“Still Haunting Us” by Billie Holladay Skelley

Dear readers, enjoy this “spooky scary” story for young readers loosely based on a case in St. Louis.

Still Haunting Us

“Maybe we’ll visit the St. Louis Arch afterwards.”

“Great, Dad … but I still don’t see why we had to move to St. Louis.”

“Because I have a new job here … at South City Hospital.”

Waiting in the hospital’s reception area was boring, so Peter Ramos reached in his coat pocket for his iPhone.

“Put that phone away. You’re obsessed with it.”

Peter dropped the phone back in his pocket.

“I don’t have anyone to call anyway.”

“You’ll make new friends,” his father said, straightening his tie. “Look, this meeting won’t take long, and then we’ll do whatever you want. I promise.”

An elderly man in a long, white coat approached them.

“Dr. Ramos, I presume,” said the man. “I’m Dr. Martín. So glad you’ll be joining us at South City.”

“I’m pleased to be here. This is my son, Peter.”

“Hello, Peter. How old are you?”

“I’m thirteen,” murmured Peter.

“Dr. Martín, Peter is going to look around, while we talk, if that is okay.”

“Certainly,” Dr. Martín answered. “We’ll talk in my office, but we’ll meet back here in thirty minutes. Okay, Peter?”

Nodding okay, Peter started walking. It didn’t matter where he went, he hated hospitals. South City had the same antiseptic smell and glaring lights of every other hospital he’d been in, so he just kept walking. Exiting the first-floor’s east-wing, he walked through a weatherproof, enclosed structure that connected to another building.

As soon as he entered this building, Peter knew he was in a much older section of the hospital. There was a musty, dampness in the air, and this hallway was darker. Only the yellow glow of incandescent bulbs provided light. The building seemed abandoned, and he was about to leave, when he heard a voice.

“Need some help, if you aren’t busy.”

Startled, Peter stopped in his tracks.

“Help, please!”

This time the request was louder.

Slowly, Peter walked down the hallway toward the doorwhere the voice originated. Peeking around the doorframe, he saw a windowless, pea-green room. A white, metal bed stood in the center of the room, and in the bed was a boy, about his age. What caught Peter’s attention was that the boy’s arms and legs were tied securely to the rails of the bed with white sheets.

“Don’t just stand there,” the boy said to Peter. “I need help.”

Peter stepped into the room.

“Who are you?” the boy asked.

“My name is Peter.”

“Why did they put you in Alexian Brothers Hospital?”

“Me? I’m not a patient…but this is South City Hospital.”

“South City? Are you lying to me, Peter?”

With laser-focus, the boy’s emerald-green eyes studiedPeter.

Suddenly, his bed began to shake. His arms and legs flailedagainst the sheets and railings.

He must be having a seizure, Peter thought, but as quickly as the frenzied movements started, they stopped.

The piercing eyes again focused on Peter.

“Can you help or not?”

“I can find someone to help you,” answered Peter.

“There’s no one here, but you and me.”

“I …. have … a phone,” stammered Peter, taking his iPhone from his pocket. “I could call someone.”

“That doesn’t look like a phone to me. Where’s the handle and mouthpiece? Let me see it,” the boy demanded, stretching out the fingers on his right hand.

Peter placed his phone in the open hand. The boy turned his face toward it and examined the device, at least as much as his bindings would allow.

Abruptly, he turned back to Peter.

“No need to call anyone. I just need my planchette.”

“Your what?” Peter asked.

“My planchette.”

“What’s that?” Peter asked again.

“It’s a small, heart-shaped piece of wood, about the size of your phone, with a circular window in the middle. I dropped it,”the boy said, pointing below the bed.

Peter reached beneath the bed and retrieved the planchette.

“What does it do?” he asked.

“You place it on a Ouija board, and spirits answer your questions through it. It’s how the dead communicate with the living.”

Peter shivered.

“Does it really work?”

“Of course. Who would you like to talk to?”

Peter’s hands trembled around the planchette.

“My mom…she died in a hospital five years ago.”

Suddenly, a voice boomed over the intercom.

“Peter Ramos, please return to the reception area.”

“I’ve got to go. My dad will be furious.”

Peter ran out of the room, through the weatherproof walkway, and back to the reception lounge.

“Where have you been?” his father demanded. “Dr. Martín and I have been waiting.”

“I went to the old hospital. I met a boy and found this planchette. You use it to talk to the dead.”

Totally perplexed, his father stared at him.

“The boy was tied in his bed,” Peter added.

“I wonder,” Dr. Martín muttered. “They say he still haunts us here, but it’s impossible. That old wing of the hospital was demolished in 1978.”

“What are you two talking about?” asked Peter’s father.

“In 1949, a thirteen-year-old Maryland boy, possessed by demons, was brought to St. Louis for an exorcism,” Dr. Martín explained. “Jesuit priests performed the cleansing. The exorcismconcluded here…at the old Alexian Brothers Hospital.”

Peter’s father shook his head.

“I’m still confused.”

“Did you ever read William Peter Blatty’s book, The Exorcist, or see the film with the same name?”

“Yes, I saw the movie years ago.”

“What’s it about, Dad?” interrupted Peter.

“In the movie, a girl is possessed by evil spirits, and priests pray over her to cast out the demons.”

“Yes,” agreed Dr. Martín. “The book and movie were inspired by the real exorcism that occurred here. Blatty justchanged the possessed child to a girl and set the story in D.C., but it actually happened here.”

“In St. Louis?” asked Peter.

“Yes. The boy became obsessed with using a Ouija board to contact his dead aunt, and strange things started happening to him. His bed would shake. Books would fly across his room. A picture of Jesus shook so hard it fell to the floor. The boy also began to speak in Latin, a language he’d never studied. Priests from Saint Louis University tried to help, but he cursed them and spat on them.”

“Dr. Martin, are you saying this boy is who Peter just met?”

“No … that’s impossible. The planchette just reminded me of the possessed boy.”

Peter held up the planchette and shouted.

“My phone! He’s still got my phone!”

Turning, he stuffed the planchette in his pocket and raced down the hallway. His father and Dr. Martín followed close behind. When Peter reached the door, he froze. The weatherproof walkway was no longer there. The old building was gone, too.

Frantically, he looked around. Nearby, under a tree, he saw a pile of sheets and sprinted toward them.

“Peter, wait,” yelled his father, but Peter did not stop.

When he reached the white heap, Peter tore through it,shaking each sheet. On the third one, his iPhone flew out onto the grass. Smiling with relief, he picked up his phone.

Then, Peter noticed his dad and Dr. Martín examining a corner of one of the sheets.

“What is it?” he asked.

“It’s these blue markings,” answered Dr. Martín. “They say Property of ABH, but we haven’t used Alexian Brothers Hospitalsheets for years.”

They looked at each other, but no one spoke.

Finally, Peter’s dad said, “I guess we should be leaving.”

“Of course,” agreed Dr. Martín, still clutching the sheet.

As they walked away, Peter felt the planchette in his pocket. It seemed to be calling to him like a new friend.

“Dad, you said we could do whatever I wanted after your meeting. I’d like to go buy a Ouija board.”

Billie Holladay Skelley, a retired clinical nurse specialist, earned her bachelor’s and master’s degrees at the University of Wisconsin. Her writing has appeared in various publications, ranging from theAmerican Journal of Nursing to Chicken Soup for the Soul. An award-winning author, she has written twelve books for children and teens. Her book, Ruth Law: The Queen of the Air, received the 2021 American Institute of Aeronautics and Astronautics (AIAA) Children’s Literature Award.

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Editor: Barbara Harris Leonhard

@BarbaraLeonhar4

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