Shadows

There is no morgue, hospital, nursing home or children's home without a walking presence, an empty room whose door you keep finding open after carefully locking it or whose buzzer keeps flashing and buzzing on top of an empty bed.

Strange, high-pitched voices you hear laughing and calling names out of nowhere from desert corridors, giving anyone the awkward feeling of invisible watchers during some night shifts. Everyone knows that.

Well, at least usually all the old staff knows about it, but this is a topic nobody speaks of comfortably if not sure to find understanding ears.

And yet, the "New Light" Parapsychology Association insists on organizing this sort of "paranormal tour" to promote the scientific interest in the supernatural world.

But because, of course, you cannot request to visit a normally working hospital seeking for the signs of the presence of people that are no more, the Association is compelled to find no more working or completely abandoned places to visit.

Which makes the whole thing riskier, for a bunch of good reasons.

And here is where the old dear Sheldon Owens, that is me, enters the scene.

"Would you be so kind as to guide the new student group during the next tour?".

Of course, I do it, but not because I like babysitting or rescuing too emotionally lost adult people. Just because visiting dark, desert, not rarely crumbling places, without a guide is the most likely cause of troubles. Troubles for the Association, of course, hence for me too.

Student groups, they call them. Usually, just curious people looking for some new thrill after watching too many horror movies. Only a few of them have a real, genuine and respectful interest in the matter. Most of them are usually quite disappointed at the end of the visit and disappear without signing up for the association membership. Some others, instead, are happy to see the end of the tour to go back home and forget about the whole experience. There could be worse outcomes.

Nick Kershaw's voice on the radio takes me away from my blaming thoughts, repeating that he won't let the sun go down on him. Good choice, dear Nick. Even the ancient Egyptians knew daylight was much more comfortable than nighttime, and they had a real cultural obsession with the world of the dead.

I don't know why my hands feel sweaty on the steering wheel while I drive to the meeting point, but I'm sure I will soon find out.