The hallway to Department C smelled of damp concrete and long-forgotten sorrow. It was a corridor no one used anymore, and yet every step Kamsi took echoed like she was being followed by ghosts. The flickering fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, giving the space a surreal, almost haunted feel.
She had never stepped beyond that rusting steel door before—not during her orientation, not during any of her shifts. No one had. It was unofficially off-limits, the kind of place whispered about over cups of night-shift coffee but never openly discussed. The department had been shut down after a "renovation mishap" in 2019. But Kamsi now knew better. It wasn't an accident. It was a burial.
She held the photograph from the anonymous sender in her hand—the baby wrapped in outdated hospital linen, marked Property of Department C – Gynae Ward. The baby's eyes were barely open, yet somehow Kamsi felt like it was looking straight into her soul.
Mfon had begged her not to go alone.
"If anything happens—"
"I need to see it with my own eyes," Kamsi had insisted.
Now, standing before the sealed entrance, she hesitated for just a moment before pushing it open. To her surprise, it wasn't locked.
The heavy door creaked like it hadn't moved in years. Inside, a wave of musty air hit her. The space looked abandoned, but not untouched. Papers still littered some of the desks. A broken fetal monitor sat in the corner, half-covered in a dusty sheet. And then she saw it—a lone cradle.
She walked over slowly. It was empty, save for a worn hospital bracelet wedged into its wooden slats. The name had faded almost completely, but the date—May 12, 2018—was clear. The same date on the back of the photo.
Kamsi felt her heart pound. Her instincts screamed to leave. But something else tugged at her feet—a quiet compulsion to uncover the entire truth.
She moved to the filing cabinet in the corner. It was rusted shut. With effort, she pried it open, dust puffing into the air. Most files were damaged by water, others eaten by time. But one folder, wrapped in a clear plastic cover, sat untouched.
Patient Code: FJ-1189
She flipped it open. Inside were discharge notes, observation charts… and a hand-written note:
"Mother sedated. No documentation of delivery. Infant assigned code. Transfer denied."
No signature. No further explanation.
Suddenly, she heard a door slam behind her.
She spun around.
"Who's there?" she called out, her voice too loud in the dead silence.
No answer.
Then she saw the shadow shift across the hallway just outside the department.
She grabbed the folder and pressed her back against the wall, waiting. Her phone was in her pocket. She reached for it slowly and texted Mfon: Dept C. Someone's here. If I don't call in 5, tell Dr. Meka.
Footsteps now. Slower. Purposeful.
The figure stepped into view.
It wasn't Dr. Rume.
It was Nurse Boma.
Her white uniform looked grayer in the dim lighting. Her expression unreadable.
"I didn't expect anyone to find this place again," Boma said.
Kamsi stared. "You knew?"
"I was here the day they shut it down."
"Then help me," Kamsi said. "We can go to Meka. We can expose this."
Boma's eyes darkened. "You don't understand. This isn't just about Rume. Or Ada. Or that baby. It's about everyone who looked the other way. Including me."
"Then do the right thing now," Kamsi urged.
But Boma stepped back, her face stricken with guilt and fear.
"I can't," she whispered. "You should leave. Before they find you too."
And just like that, she turned and disappeared down the hall.
Kamsi stood there, breathing hard, her fingers gripping the folder like it was her last anchor to sanity.
This wasn't just a scandal. It was a graveyard of secrets. And the bones were starting to rattle.
She rushed back to Mfon and handed over the file.
"We have something," she said breathlessly. "Proof. A witness. A record."
Mfon scanned the document. Her eyes widened. "This… this changes everything."
But as she spoke, Kamsi's phone buzzed again.
Unknown Number:"You found one grave. There are seventeen more. And one of them… has your name on it."
Kamsi stared at the message.
Three Days Later
Kamsi sat in front of Dr. Meka's desk. The folder lay between them, opened. Photos, scribbled notes, a copy of the hospital's 2018 staff roster. Dr. Meka looked older today, as if the truth was chiseling away at him faster than time.
"I've asked for a board inquiry," he said quietly. "But Kamsi, you need to stay out of this now. Let the system handle it."
She met his eyes. "You really believe the system can fix what it buried?"
He didn't answer.
After she left his office, Kamsi stopped by the archives room. With her security clearance, she could access patient transfer logs. She needed to find out what happened to the other babies born around that same date. Her fingers flew across the old terminal's keyboard.
FJ-1190: Stillbirth.FJ-1191: Adopted.FJ-1192: Unrecorded.
She blinked. How could an entry be marked unrecorded?
Then another popped up: FJ-1186 – Transferred to Private Research Clinic.
Kamsi clicked for more details. Nothing came up.
She copied the codes down. There was more to this than she imagined. Someone had erased these children.
As she stepped out of the archives, a janitor bumped into her. He looked startled.
"Sorry, ma," he muttered and kept moving.
She frowned. He wasn't wearing the hospital's ID. And she'd never seen him before.
That night, someone broke into her apartment. Nothing was stolen. But the folder? Gone.
She called Mfon. "They took the file."
Mfon's voice trembled. "I didn't tell anyone where you lived."
"I know. Which means they're watching us."
Kamsi checked her phone again. Another message had arrived:
Unknown Number:"Let sleeping graves lie."
She stared out her window. For the first time in years, she felt afraid. Truly afraid.
But fear wasn't enough to stop her anymore.
To be continued...