The Haunted Infirmary: A Father Declan Supernatural Mystery

By Patrick Dorn

Imagine if Nurse Ratched was a Nun…and a Ghost!

An unconventional Irish priest, on a mission to release cruelly quarantined souls, breaches a stuck-in-time haunted infirmary controlled by the spirit of a maniacal nun. With special ghostly guest appearances by Saint Finbarr and Doctor Margaret "James Barry" Bulkley.

Attention: this story contains body horror befitting its setting, and ghosts that explode into goo.

Set in Ireland, the Father Declan Supernatural Mysteries are upbeat, redemptive contemporary fantasy short stories. Some are humorous, and others mildly horrifying.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Patrick Dorn
• Release date: Dec 27, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215988497

Patrick Dorn

Patrick Dorn used to write weird westerns set in Old California, New Mexico, and Colorado, but then he visited Ireland. Now his supernatural fiction alternates between The West and The Emerald Isle, but is always, always weird. He's also an Anglican priest and a full-time chaplain. Check out Patrick's blog, stories, plays, musicals, children's books, and more at www.PatrickDorn.com. You can reach him at [e-mail]

Book preview

Imagine if Nurse Ratched was a Nun…and a Ghost!

An unconventional Irish priest, on a mission to release cruelly quarantined souls, breaches a stuck-in-time haunted infirmary controlled by the spirit of a maniacal nun. With special ghostly guest appearances by Saint Finbarr and Doctor Margaret James Barry Bulkley.

Attention: this story contains body horror befitting its setting, and ghosts that explode into goo.

Set in Ireland, the Father Declan Supernatural Mysteries are upbeat, redemptive contemporary fantasy short stories. Some are humorous, and others mildly horrifying.

A Priest and Two Ghosts Walk Into a Graveyard

Franciscan Father Declan O’Shea stood next to a Celtic cross gravestone in the park-like cemetery under the shadow of Cork City’s Maldron Hotel, sensing the residual misery of thousands of unremembered dead. Oddly, the only actual ghosts he could perceive were the two he’d brought with him.

The whole place needs reconsecrating, he said, noting that a plaque below the cross honored four Daughters of Charity who came as nursing sisters to Cork in 1867. The last one had died of exhaustion in 1907. Too much unwholesome energy for such a small graveyard.

First things first, Declan, the saintly towheaded spirit on his right whispered into the priest’s spiritual gift of Insight. We’ve got a Pocket Purgatory to breach.

Give me a moment, Finbarr. This level of work is new to me, Father Declan said as the shadows lengthened and the day came to an end. I confess, the prospect of going bodily into the Realm of the Hopeful Dead scares me a little. He adjusted his clerical collar, which felt uncomfortably snug.

The Franciscan felt underdressed in just his clericals, having left his russet brown habit behind at the friary on Liberty Street. But after the unfortunate incident with hotel management earlier in the day that had resulted in an embarrassing expulsion, he thought it best to make himself less noticeable.

Besides, I don’t know what I can accomplish that two spectral superstars can’t.

The slender ghost on his left smiled grimly. Some of the trapped souls we’ve come to rescue have been suffering unspeakable anguish for well over a century.

The spirit of Doctor Margaret Ann Bulkley shifted her black leather medical bag from one diaphanous hand to the other. The Pocket Purgatory is so densely enclosed, we need a mortal to help bridge the gap. And, you were available.

But what if I can’t get back?

The patron saint of Cork on his right smiled with genuine warmth and affection. Then you’ll become like us. Would that be so bad?

You mean a saint? Father Declan asked, a glimmer of hope brightening his face.

We mean dead, Dr. Bulkley said.

Oh.

And possibly trapped forever in the Pocket Purgatory, she added.

Right. Father Declan took a deep breath and let it slowly out. He made the Sign of the Cross over himself and shivered. Let’s get to it.

Accompanied by the two spirits, Father Declan walked over the unmarked graves of thousands of former patients at the North Infirmary Hospital, which had treated the poor Catholics of Cork since 1729.

Perpetually understaffed and underfunded, the hospital provided care for the sick, wounded, and dying through the Cholera Epidemic of 1832, the Famine Fever of 1847, and four wars.

The North Infirmary finally shuttered on November 26, 1987 to great fanfare, with the ringing of the Shandon Bells. The Butter Exchange Band played Auld Lang Syne. Two thousand Corkonians stood nearby with lit candles, watching the lights switch off.

The priest estimated the infirmary was second only to Saint Kevin’s Lunatic Asylum as having Cork City’s most-documented unwholesome supernatural activity. That desperately unclean place was currently being converted into condominiums. What could go wrong?

The former infirmary was left vacant and derelict, damaged by a ground floor fire and tortured by vandals until it was purchased and refurbished as the 101-room, four-star Maldron Hotel in 2008.

Management permanently sealed one of those rooms from public access because of intense and unrelenting paranormal activity. Potentially hundreds of suffering souls were trapped inside, somehow prevented from winging their way to Heaven.

A Pocket Purgatory, deep within a centuries-old hospital, currently dressed up as a hotel, was still sucking unsuspecting earthbound spirits into its infernal soul trap.

That’s where Father Declan and his phantom companions were headed. Not just to investigate, but to intervene.

Just a short distance away, the most uncanny and mysterious haunted hotspot in all of Cork City awaited.

Room 325.

Mirrors in a Morgue

L et’s go in the back door, Father Declan said. No need to announce myself to hotel management. His face felt warm with embarrassment as he remembered being ejected earlier for loitering and making the guests feel uncomfortable. Besides, I want to take a look at the gym.

Don’t you think it’s a little late to try and bulk up for this kind of mission? Doctor Bulkley asked.

You could stand to get a bit more fit, Declan, Saint Finbarr added.

It’s an exercise in futility, Doctor Bulkley said.

Very funny, you two. Father Declan opened a back door to the hotel and walked inside. The current exercise room used to be the infirmary’s morgue. He ducked his chin down when he spotted a security camera and slowed his pace, trying to act like one of the registered guests. It’s as likely a place as any to find a helpful resident ghost.

The priest led his two ghostly companions down a hall with sickly yellow-orange carpeting and dusty flocked wallpaper unworthy of a four-star hotel. There were doors on either side, none of which were numbered. Offices and storage.

Closer to the lobby, Father Declan saw a room with a glass door and peeked inside. Not a living soul within. There were mirrors on the walls and scattered about were a stationary bicycle, a treadmill, an elliptical, and a few other contraptions that appeared to be inspired by medieval torture devices. A rack of barbells stood next to one of the mirrored walls.

The priest slipped deeper into his spiritual gift of Insight, opened the door and gave the exercise room a good looking over. Nothing arcane or supernatural presented itself, but he found all of his multiple reflections distracting. He closed the glass door, turned, and walked toward the lobby.

Nothing, he said. I suspect the tales of frequently broken mirrors are the result of simple human clumsiness. Easy enough to blame on ghosts.

Like a fart in an elevator, Doctor Bulkley said, just as Father Declan pushed a button to summon the lift.

Saint Finbarr snickered.

Seriously? Father Declan asked. You died in what, 620 AD and you still find farts amusing?

If spirits could blush, the nearly albino saint did. It’s the simple pleasures I miss the most.

The lift door opened and Father Declan stepped inside.

A matronly woman, arms loaded up with goods from Cork’s iconic English Market, joined him.

I’m working with children, Father Declan said.

That’s nice, she said. Second floor, if you please. He pushed a button and watched the