We Left Cameras Inside a HAUNTED Morgue All Night… The Paranormal Activity Caught on Tape Shocked Everyone

🕯️ “Are Morgues Haunted?” – A Night in the North Wales Mortuary

You don’t expect the dead to answer you.
Not really.

You call out in empty rooms, you ask questions into the dark, you lay equipment down on floors no one has walked across in years, but somewhere in the back of your mind there’s always that quiet, rational voice whispering: No one is going to answer you.

Every now and then, something answers anyway.

That’s why I was standing in the dim light of a derelict mortuary in North Wales, alone, asking the dark a question it shouldn’t be able to respond to.

.

.

.

“If there’s any spirits in this room that would like to communicate tonight,” I said, my own voice sounding flat in the small gallery space, “my name’s Adam. Can you speak to me through this device?”

The recorder sat on the chair in front of me, its red light steady. The room smelled of damp plaster and stale air, with a faint sharpness underneath—something I didn’t want to identify.

“Can you make a sound?” I added.

Nothing replied. Not yet.

I kept going.

“Are you aware that you’ve passed away?”

The silence pressed in around me, thick and patient.

“Let’s do this,” I muttered, more to myself than to the camera, and rewound the day to where it had started.

🚪 The Way to the Morgue

It was still light when I first saw the building.

“Okay, explorers,” I said into the camera, walking down a narrow path hemmed in by trees. “Heading towards the morgue now. Can just see it through these trees.”

Ahead, the hospital complex loomed—dark windows, peeling paint, whole wings left to nature. But tucked behind it, almost sheepish, was a smaller structure.

“Just this unassuming building hidden at the back of the hospital here,” I narrated. “All boarded up.”

The morgue.

If you didn’t know what it was, you might have taken it for a storage shed. Rectangle of brick, boards nailed over the windows, a door that had forgotten what it meant to be opened by staff in clean uniforms and families in their best coats.

I found a way in.

“Way in here,” I breathed, slipping through a gap in a half‑broken door. The beam of my torch cut across a narrow corridor, flaking walls, a floor gritty with debris.

“Check this out,” I said after a moment, stepping into the first main room.

The gallery.

🪑 The Last Viewing

The gallery wasn’t big. Just an oblong room, a few chairs still lined up against the wall, heavy curtains on runners at one end where a window—or a viewing partition—used to be. Light from a small, grimy pane high on one wall gave the room a bruised, grey illumination.

“Okay, explorers,” I said. “We are inside the old abandoned morgue now. Just going to take a quick look around, check out the vibes, settle in a little bit, and see what this place has to offer.”

The word vibes didn’t feel quite strong enough.

The chairs caught my eye first: cheap plastic, metal legs going rusty at the feet, all facing the same direction. Towards where, once, a curtain would have been drawn back.

“Look at this,” I said softly, moving closer. “The chairs left. Possibly the last time somebody’s seen a family member in this room. A lot of trauma. Maybe that can leave an imprint on a room.”

I tried to imagine it. Fluorescent lighting. A doctor with tired eyes. A curtain rolling back with a soft metallic clatter. The last sight of a face someone had loved.

“Only small,” I murmured, turning slowly. “A lot of decay. But imagine coming to see a loved one. They’d peel back those curtains and there they’d be… for the last time.”

Air moved somewhere through the boarded windows, making a soft, hollow note. I stepped back out into the corridor and into the next room.

“Hello,” I said automatically, even though no one was there.

🛏️ The Cold Room

The second room felt more clinical.

“Wow,” I breathed. “The trolley’s left.”

It stood in the center of the space, an old mortuary trolley with metal bars, wheels frozen in place by rust and grime. A cloth still lay across it, stained and stiff.

“Obviously, this would transport the bodies into the morgue,” I said.

“Still got the cloth on there… oh my days. Stained.”

I flicked on the UV light.

At first, I saw nothing but dull patches.

“It’s not blood,” I started to say. Then the UV reacted. Tiny specks glowed faintly. Not many. Just enough.

“There is specks,” I corrected. “There is specks of blood. Look—you can see it.”

It wasn’t horror‑movie levels of gore. Just sprays and dots. But my stomach tightened anyway.

I turned away, toward the other side of the room.

“The fridges,” I said.

