Renovation in a Hospital Basement with a Morgue: Shadows, Footsteps, and Laughter

We also once did renovations in the basement of a hospital that was combined with a children's sanatorium. It was a long time ago, about fifteen years back, maybe more. Now there's neither the sanatorium nor the hospital there. Anyway, in the summer the building was closed for repairs, our crew moved in and settled on the first floor, where the sanatorium rooms were. During the day we slept, wandered around the hospital grounds or strolled around the town, and at night we worked. So, our task was to plaster and paint a long narrow basement corridor and two bathrooms. And here's the main kicker about that basement — it housed a morgue. A FUCKING MORGUE, in a place where children were! The staff told stories about how they often brought in cut-up half-corpses to the surgery ward, and if they died, they were wheeled on a gurney from the third floor to the basement right in front of the vacationing children. That's the kind of fucked-up shit it was. In short, all sorts of fuckery went on in that basement. The corridor was kind of strange; there were several fluorescent lights under the ceiling, but it was still dark as hell in there, even a couple of powerful floodlights didn't help, so we constantly had to clip on extra flashlights. And also, at the far end of that corridor, some unclear shadows often flickered, right in the direction where the morgue was, and that made it creepily as fuck. Then the light bulbs in that area started popping. It's just on, then bam! and that's it, burnt out. We put in new ones, checked the fixture itself, the wiring — everything's fine, but the bulbs still pop. We said fuck it, put a floodlight there. It also started flickering, the bastard, like a fucking strobe light. Then two guys, those life-battered old farts, started cautiously saying they heard some footsteps and voices, even though there was no one in the basement. And then I myself heard (or maybe I just imagined it) some quiet old-woman laughter, a nasty kind of chuckle, as if someone was mocking us. We finished that basement gritting our teeth, slapped on the plaster somehow, painted it, and got the fuck out of there. In the last couple of nights of work, being there became really unbearable. Yeah, I also forgot to mention that at times a strange hum was heard in the basement, like from a running machine, fuck knows where it came from. It started closer to morning, around three a.m., and continued until the end of the shift. We walked all over the basement, checked the panels, nothing. So there.