The next morning came slowly,Simon blinked awake to the sterile glow of fluorescent ceiling lights. His body felt heavy. Dull. And Numb.
The door clicked open and two nurses walked in, followed by a
doctor he didn't recognize. They smiled, said their good mornings, checked the monitor beside his bed, made small talk.
Then came the questions again. "Any dizziness? Chest pain? Nightmares?"
Simon lied. "No. Slept fine."
He didn't.
He never did anymore.
Dr. Cass, professional as always, tablet in hand and expression unreadable.
"Morning, Simon."
He nodded weakly. "Yeah."
Cass gave a polite smile, then moved into her routine — reflexes, eyes, memory recall. The nurses were writing notes, whispering behind masks. Just another day in recovery.
Until Simon's eyes drifted toward the hospital door.
There it was.
Outside the frosted glass window: a figure.
Shadowy. Humanoid. Long and thin. Almost lanky. He couldn't make out the face—couldn't even be sure it had one—but its shape was wrong. It was standing too still, limbs slightly bent, just watching.
Simon's pulse spiked instantly. He stared, frozen, unable to look away.
"Simon?" Cass's voice brought him halfway back. "What is it?"
He raised a trembling hand and pointed. "There's... someone outside the door."
Cass turned, calmly walked over, and opened it.
No one was there.
The hallway was empty.
He stepped outside, looked around, then came back in. "There's no one out there."
But Simon didn't stop staring at the window.
"Look again," he whispered.
Be turned slowly.
The window was shut again. Cass raised an eyebrow.
And then Simon saw it.
A hand. Black, bony, and elongated. It pressed against the glass from the inside, though no one else seemed to see it.
The frosted glass cracked under the pressure of the touch, a sudden jagged spiderweb fracture that made the nurse jump.
"Jesus!" the nurse yelped. "Did something hit it?!"
Cass's eyes widened. He rushed over, examining the glass. "That wasn't there before…"
But Simon just stared at the hand, still pressed against the inside.
No one else could see it.
Only him.
Yet the crack—the physical damage—was real.
Cass turned toward the hallway. "Get Security. And prep for a full neurological scan."
Simon didn't hear the rest.
Because outside the door, the shadow figure was still there.
Waiting.
Watching.
The cruiser sped through the winding road just outside town, fog curling over the blacktop.
Chief Holt gripped the wheel with both hands, his jaw locked tight. Beside him, Sheriff Lane flipped through the report of the latest disappearance.
"Glenn Morrow. Thirty-seven. Works at the hardware store. Lived alone. Neighbor said the lights flickered, heard some screaming last night—"
Then his voice stopped.
"Warren."
Holt glanced at him. he was staring ahead, wide-eyed.
"Jesus Christ," he muttered as his eyes caught it too.
A figure. Dead center of the road.
Humanoid. Unmoving. Long, thin limbs and stretched posture. No face they could make out.
"Hold on!" Holt barked.
He yanked the wheel hard right. Tires shrieked. The cruiser skidded sideways across the rain-slick road — slamming into a tree with a loud, metallic crunch that snapped their necks forward.
Airbags burst. The glass cracked. Steam hissed from the hood.
For a moment, everything went quiet but the ticking of the engine.
Holt was the first to move, coughing as he shoved the deflating airbag aside.
"Lane. You good?"
"Yeah—yeah, I think so," he wheezed, brushing blood from his temple.
They kicked their doors open and stepped out into the fog-covered road.
The figure was gone.
Lane turned in circles, weapon drawn, scanning the trees.
"You saw it too, right? I'm not crazy—"
"I saw it," Holt muttered. "Goddammit, I saw it."
They stood there for a minute, straining to hear anything but the rustle of leaves and distant drip of rain.
Nothing.
Holt said grimly,
"Come on. We're walking to Morrow's place. It's half a mile up the road. We'll call in the crash later."
They left the cruiser behind, its hood bent around the bark of the tree.