Creative Writing: Cruising The Convict Burial Wards

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Nobody knew I did that, cruising the convict burial grounds, checking those from the eighteen hundreds, seeking the tombstones’ stains, for the cursed’s characteristics. Stacey would never set foot in that ward again and she consoled me to do the same. Ward C, New England psychiatric doctor’s facility. That is the place it happened, however not just simply that ward. Different wards were haunted, as well. More infected than haunted but still unsettling nonetheless. Uncle Frank lit another cigarette and breathed in, making that shrill sound, like it hurt. He said, “I knew something was up that night. I’d completed my rounds and toward the ward’s end I saw a nurse stroll into a patient’s room. An old fellow named Uganda. She appeared as though

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