❄️ The Body Fridges

Six stainless steel doors lined one wall in a neat, inescapable grid. Three on top, three on the bottom. Each with a handle, a latching mechanism, a small space for labeling.

“Wow,” I whispered.

I gripped one handle. It resisted. Then, with a groan, it opened.

“You can’t pull them out too far,” I said, sliding the internal trolley just a little way. The metal looked corroded, mottled with dark patches.

“Specks of blood on here,” I pointed out. “Look.”

In the cold light, you could see it. Stains. Trails. Places where fluids had seeped and dried. The UV wasn’t even necessary—the mold had done the work of highlighting the past.

“You can see all the human fluid,” I said grimly. “You don’t even need a UV light for that. The mold’s done it.”

I moved down the line. Each door revealed a similar scene: trays that had once held bodies now holding only the memory of weight and the residue of what bodies leave behind.

“You can see the waste bags as well,” I noted. “Still here. And the thermometer. It’s literally everywhere. Literally everywhere.”

I closed them carefully.

“This is crazy,” I muttered. “Close them up for now. Open them back up soon.”

I wasn’t sure yet if that was for the camera or for whoever might still be here.

🧪 The Slab

The third space was, in some ways, the worst.

“Oh my days,” I said as I stepped into a side room. “Someone’s made a mess of that.”

A sink—stained, cracked, and filthy—stank of old pipes, mold, and something sour. I didn’t want to imagine what had once been washed away there.

“Stinks,” I said, making a face. “Obviously where the mortician would come in and clean off. Going to close that up, cuz that is vile.”

I closed the cupboard beneath the sink, trying not to think about what might still be stuck in its ancient drains.

“Check out the old phone, though,” I said, spotting a beige plastic handset mounted on the wall, its cord limp.

“Busted lock,” I added, noticing that the door to this room no longer latched. The whole place had been broken open, its privacy violated.

Back in the main area, a single large slab stood in the middle of the room. Stainless steel, slightly raised edges to catch liquids, a drain at one end.

“Wow,” I said quietly. “Not many of these left. The old slab. Perfect condition.”

Rain pattered faintly on the boards covering the windows above, a soft percussion that made the silence feel even sharper.

“Can hear the rain on the boards up there,” I murmured.

A rack still hung on the wall beside it, hooks for lab coats, latex gloves.

“Even got the rack for the lab coats,” I said. “Latex gloves.”

I ran a hand lightly along the slab, then pulled it back.

“Seeing if there’s any remnants on this slab,” I commented. “Doesn’t look like it. Looks like it’s been wiped clean.”

The room felt stripped. Used, then abandoned in a hurry.

“Only a short look around,” I said finally, “only a small place, three main rooms, but the vibes in this place are unreal.”

I looked around, feeling the weight of the silence, the echo of countless final stops.

“I think we should get some equipment out,” I decided, “and see if anything does remain here.”

🎙️ EVP in the Gallery

I chose the gallery for the first EVP session.

It wasn’t the room where people had died, but it was the room where people had last been seen. Where families had cried, where names had been said for the last time over cold hands.

“Okay, explorers,” I said, setting the recorder on one of the chairs. “We’re going to do an EVP. Going to do it in the gallery because I think there’s a lot of trauma attached to this room. We are right next to where the bodies would be brought through. So I imagine if there was any tears, any crying, maybe it’s residual now. So hopefully we can pick it up.”

The building creaked softly. Somewhere outside, water dripped steadily from the roof.

“Crazy,” I muttered. “Hearing noises already.”

I clicked the recorder on.

“If there’s any spirits in this room that would like to communicate tonight,” I said, my voice sounding unnaturally loud, “my name’s Adam. Can you speak to me through this device?”

I waited. The chair beneath me felt cold through my jeans.

“Okay,” I said after a while. “Just going to ask one at a time. Nice and slow and calm tonight.”

I repeated the question.

“If there’s any spirits in this room that would like to communicate tonight, my name’s Adam. Can you speak to me through this device?”

I let the silence stretch. The faint rhythm of raindrops on the roof filtered through.

“Can you tell me if you were brought here when you passed away?” I asked next. “Are you aware?”

Later, when I played that section back, I heard something.

“Can you tell me if you were brought here when you passed away?” my recorded voice asked.

