by Dale Parnell
The nurse at the main desk said my father had been moved; G-ward, at the other end of the hospital. I had missed visiting hours, but they said the rules were relaxed for certain patients. I knew what they meant.
It’s surprising how quiet a hospital can be. Long corridors with cold fluorescent tubes flickering overhead. Naked, abandoned beds, stripped of warmth and comfort.
Once or twice I thought I heard footsteps, but I never saw anyone.
When I finally arrived at my father’s ward, the duty nurse gave me the news, and I understood whose footsteps I had heard.
Dale Parnell lives in Staffordshire, England, with his wife and their imaginary dog, Moriarty. He writes fiction, mainly fantasy, science-fiction and horror, along with the occasional poem. He has self-published two collections of short stories and a poetry collection to date, and is featured in a number of excellent anthologies. You can find Dale on Facebook at www.facebook.com/shortfictionauthor