Chapter 3 - The Deep Woods
The coastal fog outside the emergency room windows had grown dense, pressing against the glass like a damp, heavy curtain. Inside Room 4, the atmosphere was suffocating. The ultrasound monitor continued its rhythmic, silent pulse, casting an eerie blue light across the small room.
“We need to prep for an immediate surgical extraction,” I said, my voice cutting through the silence. I reached for the wall-mounted phone to page the on-call ENT surgeon, Dr. Vance.
“Wait,” Sarah caught my wrist, her fingers tight and urgent. “Think about what we’re looking at, Mark. If we cut into that thing without knowing what it is—without knowing how it’s anchored to his facial nerves—we could paralyze the right side of his face permanently. Or worse, if it ruptures into his bloodstream…”
She didn’t need to finish the sentence. The implications hung heavy in the air. A foreign organism residing in a child’s facial tissue, possessing unknown biological properties, was uncharted medical territory. It defied every text in our library.
“We can’t just leave it in there, Sarah,” I replied, keeping my eyes fixed on the monitor where the creature’s core pulsed again. “Look at the growth rate. Five minutes ago, it was smaller. It’s feeding on him. If we don’t remove it tonight, it’s going to compromise his airway.”
Before Sarah could respond, a sharp, metallic bang echoed from the hallway outside.
We both froze.
“Greg,” Sarah hissed.
A moment later, muffled shouting broke out near the triage desk. One of the security guards raised his voice, followed by the sound of scuffling boots and a heavy thud against drywall.
“Stay here,” I instructed Sarah, pulling off my contaminated gloves and tossing them into the biohazard bin. “Lock this door from the inside. Do not open it for anyone unless you hear my voice.”
I slipped out of Room 4 into the corridor. The hallway was empty except for a stray clipboard rolling across the linoleum. From the direction of the waiting area, however, chaos had erupted.
Greg had snapped.
He had shoved past the two security officers, knocking a metal magazine rack to the floor. His face was flushed with an ugly, frantic rage, his jacket half-zipped, revealing a plaid shirt underneath. He was heading straight down the corridor toward our wing, his heavy work boots squeaking against the polished floor.
“You’ve got no right keeping my boy!” Greg bellowed, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. “I’m calling the cops on you quacks! You’re holding him hostage!”
“Sir, you need to step back right now,” shouted Officer Miller, the larger of our two security guards, as he lunged forward to grab Greg’s shoulder.
Greg spun around with terrifying speed, his elbow driving hard into Miller’s chest. The guard stumbled back, gasping for air.
I stepped out from the doorway of Room 4, blocking Greg’s path.
“Stay back, Greg,” I warned, raising my hands defensively. “You are not coming in here.”
Greg stopped five feet away from me. His chest heaved, and his eyes were wide, bloodshot, and frantic. But it wasn't anger that unnerved me the most—it was the strange, sickly gray pallor of his skin, and the distinct, unmistakable smell of damp earth that radiated off his clothes. It was the exact same smell that clung to Leo.
“You don’t understand what’s in that room,” Greg muttered, his voice dropping to a harsh, gravelly whisper. His hands were trembling, fists clenched tightly at his sides. “You think it’s a sickness? You think it’s an infection?”
“What are you talking about?” I demanded, keeping my footing steady.
Greg let out a harsh, bitter laugh that sounded more like a cough. “I found him in the woods behind the logging camp two weeks ago. He was wandering around the old timber trails after dark. When I brought him home, his face was already changing. The thing was already inside him.”
The blood drained from my face. “You knew?”
“Of course I knew!” Greg snapped, taking a step closer. “You think I wanted a kid like that around the house? Whispering to the walls? Moving around in the dark without making a sound? But you can’t get rid of it. You try to cut it out, and it just digs deeper. It’s part of him now.”
“You abused him,” I said, my voice trembling with suppressed fury. “You locked him in a shed because you were afraid of him.”
“I locked him in because he doesn’t belong to us anymore!” Greg lunged forward, lunging past me toward the door of Room 4.
Officer Miller recovered quickly, tackling Greg from behind and bringing him down hard to the floor. Greg thrashed like a wild animal, howling curses, his fingers clawing at the linoleum.
I didn’t wait to watch them subdue him. I turned, keyed the manual override on Room 4’s keypad, and pushed the door open.
What I saw inside made my heart stop.
May you like
Leo was no longer sitting on the exam bed. The paper was shredded into tiny fragments across the floor. The window overlooking the ambulance bay was pushed open a few inches, letting in the cold, rainy night air.
And on the stainless steel counter, next to the ultrasound probe, lay a discarded gray hoodie—and a trail of wet, muddy footprints leading directly toward the open window.