A beat.

“Are you aware?”

Underneath that last word, there was a sound—small, rough, almost like someone clearing their throat. A cough. It was close to the microphone, not the distant drip of water outside.

“Sounded almost like a cough,” I said softly in real time, though I wasn’t sure if I’d imagined it.

“Is this room the last place you seen your family?” I asked. “Is this room the last place your family seen you?”

That question sat in the air like dust motes in torchlight.

On playback, there was a faint noise under one of the repetitions of the question. A soft shift. A half‑formed sound. Nothing I could definitively call a voice—but enough to raise goosebumps.

“Can you make a clear, obvious knock for me?” I asked.

I knocked once on the chair arm to demonstrate.

“Can you make a clear obvious knock for me?”

The building listened.

“Can you stamp your feet?” I tried, half smiling at how unnatural it sounded to say that in a morgue.

On the raw audio, there’s a gap. Then, faintly, from somewhere to my right, two quick knocks. Not loud. Just—there.

“Okay,” I said, heart ticking faster. “So, I just asked it to stamp its feet, and over here, only very slightly, two knocks.”

I rewound the recorder, played it again.

“Can you stamp your feet?” my voice asked.

Two taps. Close.

“Right,” I said. “I know there’s a lot of drips going on outside, but that sounded different.”

I swallowed, listening harder.

“Can you use your voice to communicate with me tonight?” I asked. “Can you move something in this room? Can you say your name?”

Nothing obvious. No clear words. But something had tapped when I’d asked for stamping. Something had moved, however slightly.

Standing in that small room, three chairs facing a curtain that was no longer there, I couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever had answered didn’t entirely belong to the past.

“I don’t know if it’s because it’s at night or I’m alone,” I admitted to the camera later, “but my senses are ultra aware right now. And I swear I could hear movement in there.”

On playback, you can hear what I meant: beneath the constant dripping, there’s a second sound every now and then. A faint, echoing scuff. Like someone shifting their weight on a tiled floor in the next room.

Not much. But enough.

📻 Spirit Box in the Fridge Room

“Okay, explorers,” I said, moving into the fridge room, “we have come into the fridge room where they keep the bodies. We’ve got the trays that also transported the bodies. So I’m hoping maybe get some energy in here. Obviously, a lot of people have passed through this room—men, women, children.”

The fridges stood silent along the wall, doors closed again. The trolley we’d examined earlier sat beneath them, a rem pod perched on its metal surface, a small red light ready to flare at a touch.

“Going to use a spirit box,” I said. “See if any of them still remain here.”

The rapid sweep of the box’s scanning hiss filled the room, a mechanical storm.

“If there’s any spirits in this room now,” I called, raising my voice slightly over the static, “I want you to use your voice. I want you to talk to me through this device.”

The box crackled. Snatches of radio bleed, meaningless fragments.

“Can you tell me your name?” I asked.

The answer wasn’t clear. A syllable surfaced and died. A male tone, maybe, but cut off by the sweep.

“Can you tell me how many spirits are in this room?” I tried.

Silence, then a jumble of sounds.

“Yeah,” I said, glancing at the camera, “maybe if we open these up.”

I stepped to the fridges and cracked a couple of doors slightly, revealing the trays inside. Somehow, the room felt colder with them open, even though the chill came only from long‑trapped air.

“If there’s anyone in this room with me now,” I said, “I want you to use your voice or go towards that red light on the trolley.”

The rem pod stayed quiet.

“Are you aware that you’ve passed away?” I asked.

Static, then a faint something from the adjoining room.

“Thought I heard something in the morg room,” I muttered.

“If there’s somebody here,” I said more loudly, “use your voice now.”

The box coughed out a garbled sound. Then, very clearly, in a woman’s voice: “Get out.”

It had that tone spirits sometimes seem to have in these sessions—sharp, annoyed, like we’ve interrupted something.

“I don’t mean any disrespect,” I said quickly. “I have just come here to talk to you tonight.”

“Hello,” the box replied in a different tone.

“My name’s Adam,” I said. “Tell me your name.”

The reply was too soft to make out fully, but a word came through clearly a moment later in response to another question.

“Were you on one of these beds?” I asked. “Can you tell me the number that you were on? Can you tell me what number your body was on?”

