FEATURED STORY
RECENT STORIES
STORIES BY TOPIC
NEWS
TRANSPORTER
Take me to a...
SEARCH
Enter any portion of the author name or story title:
For more options, try our:
SUBSCRIBE
Sign up for free daily sci-fi!
your email will be kept private
TIDBITS
Get a copy of Not Just Rockets and Robots: Daily Science Fiction Year One. 260 adventures into new worlds, fantastical and science fictional. Rocket Dragons Ignite: the anthology for year two, is also available!
SUBMIT
Publish your stories or art on Daily Science Fiction:
If you've already submitted a story, you may check its:
DAILY SCI-FI
Not just rockets & robots...
"Science Fiction" means—to us—everything found in the science fiction section of a bookstore, or at a science fiction convention, or amongst the winners of the Hugo awards given by the World Science Fiction Society. This includes the genres of science fiction (or sci-fi), fantasy, slipstream, alternative history, and even stories with lighter speculative elements. We hope you enjoy the broad range that SF has to offer.






The Hospice

Julian Mortimer Smith has worked as a board game editor, a university teaching assistant, and a military clarinetist. He currently lives in Yarmouth, Nova Scotia. His stories have appeared in Daily Science Fiction, AE: The Canadian Science Fiction Review, and Terraform. You can read more at his website: julianmortimersmith.com.

The banshee is wailing. There's going to be a death tonight.
We never know for sure who it's going to be, but my money's on Mrs. Johnson. Over the last few days something's felt different about her. She's already elsewhere, no longer present in her crumbling body.
Some of the other staff complain about the banshee, blaming her for headaches and nightmares, but I appreciate her service. A death takes a lot out of you, no matter how many you've seen before, and her warning gives me time to get ready, to prepare the paperwork and armor my heart.
I spend the night turning Mrs. Johnson every few hours, swabbing her dry mouth, rubbing Vaseline onto her desiccated skin. I can hear the fluid in her lungs when she breathes. It can't be long now.
And yet by the end of my shift Mrs. Johnson is still breathing. She even gives me a weak smile as I turn her. I perform my final rounds in a panic, frantic that someone else has passed while I've been focused on Mrs. Johnson. But no. There are pulses all round.
It's raining as I sign out and climb onto my bicycle. The banshee is still wailing, but her shift is nearly over too, and she's a stickler for rules. I guess she just got it wrong this time.
With drooping eyelids I pull out of the parking lot, and her wail is drowned out by the whoosh and roar of rush-hour traffic on slick streets.
The End
This story was first published on Thursday, August 6th, 2015
Become a Member!

We hope you're enjoying The Hospice by Julian Mortimer Smith.

Please support Daily Science Fiction by becoming a member.

Daily Science Fiction is not accepting memberships or donations at this time.

Rate This Story
Please click to rate this story from 1 (ho-hum) to 7 (excellent!):

Please don't read too much into these ratings. For many reasons, a superior story may not get a superior score.

5.4 Rocket Dragons Average
Share This Story
Join Mailing list
Please join our mailing list and receive free daily sci-fi (your email address will be kept 100% private):