But the most obvious of the strange occurrences was every morning when I would unlock the building I would find the name plate of one of the psychiatrists lying on the floor. It had not been like that when I had locked the building. I would dutifully replace it in the holding frame and press against it firmly so the glue on the back would hold it in. This continued for about a month and I came to accept the fact that the second floor was haunted by a ghost that I felt was that of a young girl. She seemed to enjoy my company and would pass thru me a different points in the hallway. When this happened I would feel a very sudden cold chill. Sometimes she would play games like making the door at the end of the hall swing open. The toilet in the women's restroom would flush by itself as I passed by and instead of sobbing I would hear a young girl giggling. There was of course no one there.

One morning when I unlocked the building I found the same psychiatrist name plate missing from it's frame but this time instead of lying on the floor it was stuck very firmly to the women's restroom door. After pulling it off the door I decided I should tell the psychiatrist's office what was happening in case someone was playing a joke on him. I returned when the office was open at 8am and when I described what had been occurring to the receptionist she was wide-eyed and open-mouthed.

As I handed her the name-plate and told her that that morning had been the first time I had ever found it stuck to the women's restroom door she let out a very loud gasp. I thought that a strange reaction but left without inquiring any further. As I walked downstairs one of the HMO nurses was outside taking a smoke break. She asked me if I was the night watchman for the building and when I told her I was, she asked if I had ever had anything unusual happen. I told her what I had been experiencing , concluding with that morning's occurrence. As I finished she nearly screamed "OH MY GOD!!!!!!".

She proceeded to tell me the story that to this day gives me chicken skin! It seems that a fifteen year old girl who had been battling depression had been a patient of the psychiatrist whose name plate I had found stuck to the women's restroom door. She had been there for her weekly appointment and had asked to be excused to use the restroom. In the restroom she committed suicide by slitting her wrists. By the time they found her she was nearly dead and the doctor had picked her up and carried her downstairs to the HMO clinic where they tried to save her but could not revive her because she had lost too much blood. That day had been her birthday and had been one year ago to the day!