Daniel's fingers clenched around the sheets as he stared at the notification on his phone.
New recording saved.
His stomach twisted. He hadn't pressed record.
And then, the whisper.
"Daniel… they're watching."
His breath came fast and shallow, his pulse hammering against his ribs. His eyes darted to Lenny, who was still rubbing his arms, trying to shake off the sudden chill that had passed through the room.
"Did you feel that?" Lenny asked, voice tight.
Daniel didn't answer. His mind was already racing. Whatever was happening—whatever this was—it wasn't normal. He couldn't stay here.
He swung his legs over the side of the hospital bed. The IV tugged at his arm, but he ignored it. "Lenny, we need to get out of here."
Lenny blinked. "What?"
"I need to be discharged."
Lenny took a cautious step closer. "Daniel, you just woke up. You had a damn episode—"
"I don't care," Daniel snapped, voice edged with urgency. He lowered it quickly, running a hand through his hair. "Something isn't right. I can't sit here and wait for whatever's coming next."
Lenny's brows furrowed. He looked uncertain, but he had seen what just happened—the phone, the whisper, the unnatural chill in the air. "Daniel… I don't know, man."
Daniel exhaled sharply, forcing himself to stay calm. "Lenny, you trust me, right?"
Lenny hesitated. "Yeah… but—"
"No buts," Daniel cut in. "You felt it. And if I'm right about this, sitting in this damn hospital bed isn't going to help. I need to go home. Now."
Lenny exhaled through his nose, running a hand over his face. "Shit. Fine."
With that, they called the nurse and requested discharge paperwork. But as soon as the request was made, the doctor arrived, arms folded and expression serious.
"Daniel, I strongly advise against this," he said, glancing at the monitor still tracking Daniel's vitals. "You're in no condition to leave. We need to monitor you for at least another night."
Daniel met his gaze, jaw tightening. "I appreciate your concern, doctor, but I'm not staying."
"You were unconscious, Daniel. Your vitals were unstable when you were brought in. You need rest."
Daniel's voice was controlled, but firm. "What I need is to leave. I'm signing the damn papers whether you approve or not."
The doctor sighed, looking between him and Lenny before relenting. "At least take it easy. If anything feels off, come back immediately."
Daniel nodded, not bothering to promise anything. Within the hour, he was signing the discharge papers and stepping out into the cold night air.
The drive home was quiet. Too quiet.
Lenny drummed his fingers against the wheel, his eyes darting toward Daniel every so often. "You gonna tell me what's going on?"
Daniel didn't answer. He just stared ahead, muscles tense.
When they finally pulled into the driveway, Daniel hesitated before stepping out. The house loomed in front of them, a familiar yet unsettling silhouette against the night sky.
Something about it felt wrong.
He swallowed hard and stepped inside. The air was thick, heavy, as if the house had been holding its breath since he'd left.
Lenny followed close behind. "Daniel, are you—"
But Daniel wasn't listening. His feet carried him toward the nursery. The door creaked as he pushed it open, revealing the dimly lit room.
A wave of unease rolled over him.
The nursery was different.
Not in any obvious way at first glance—the crib stood in the center, the rocking chair in the corner, the soft glow of the nightlight casting long shadows. But something had shifted.
The walls seemed further apart. The ceiling stretched just a little too high. The crib looked... older. The paint chipped, the wood darkened as though it had been sitting there for decades.
Daniel's breath hitched. He turned to Lenny. "This isn't my nursery."
Lenny frowned. "What are you talking about? It's your house. Your room."
Daniel didn't respond. He moved toward the crib. As he neared it, a wave of nausea rolled through him.
Then, the wallpaper peeled.
Not in strips, not in flakes—in sheets.
And beneath it wasn't drywall.
It was another room.
Lenny took a step back. "Jesus. No. Nope. I am not doing this."
Daniel's body moved on its own, drawn forward. The hole in the wall revealed a single object inside the hidden space—a tall, antique mirror.
He approached cautiously. At first, it was just dusty, cracked at the edges. But then—
His reflection didn't move.
Lenny sucked in a breath. "Daniel—"
Daniel lifted his hand. His reflection didn't. Instead, it slowly, deliberately, turned its head to face him.
Then, from the depths of the mirror, a hand reached out.
It latched onto Daniel's wrist, ice-cold and too strong.
Daniel gasped, jerking back, but the grip tightened. The surface of the mirror rippled, distorting his reflection into something monstrous. More hands emerged—too many hands, clawing, pulling.
Lenny grabbed Daniel's arm. "Let go!" He yanked hard, and Daniel tumbled backward. The mirror shattered.
Silence.
The nursery was normal again.
Except it wasn't.
Daniel looked down at his wrist. A dark bruise had already begun forming in the shape of a hand. His skin burned where it had touched him.
Then, in the shards of broken glass, his reflection was still moving.
Watching him.
And it was smiling.
Daniel staggered back, his breathing uneven. His pulse thundered in his ears as he turned away from the shattered mirror—
And that's when he saw it.
On the rocking chair, just beneath the soft glow of the nightlight, lay an old, tattered diary.
The air in the nursery turned thick, oppressive. The walls seemed to breathe, the shadows stretching toward him. The diary's cover was cracked leather, the pages yellowed with age—but Emily's diary had been new.
He flipped it open with trembling hands.
A single phrase was scrawled in the center of the first page, written in jagged, frantic strokes:
"You are not alone. You never were."
A sharp breath left Daniel's lips. The room creaked, the air pressing in around him like unseen hands.
Then, just behind him, the rocking chair began to move.
The wooden floor groaned beneath Daniel's feet as the chair rocked back, then forward, its rhythmic creak slicing through the thick silence. His pulse hammered in his ears.
He turned slowly, breath caught in his throat. The chair swayed again, untouched.
A whisper of cold air ghosted past his neck.
Daniel stumbled back, slamming the book shut. The weight of the words inside burned against his palm.
And then—
The lights flickered.
Darkness swallowed the room.