I woke up in a place my body recognized before my mind did.
A cold smell.
Regular beeps.
An artificial silence.
A hospital.
I stayed still, eyes open, staring at the white ceiling. As if moving, or even breathing too loudly, could attract something. My body was heavy, tired, but intact. No unbearable pain. No visible wounds.
Yet, something was wrong.
Fear was already there.
Not a violent fear.
A dull fear.
Calm.
Deeply seated, as if it had always been there.
The door to the room opened slowly.
Voices followed.
I recognized them immediately.
My father's family.
They entered cautiously, with that hesitation people have when they're unsure if they truly belong. An aunt with a worried look. A silent uncle. Two cousins I barely knew.
— He's awake, someone whispered.
They approached my bed, asking simple questions. If I felt better. If I had pain. If I remembered what happened.
An accident.
That's what they all said.
I answered little. I nodded. I stayed calm.
And then I noticed it.
They were not alone.
I didn't turn my head.
I didn't need to.
I could feel them.
Immobilized presences scattered in the room. By the walls. In corners. Next to the window. Too silent. Too heavy. The air around them seemed thick, warped, as if reality itself struggled to exist there.
Entities.
My fingers clenched the sheets.
I lowered my eyes.
Do not look at them.
This was the most important rule.
Hospitals were dangerous.
Not because of the living.
But because of what lingered.
Here, people lost loved ones.
Here, regrets were born.
Here, death passed continuously… and sometimes, it didn't leave.
This was a perfect place for them.
If you look at an entity, it knows.
If it knows you see it, it gets closer.
And if you meet its gaze…
It can enter.
Take your body.
Your breath.
Your identity.
I focused on my family's voices. On their faces. On everything that was alive.
— We heard about your accident, my aunt said softly. We came as soon as we knew.
I swallowed.
Behind her, something moved.
Not a step.
Not a sound.
Just that unbearable sensation of being watched.
— After everything you've been through… she added.
I knew what she meant.
I hadn't been here before.
I hadn't come for them.
I came only for my parents' funeral.
The journey.
The return after so long.
The dirt thrown on their graves.
The silence.
The gray sky.
And now, waking up here, surrounded by the living…
and watched by those who hadn't crossed over.
— I don't want to stay here, I said suddenly.
Silence fell in the room.
My uncle looked at me, surprised.
— What do you mean?
I hesitated.
How could I explain that this place attracted what was hunting me?
How could I say that every second here put me in danger?
— This place… doesn't make me feel safe, I finally said. I don't want to be alone here.
It. was little.
But it was the truth.
Hospitals were crossroads.
Places where life hesitates.
Where death watches.
And where regrets accumulate.
My aunt sighed softly.
— You're safe here. There are doctors, nurses
— I know, I interrupted, voice shaking despite myself. I… I'm just afraid.
It was not a lie.
One of my cousins stepped forward.
— We can ask for you to stay one more night. Then, if everything is fine, you'll come with us.
One night.
My stomach tightened.
But I nodded.
Because I had nowhere else to go.
When they left, the room grew colder.
The entities hadn't moved.
They were waiting.
Night fell slowly. The lights softened. The hospital sounds faded away. I lay there, eyes fixed on the sheet, counting my breaths.
Something whispered.
Not in words.
With intention.
I didn't look.
A presence approached my bed. Not enough to touch. Enough to make me tremble. Sweat ran down my back.
Ignore them.
That was also a rule.
Time stretched endlessly.
At some point, something brushed my arm.
Not a hand.
A memory.
I jumped, sitting upright, heart racing.
The presence retreated, almost amused.
They were testing me.
Morning came without me sleeping.
When my family returned, they immediately understood.
— I can't take this anymore, I said. I want to leave. Now.
They didn't argue.
While they spoke to the staff, one of my cousins stayed. He sat near my bed, his gaze serious.
— I know what happened to you, he said softly.
I looked at him.
— You were attacked by an entity.
My body froze.
— Normally, no one survives this kind of attack, he continued. Those who do… are no longer truly themselves.
He paused.
— The taxi driver you were with is dead.
The world collapsed inside me.
A fierce heat ran through my chest.
It was my fault.
If I hadn't been there…
If they hadn't followed me…
I couldn't breathe.
— It's not your fault, he added. But I know how you feel.
I wanted to ask how he knew all this.
Why he hadn't seen the entities in the room.
Why they seemed to ignore him.
But no words came out.
— Let's just say some people… know, he concluded.
The machines kept breathing.
And behind him, in the corner of the room,
something was still watching.