Nothing concrete.

“Come on,” I said. “Use your energy. Speak to me.”

“Hi,” the box said suddenly. Quick. Female.

“Hi,” I answered. “Have you been here long?”

“I think that said ‘long’,” I added afterward. “Can you tell me how you passed away? Try and tell me how you passed.”

The responses weren’t flowing, but they were there—thin threads of voices in the static.

“Was your body ever on this trolley?” I asked, resting a hand on the cold metal.

“Yes,” the box said.

One word. Clear. Not chopped or smeared by the scan.

“Wow,” I said. “Yes.”

“Can you tell me how you passed away?” I tried again.

The box fizzed. A fragment of radio talk. Then nothing.

“Came here completely not knowing if something like this would be haunted,” I said later, turning toward the camera. “I mean, you get a lot of bodies pass through here—a lot of people. Would they ever remain? That’s what I’ve come to find out. Spirit box got a few answers on there, only very slight. The rem pod’s not up to much.”

I looked at the trolley again, the rem pod’s light a stubborn green.

“Whilst I’m here,” I said slowly, “I’m thinking maybe I should leave a camera, leave Boo Buddy, and leave a device and see what happens.”

🧸 Leaving Boo Buddy with the Dead

Boo Buddy sat neatly on the trolley, his plush fur slightly matted, LED lights hidden behind plastic eyes. He was designed to talk, to ask questions, to react to touch and changes in temperature. A trigger object for children—or for people who’d once been around children.

“Do you like hugs?” he asked in his cheerful, pre‑programmed voice, as I switched him on. “Would you like one?”

“Okay, explorers,” I said. “So, I’m going to head out now. I’m going to leave Boo Buddy. I’m going to leave the rem pod.”

“What year is it right now?” Boo Buddy asked behind me.

“And I’m going to leave the dead bell and a couple of cameras running around the place,” I continued. “It’s nice and toasty now. Someone just touched him.”

Boo Buddy chimed in: “Someone just touched me.”

I stared at him for a beat.

“Right,” I said. “Head out. Let’s play Marco Polo. I’ll say ‘Marco’ and you say ‘Polo’. Ready? Marco?” the bear chirped.

“Do you have any secrets you want to share?” he added a moment later as I closed the door behind me.

“Okay, explorers,” I said outside, rain tapping on my hood. “We’re going to leave Boo Buddy, the rem pod, and the dead bell in there now. Couple of cameras, and see what we get.”

The woods thickened around the path as I made my way back to the car. The hospital loomed to one side; the forest crowded the other.

“Going to head up to the car,” I said, “and see if we can get anything on the Transcend app whilst we leave the cameras back there.”

“Can you sing for me?” Boo Buddy’s distant voice asked somewhere in the morgue behind me.

“Maybe there’s more to this land than just the morgue,” I said, glancing back once. “But it should be interesting. It’s creepy as hell around here.”

“I’ve been practicing my counting,” Boo Buddy recited faintly in the distance. “One, two, three.”

“Something just tickled my paws,” he added.

I was glad, in that moment, that I’d left the building and not myself inside it.

🚗 Transcend in the Woods

“Okay,” I said, settling into the driver’s seat. “All set up in the car now. Surrounded by woods. We are in North Wales. A lot of mythology around the woods and this hospital is very old. So I was wondering about the grounds in general.”

Outside, the trees pressed in like a second sky. The road up to the active part of the hospital snaked away through the darkness. Everything else was forest.

“So, pop that off,” I said, starting the Transcend session. “Just going to do the Transcend theory whilst Boo Buddy’s doing his thing in there.”

“It’s getting warm in here,” Boo Buddy said through the live feed. “Is that you?”

“If there’s anybody on this land that would like to communicate with us tonight,” I said, “can you speak to me through this device?”

“Do you see my lights?” Boo Buddy asked. “What color are they right now?”

“What’s your name?” I asked into the app. “Did you pass away at this location? And while a—while—was it a long time ago? You passed away a long time ago here?”

A man’s voice came through Transcend. Low. Distant. I couldn’t catch the words at first.

“A man’s voice is coming through,” I said. “Is that right? Is this a man?”

“Hell,” a woman’s voice said clearly through the device.

“Hell,” I repeated. “Can you make a sound?”

