The ambulance finally moved forward, sirens wailing. Simon gripped the metal rails of the stretcher so tight his fingers hurt. Every bump in the road made his heart skip, made his mind flash with that moment in the bathroom—the flickering lights, the shaking toilet, the hands.
He didn't say a word the whole ride. He couldn't. He just kept replaying it in his head, over and over again.
By the time they reached the hospital, his chest felt empty. Cold. Like part of him was still back in that room.
The doors flew open, and doctors swarmed. They wheeled him in, stuck things to his arms and chest, made him breathe into tubes, asked him questions he didn't answer.
They said it was a panic attack. That he was stressed.
But deep down, Simon knew better. Something was watching him. Something was trying to get through.
An Hour Later.
The room was quiet now. White walls, white lights, soft beeping. His mom was sitting in a chair beside the bed, scrolling aimlessly on her phone. She looked tired.
Simon stared at the ceiling, barely blinking.
Then the door opened again.
Two armed guards stepped in—black tactical gear, no emblems. Behind them, a man in a grey lab coat stepped in, clutching a tablet. His presence changed the entire air in the room—calm.
"Simon," the man said with a nod. "My name is Dr. Cass. I work for an organization called the Foundation."
Simon blinked. "The what?"
"We specialize in... abnormal entities. Creatures that don't belong here. Things that slip through cracks most people never see."
The words didn't register at first. Then:
"You—you believe me?"
Dr. Cass gave a thin smile. "We don't believe people often. But we have reason to believe you're telling the truth."
Simon's mouth felt dry. Finally. Someone who didn't call him crazy. Someone who knew.
"We need to ask you some questions, Simon," Cass continued, pulling a chair up to the bed. "About what you saw today. And when all of this began."
Simon looked at his mom. She looked more confused than he was.
But he turned back to the doctor. His voice cracked.
"It started when I was twelve..."
he whispered. "I—I started hearing noises."
Dr. Cass didn't interrupt. He just tapped gently on his tablet, noting things down as Simon spoke.
"Scratching at night. In my walls. Sometimes soft. Sometimes like it was desperate, clawing through."
Simon's voice began to shake.
"Then came the whispers. They weren't in any language I know. But somehow... I understood what they wanted. Or at least... felt it. Hunger"
The guards didn't move. Still as statues. But Simon could feel their eyes behind those visors.
"My mom told me I was just anxious. Said it was nightmares. But it didn't stop. Every day since then, it's gotten worse. I've been seeing things. Feeling things. And lately…"
He finally looked up at Cass.
"I think it's trying to come through."
Cass's expression didn't change. "Through what?"
"The walls. The dark. I—I don't know. I saw its hands. Today. In the bathroom. The walls—they stretched, I ran. I don't even remember leaving the stall, I just… ran."
He gripped the edge of the hospital bed.
"It looked like it almost had me."
Cass nodded slowly. "And this... being. Have you ever gotten a clear look at it?"
Simon hesitated.
"Yes. In my dreams. I call it the Mayfield Watcher."
Cass tapped the screen. "Why that name?"
"I live on Mayfield Lane," Simon muttered. "And... it's always watching. It doesn't move. It doesn't speak. But I feel it. In the corners. In the black spaces. It stares at me in my sleep. I wake up feeling like I've died and come back."
A long silence fell.
Then Cass stood. "Simon, thank you. That was... very helpful. We'll talk again soon."
"Wait," Simon said, heart racing. "What is it? Why is this happening to me?"
Cass paused at the door.
"We don't know what it is yet. But we think you might be the only person who can help us understand it."
The door closed behind him.
Simon leaned back into the pillow, breath shaking.
He wasn't crazy.