes walk away from the surgery. She hadn’t wanted to park directly outside the surgery.  She had never been able to parallel park; she would do anything to avoid it.

      Fay scurried along the deserted road, nervously pulling her coat collar up around her ears. She hated going out in the dark. Even though she lived in a quiet village, she could imagine all sorts of horrors hiding deep in the shadows. Shivering both with cold and nerves, Fay chided herself for forgetting her scarf and hat. Typical nurse!  She thought to herself! She glanced up at the cold, November, night’s sky; the blue-black colour of misery. The avenue of trees cast mysterious shadows on the dead leaves that crunched beneath her frozen feet; the fetid smell of their decay filling her with anxiety. She looked nervously about her as she heard a distant cat, screaming a shrill, infant-like cry. The deep chill in the night air froze both her breath and her courage, and she shivered. She felt as if she was being watched and reasoned that she was just being silly; it was just her feverish mind playing tricks.

     Fay hurried past the rows of fading, papery flowers that lay against the railings in remembrance of the local lollipop lady who had been mown down by a hit and run driver a few weeks before. Fay’s heart pounded, racing in her chest, feeling that it would explode out of her mouth.  At last, she was at the surgery gates.

     Glancing over her shoulder, she pushed them gently open and scurried up to the main entrance. Fay stood, huddled in the shadows, searching for both shelter and a hiding place. She reached into her brown leather handbag, feeling for her keys, when suddenly the surgery door flew open and Janice’s worried face popped into view.

     “Quick, come out of the cold.” demanded Janice, as she ushered Fay inside.

 Fay looked anxiously around and asked, “Has there been a power cut?”  Only the feeble, flickering beams from Janice’s torch offered illumination.

     “Shush…follow me!” commanded Janice in a hushed voice.

     The building which housed the surgery was really a converted mansion. It now belonged to the local health authority, although a few years before, it had been the property of one of the doctors who had lived upstairs with his family. The ground floor at that time had been converted into the surgery.  Fay had never before realised how creepy the old house was. She had the strangest feeling that the oak panelled walls were closing in on her. She wondered if she had made a terrible mistake in coming.

     “Come through to the waiting room…everyone is there.” ordered Janice. Fay obeyed, and followed her into the chilly, dimly lit room, where the others sat gathered in a circle. Looking around, Fay noticed that there was no sign of the doctors; so typical of them not to attend, yet the rest of the staff were expected to drop everything for this so-called “urgent” meeting.

      Fay glanced at Phyllis, the practice manager, who was sitting next to a strange looking woman whom Fay had never met before. The stranger appeared to be in her mid sixties. She wore her steel, grey hair fashioned into a French pleat that was pulled so far back from her forehead, that she seemed unable to blink. She wore black beads and earrings made from jet stones. She was dressed in a long, dark green, velvet dress with flat black boots and a knitted cardigan, slung lop-sided, over her sloping shoulders.

     Confusion gripped Fay around the chest. “What’s going on?”

    “This is Elsie Chambers.” offered Phyllis, as she introduced the strange woman.  “She is a medium who is going to try to help us sort out Monica!”

     “How do you do?” implored the old lady as she held out her hand.

     Confused, Fay resisted the gesture. Elsie smiled secretly to herself. She then looked impatiently at her wrist watch and turned to Phyllis and said, “Are we ready to get started yet?”

    “We’re just waiting for the caretaker and then we can begin…if that’s okay?”

     As if he had been summoned, Alf the caretaker popped his head around the door, apologised for being late, and sat down in the circle. Phyllis had asked him to come. She had wanted a man there, to protect the three women. Alf had found it all rather amusing. It tickled him to think that Phyllis held him in such high regard.

      “Well, you’ve probably figured out by now why we’re here.” explained Phyllis. “I’ve invited Elsie to come and try and find out once and for all, if we have a spirit haunting the surgery. I’ve told her about the missing equipment, the sudden freezing cold rooms, bin lids that swing by themselves…so let’s see what we can do about it.”

     “First, we must all join hands and form a circle.” commanded Elsie, as she cleared her throat. The group obediently did as she bade. “That’s right; close your eyes and your mind. You must free yourselves from negative thoughts. Open your soul to the spirit world.” She took a deep breath, exhaled and then waited. Fay glanced at Alf, who raised his eyebrows in response and then winked.

     “Have we some non-believers in the room?” chided Elsie. “The spirits will not respond to negative energy.” then in a low, quiet, voice she said, “You must not block the energy!”

     Fay didn’t like Elsie one bit, in fact, she decided that she’d rather keep Monica and get rid of the old woman instead.

     “Ah, I feel something now…an energy force, getting stronger…someone is there. I feel it… Yes, a mischief maker is among us. A trickster but wait…The spirit is angry…no one is taking it seriously. Who makes fun of the mischief maker?”

     Fay, Janice and Phyllis anxiously looked at one another. Fay felt a wave of panic; sweat trickling down her back. She felt sick. She had been the worse one for making fun of Monica.  What if the spirit got really angry? What could she do to them?

     “We’re sorry…didn’t mean to make fun,” Janice stuttered. “It was just us trying to make sense of things, wasn’t it girls?”

     “We just want it to stop. We don’t mean any harm…its just that we’re getting into terrible trouble over it all.” added Fay.

     Elsie began to sway from left to right, groaning softly to herself; eyelids twitching. Suddenly her face became distorted; her shoulders shuddered up and down, as if she was being electrocuted. An uncanny cackling sound emitted from her mouth, as she appeared to fight its escape. Fay squeezed Janice’s hand and cried,

     “What’s happening? Is she possessed?”

      Janice shrank back in her chair; too afraid to reply.  Fay screamed. With a crash, the roller blinds on the windows suddenly flew open.  The medium started to laugh uncontrollably and folding her arms on the table, she lay her head down and shook as if in a frenzy. Like some bizarre card trick, the neatly stacked magazines that lay the coffee table flew to the floor, finally resting, equidistant from each other, all in a long row ending at Fay’s feet.

     “Quick, switch the lights on.” commanded Alf, as he tried to shake the medium out of her trance.  “Don’t touch her!” screamed Phyllis, as black soot belched from the gaping mouth of the fireplace.

    Breaking the circle and coughing incessantly, they all looked at each other in horror. Elsie finally raised her head. Dirty, black tears rolled down her cheeks. Fighting against the choking soot, she tried to speak.

     “What happened” pleaded Fay. “What did the spirit say to you?”

     Once she had regained composure, Elsie looked slowly at her shocked audience, and said, “It is true. You do have a spirit here. I’ve never encountered a more vexed one at that!” She controlled her rising hysteria once more, and then continued. “Your spirit promises to leave you all in peace.” She gazed slowly around the room, as if looking for Monica, and then with a cold, non-blinking stare, she returned her gaze to the small gathering, looking directly at each one in turn. “BUT there is ONE condition!”

    “What does she want…Oh please tell us?” begged Fay. She rubbed her face in anguish, fearing that she was about to make a pact with the devil.

    “The request is this. The spirit will leave you alone if you promise one thing… You must stop calling it Monica, Its’ name is Eric!”

 

Word Count 2845