“Is there a lot of spirits on this land?” I asked.

“On,” the voice replied. “On land. On the land.”

“Are you all stuck here?” I pressed. “Can you not move on?”

“You—” the app said, garbling the rest into what sounded suspiciously vulgar.

“Not a hundred percent on that one,” I said with a wry smile. “Sounded a bit… off.”

“Can you tell me your—” I started to ask, only to interrupt myself. “Sorry I interrupted. Can you tell me your name?”

“My favorite song is ‘Sandstorm,’” Boo Buddy announced cheerfully in the background feed. “It goes like this.”

He made a synthetic beat noise.

“Whoa, I just felt a spark,” he added. “Angel.”

“Angel,” Transcend echoed. “Over.”

“Angel. Over,” I repeated. “You passed over. Can I ask what it was like when you passed away? What did it feel like?”

“Over,” the app said again.

“Passed over. Passed away,” I said. “I said ‘What was it like when you passed over? Was it a peaceful experience?’”

“I saw that,” a voice said in the app. “I saw…” The end garbled.

“It’s getting warm,” Boo Buddy said in my ear. “Is that you?”

“I’ve been learning my alphabet,” the bear added, undaunted. “A, B, C. What’s the next letter?”

“Can you tell me your name?” I asked again.

Outside the car, the forest felt closer. The sensation of being watched had crept up slowly, from the back of my neck to my shoulders.

“I have such a horrible feeling of being watched right now,” I admitted. “I’m literally surrounded by trees. We have a road up to the hospital, which is still in use… but all around me here, thick, dense forest.”

“Can you see me?” I asked the app.

“All we can see now,” it replied.

“Do you know any good jokes?” Boo Buddy chirped. “I don’t know any.”

“Fall,” Transcend said suddenly.

“Fall,” I repeated. “Is that how you passed away? Did you pass away because you fell? An accident, maybe.”

“Hit,” the app added. “Hit.”

“Fall. Hit,” I said slowly. “You hit your head. I wonder if that was it. Maybe he hit his head and they brought him here. Passed away.”

“Help,” the voice said. “Help.”

“You came here for help,” I said quietly, “but they couldn’t help you, obviously.”

“Wow,” I added, a shiver threading through me. “Fall, hit, came… that’s significant.”

“It’s difficult, or different,” the voice mumbled.

“Let’s play Marco Polo,” Boo Buddy said. “I’ll say ‘Marco’ and you say ‘Polo.’ Ready? Marco.”

“Can you say mine?” he asked the empty morgue.

“Let’s try dancing,” the bear suggested next. “You want to jump up and down for me?”

“Can you say hi?” he added.

“What—were you with family when you passed away? When you passed over,” I asked the app, “was your family around?”

“And—” the reply came, then blurred into something else.

“You weren’t alone when you passed away, though,” I said, more a guess than a statement.

“That makes no sense,” Boo Buddy complained. “It’s warmer now. Can you hear me?”

“Was your body in the morgue down the road there?” I asked.

My phone buzzed suddenly with a notification.

“Oh my god,” I gasped, heart lurching. “I nearly died. I’m dead.”

Still, Boo Buddy kept chatting.

“You know any good jokes?” he asked again.

“I’m going to head back down to the morgue,” I decided, “and see what Boo Buddy and the equipment is picking up. But that’s crazy. I feel like we almost got a story of somebody then and then it just filtered away.”

I killed the engine and stepped back out into the forest night.

🔔 Back in the Morgue

The morgue felt different when I returned.

Colder, somehow, and not just from the falling temperature outside.

“Holy—” I muttered as I stepped through the door.

The rem pod on the trolley was singing, lights flaring. The dead bell beside it trembled slightly as if it had been disturbed moments before. Boo Buddy sat motionless, his eyes dark.

“Hello,” I called.

The rem pod screamed louder.

“Can you step away from that device?” I asked.

Almost on cue, the sound stopped. Lights faded.

When I stepped further into the room, crossing the invisible line by the trolley, a wave of disorientation hit me so hard I stumbled.

“Jesus,” I breathed. “When I just stepped through past that device then, I lost all balance. Like… like all disorientation.”

My head swam for a second, the floor seeming to tilt. Then it passed.

“Can you set that bell off again for me?” I asked.

