**Diary Entry A Call from Beyond**
Ive been a doctor for years now, and Ive seen my fair share of strange casessome sad, some joyous, some downright baffling. But the one that haunts me the most happened early in my career, back in the 1980s. Fresh out of medical school, Id been assigned to a small clinic in a quiet English village. The place was surprisingly modern, and the staff welcomed me warmly. For the first week, nothing out of the ordinary happenedjust long hours and late-night patients.
Then came that Friday. I arrived early to tidy up paperwork before my shift. The nurse, Sarah, hadnt arrived yet when the phone rang. I picked it up, and a young boys voice pleaded, “Dr. Edward! My mums really ill11 Oak Lane. Please hurry!” His tone was urgent, desperate. “Whats wrong with her?” I asked. “Shes dying!” he whispered before the line went dead.
I grabbed my coat and rushed to the address. The front door was ajar. No one answered when I called out, so I stepped inside. In the bedroom, a woman lay sprawled across the bed, her face ashen beneath tangled brown hair. Her skin was icy, but I caught the faintest pulse. An empty pill bottle lay on the floorshed taken far too many. I dialled 999 immediately, then stabilised her as best I could. When the paramedics arrived, I liedsaid shed misjudged her medication and called for help. Back then, suicide attempts meant forced psychiatric care, and I didnt want that for her.
As they carried her out, neighbours gathered outside. “Will she pull through?” an old woman asked. “She will,” I assured her. The old lady sighed. “Must be her Tommy calling her. Poor lad drowned a month agoburied just last week.” My stomach dropped. “But she has other children, doesnt she? A boy and a girl?” The woman shook her head. “No, just Tommy.”
Who had called me, then?
Back at the clinic, Sarah scolded me for vanishing. When I told her what happened, her face paled. “Thats Margaret. Lovely woman. She and her husband, James, doted on Tommytheir only child.” Then she frowned. “But, Dr. Edward our clinics phone hasnt been connected yet.” I stared at the receiverno cord. My blood ran cold. Had a dead boy really called me?
That evening, I visited Margaret in hospital. James thanked me tearfully, but Margaret stared blankly out the window. “How did you find us?” she whispered. I told her about the call. A tear slid down her cheek. “Tommy saved me.” I squeezed her hand. “He wants you to live. He even mentioned a sistermaybe theres hope.” She shook her head. “The doctors say I cant have more children.”
I left, heart heavy, and didnt see her againuntil five years later. A knock at my office door, and there she stood, glowing, a little girl clinging to her skirt. “This is Emily,” Margaret said, resting a hand on her rounded belly. “After what you said, we went to an orphanage. She was waiting for us on the steps. And now” She touched her stomach, smiling through tears. “Tommy knew why he called you.”
Even now, I wonderwhy me? Some bonds stretch beyond life itself. And sometimes, the dead guide us to miracles.
