The cries in the nursing home

Hoa Sen Nursing Home stood on the outskirts of the city, a place where the elderly with silver hair spent their twilight years under bright lights that never went out. Among them was Mrs. Tinh, 65 years old, frail and thin, her eyes sunken deep. She had once been a famous literature teacher in the region. To outsiders, her life seemed peaceful. But spending just one night in the home would reveal a very different story.

Every night, Mrs. Tinh screamed and wept, her cries so heart-wrenching it seemed as though something was tearing her apart. Her wails echoed through the hallways, keeping other residents awake, while the caregivers grew weary.

One young caregiver whispered:
“Perhaps her karmic enemies have come for her. She must be bearing heavy sins.”

Another scoffed:
“If it’s not vengeful spirits, then why does she cry like she’s being beaten? I went in, but there was no one there—just her writhing, covering her face with both hands.”

Rumors of “haunting spirits” spread quickly, filling everyone with fear. No one dared to be on duty in her room for long. For an entire week, the same thing happened every night: Mrs. Tinh screaming, her body covered in bruises with no clear cause.

On the eighth night, Dr. Khanh was assigned to the night shift. She was a young doctor new to the nursing home—kindhearted and skeptical of superstition. When the caregivers warned her:
“Tonight is your turn to watch over Mrs. Tinh. Be careful—the vengeful spirits are fierce.”

Khanh only smiled:
“Pain must have a cause. We can’t just blame it on ghosts and leave her like that.”

At midnight, the cries rose again. Khanh rushed over—and froze at the sight: Mrs. Tinh was thrashing, hands clawing at something invisible around her neck. Her face had turned purple, her eyes rolling back.

Khanh hurried to check—and suddenly noticed fresh rope marks imprinted around the woman’s neck. Her frail skin could never have made such marks by itself. A chill ran down Khanh’s spine. She shouted:

“Quick! Call the police at once!”

The call to the police in the middle of the night shook the whole home. Many caregivers trembled:
“Doctor, she’s being haunted, that’s all! Why call the police?”

But Khanh’s voice was firm:
“Ghosts don’t leave rope marks. This is abuse!”

Her words stunned everyone. The police quickly arrived and checked the hallway cameras. Slowly, the truth emerged.

At 2 a.m. footage showed a man sneaking into Mrs. Tinh’s room. His face was all too familiar: it was Mr. Vinh—her eldest son.

The secret was exposed. Every night, Vinh had been sneaking into his mother’s room, using a rope to threaten her, even strangling her, forcing her to reveal where she had hidden her savings book and land documents.

People were shocked:
“How could her own son do this to his mother?”

The answer lay in the past.

Mrs. Tinh had been widowed early, raising two sons alone: Vinh and Hau. Vinh, the elder, lived recklessly, gambling and falling into debt. She had sold property many times to save him, but he never changed. Hau was different—dutiful, hardworking, a factory worker who often came to visit his mother.

In her later years, Mrs. Tinh managed to save some money and still had a small house—her only assets. She intended to leave them to Hau, the son who truly cared for her. Vinh knew this and grew resentful, believing his mother favored his younger brother.

So Vinh broke into the nursing home at night, tormenting her, demanding the documents. Mrs. Tinh refused, enduring both pain and rage, her only outlet the nightly cries. Outsiders thought it was the work of spirits—but it was the cold, cruel hands of her own flesh and blood.

The police arrested Vinh that very night. Hau rushed to the nursing home as soon as he heard. Seeing his mother lying weak, her neck bruised, he broke down in tears:
“Mother, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here to protect you.”

Mrs. Tinh gripped his hand, tears streaming down her face:
“It’s not your fault. The fault is mine… I spoiled your brother too much. I thought sacrificing everything would earn his love, but all I did was plant more greed.”

Hau sobbed:
“Don’t worry, Mother. I will take care of you for the rest of your life. No matter what Vinh has done, you still have me.”

The nursing home was shaken. The caregivers who once believed in “vengeful spirits” realized: behind the midnight cries, it wasn’t ghosts—it was human cruelty.

Dr. Khanh earned everyone’s respect. She not only saved Mrs. Tinh’s life, but also preserved the honor of the nursing home.

As for Vinh, the court sentenced him to seven years in prison for abuse and attempted extortion. On the day he was taken away, he hung his head, unable to face his mother. Sitting in her wheelchair, Mrs. Tinh watched silently. In her eyes was no longer anger—only the deepest sorrow.

Time passed, and Mrs. Tinh gradually recovered. The nights at the home became peaceful again, free of screams. Residents grew accustomed to the sight of Hau arriving each afternoon with a lunchbox, patiently feeding his mother spoon by spoon.

One day, Mrs. Tinh held Dr. Khanh’s hand, her voice trembling:
“If you had believed in ghosts like the others, I would have died unjustly. Thank you for believing in medicine, and in justice.”

Khanh squeezed the frail hand and smiled:
“Auntie, ghosts are frightening—but human greed is far scarier. What matters most is clear-headedness and compassion.”