The dead bell answered with a clear ring.

“Thank you,” I said. “What about that red light that was going off when I came in?”

The rem pod chirped weakly.

“Why is Boo not talking?” I muttered.

“Thank you,” I added as the bell rang again.

“What the hell?”

Something had clearly been playing with the equipment while I’d been gone. I had cameras to prove it, but in the moment all I had was the residue: a buzzing room, devices too eager, Boo Buddy eerily silent.

“Going to do a little callout session with the Spirit Talker,” I said, “with the rem pod and the dead bell in the morgue room behind me here. I don’t know what the hell went on when I wasn’t here, but hopefully we can try and replicate it in this morgue now. Let’s do this.”

🕯️ Iris

I’d barely sat down when Spirit Talker spoke.

“Iris,” it said.

The word cracked through the air like a stone thrown through glass.

“Iris,” I repeated. “Before I’d even sat up. Is that a name of somebody that resides in this building still? Are you the one that was playing with the devices earlier on?”

“Well, my name’s Adam,” I said. “I’ve just come here to try and communicate with somebody tonight. Could you help me with that, Iris?”

The bell rang.

“If you want to use these devices,” I encouraged, “you can set the rem pod—it’s called—off with the red light. You can hit this bell again. Can you do that now for me?”

The answer was immediate. The bell chimed. The rem pod sang.

“Sorry,” Spirit Talker said next.

“What are you sorry for?” I asked. “I want you to hit these devices. Was your body ever on this table?”

“Yes,” the app replied.

The bell went mad, rattling in quick, insistent bursts.

“Okay,” I said. “You’re a big fan of the bell. Tell me what you’re sorry for. Did something happen?”

The bell responded again, overlapping with the sound of a faint footstep from the slab room.

“What the hell?” I murmured.

“Is there anybody else in this room with us?” I asked.

The bell trembled once, then fell still.

“Would you like me to leave?” I asked.

“I’m sure it said ‘no,’” I told the camera later, replaying the word in my head.

“No,” Spirit Talker confirmed.

“You want me to stay?” I said. “Well, you’re going to have to communicate with me. You’re going to have to speak with me to get me to stay. Can you speak to that device on the table?”

“Footstep,” the app announced as the bell rang again.

I stared at the door to the fridge room.

“Okay,” I said slowly. “What about the red light? Go hit that. Go towards the red light. It was going off when I came in earlier.”

“Yes,” the app answered.

“Can you tell me how you passed away?” I asked.

Silence. Then the bell again, as if answering some other question only Iris could hear.

“Wow,” I whispered, as the rem pod twitched to life and then died again. “I thank you for hitting the bell. Can you confirm you’re here by setting off this device in front of me? This device with the red light. I’d like you to go towards it now.”

Outside, the weather turned. Rain hammered harder on the boards, wind pushing against the shell of the morgue.

“Wow, the weather has just picked up,” I said, raising my voice over the dull roar. “Many… many people here,” Spirit Talker interjected.

“Many people passed through here?” I asked.

“Yes,” came the reply.

“Okay,” I said. “And you were one of those people.”

The bell agreed.

“Can you tell me how you died?” I asked. “Was it… illness?”

“No,” the app said.

“Was it an accident?” I tried.

“Did you pass away because of an accident?”

“Yes,” Spirit Talker nodded.

“How old were you?” I asked. “Could you tell me?”

“No,” it replied.

“Four,” it added quickly. “Five.”

The bell chimed at the same time.

“Talk to me,” I urged. “Talk to me through this device. Tell me how old you were when you passed away. Was it a long time ago?”

“Yes,” the app said.

“And you’ve been stuck here ever since?”

Silence.

“Would you like to leave?” I asked.

“Wrench,” Spirit Talker said. “Wretched.”

“I can hear voices,” I added in a low tone, glancing back toward the gallery. The wind had started to feed sounds through cracks and boards, making it harder to tell what was building noise and what was… something else.

“Is there something I need to worry about here?” I asked.

“Yes,” the app said.

“Do they not want me here?” I pushed.

“No,” it answered.

“Wow,” I breathed. “Why is that? Can you give me a reason?”

“The battery,” Spirit Talker said. “The battery.”

“You want to use the battery on the red device?” I asked. “Use the energy from the red device.”

The rem pod flared suddenly, for the first time in several minutes, lights pulsing bright.

“Wow,” I said. “Right. Let me—I’m going to try something.”

⚡ The Line Between Residual and Intelligent

“If you want to communicate with me,” I said, “you’re going to have to do it through the red device. Through the phone. Can you do that for me? Tell me why you’re here. Tell me why you can’t move on. You said it was an accident. Are you the only one that’s able to speak to me?”

The rain hammered even harder, a steady drumroll on the boards above. The room shook with distant thunder.

“That rain’s coming down even more now,” I said. “It’s getting pretty heavy. I’m a bit worried. Is Iris still here?”

“It’s me,” Spirit Talker said.

“Is Iris here?” I clarified.

“It’s me,” it repeated.

“Iris,” I said. “Before I leave, I want you to do something for me. I want you to tell me a message that you’d like to be passed on. And I’d like you to set that device off here. I’d like you to do this.”

I tapped the rem pod.

“Can you do that for me?” I asked. “Are you able to? Do you have the energy, the power? I want you to set that device off now.”

The rain on the roof answered. The devices did not.

“Light,” the app muttered at last.

“I’m a bit worried, guys,” I said to the camera. “I don’t want to get caught in a storm here in an abandoned morgue. Feel like we have got some activity—maybe even residual and not so much intelligent. We’ve got the name Iris in here. The bell was going crazy in here. Not so much on the rem pod, though. As I said, only a small place. It was more to see if morgues were haunted.”

I waited a little longer.

“If you could set that red light off for me, though,” I said, as one last test, “just to say bye, just to say maybe thanks for coming, I’d really appreciate it. Can you do that for me? Maybe just to let me know if you’re intelligent.”

The rem pod stayed quiet. Spirit Talker, which had been so chatty, went nearly silent.

“Do you have one more message to pass on?” I asked.

“Bloody ceiling’s going to cave in,” I muttered as the building groaned under the onslaught of rain.

“Right,” I said. “I’m going to call it. Whatever’s here—you’re not allowed to follow me. I’m going to leave. Our conversation is done. Thank you for talking to me. I really appreciate it.”

🧩 Are Morgues Haunted?

Outside, the storm was in full swing. Trees leaned and swayed in the wind, the hospital complex looming like a hulk against a flickering sky.

“Okay, explorers,” I said, lifting the camera one last time. “So, I believe we’re pretty much done here. If this place is haunted, I believe it may be residual. I don’t think we’re really getting any major intelligent answers. I will review the footage once I go home and put it on the MacBook—the rem pod going off at the end there, a bit strange. The dead bell went crazy. Not sure what was going on when I came in after leaving the cameras.”

I thought of Iris. Of the numbers four and five. Of the words “accident,” “wretched,” “many people.” Of Boo Buddy sitting alone, asking if anyone wanted a hug.

“But a really interesting place,” I continued. “I’m glad that we’ve checked this out.”

Behind me, the morgue stood small and stubborn at the back of the hospital grounds. A simple building where countless journeys had ended, and perhaps a few had stalled.

“Are morgues haunted?” I asked. “Let me know in the comments. What do you think?”

I turned away, walking back up the path through the trees. The rain softened the edges of everything, turning the world into a smear of grey and shadow.

The rational part of me knew what a morgue was: a transit hub. A place bodies pass through, on their way from the living world to the grave. No one lives there. No one stays there.

And yet.

There’d been knocks when I asked for stamping feet. Voices in the static. A woman telling me to get out. A name—Iris—that arrived too quickly to be random. A child’s age whispered through an app. A bell that rang without a hand touching it.

Were they echoes? Tape loops of strong emotion burned into the walls? Or were they something else—minds that, for reasons we don’t understand, hadn’t gone wherever minds are supposed to go?

I didn’t have an answer by the time I reached the car.

All I had was the memory of standing alone in a room where families had once said goodbye, asking: Is this the last place your family saw you? And the faint, almost apologetic cough that answered from nowhere at all.

If morgues are haunted, they’re not haunted like old houses or theatres or asylums. They’re haunted by transition—by the moment between what we were and whatever comes next.

That, more than any slam or scream, is what followed me home that night.

Not a ghost.

A question.