Suddenly, Artie shifted. His body buckled. A muffled, bubbling sound came from his throat. The nurse gasped through gritted teeth and made a sharp, precise pulling motion.
And she pulled it out.
It was long, dark, and very much alive. It writhed on the end of the forceps, its thin, segmented body coiling around the steel. It didn’t look like a worm or a snake. It looked like a nightmare—a giant, translucent centipede-like creature. Its tiny legs flailed frantically in the air.
Lily shrieked and scrambled back against the wall, her breath hitching. Seeing it in the light was a thousand times worse than just knowing it existed.
The nurse, pale as a sheet, looked at the creature with a mix of revulsion and horror. With a quick motion, she dropped the writhing thing into the plastic container and snapped the lid shut. It hit the bottom, coiled up, then began to crawl up the smooth plastic, searching for an exit. A heavy silence fell over the room, broken only by the faint scratching of the creature’s legs and the nurse’s ragged breathing. She stared at the jar, unable to believe her own eyes. Then she slowly looked at Artie.
And then, the miracle happened.
Artie took a deep, whistling breath. A breath so deep it seemed like he hadn’t breathed in years. His chest rose high. As he exhaled, the lines of pain on his face finally smoothed out. He didn’t wake up, but his sleep changed instantly. It wasn’t a dark abyss anymore; it was just sleep. Deep, natural, and healing.
The nurse, still clutching the jar, looked at the monitors. She watched the numbers jump. His respiratory rate stabilized. His oxygen saturation—the level of oxygen in his blood—began a slow, steady climb. Eighty-eight. Eighty-nine. Ninety.
She turned to Lily. The girl was pressed against the wall, staring at the jar. There was no triumph in her eyes. No “I told you so.” There was only horror. And a massive, soul-crushing sadness. Because that thing had taken her father, and she hadn’t been able to save him. The thought was written all over her face.
— “Lily…” the nurse started, but her voice failed her.
At that moment, the door swung open with force. Lily’s mother, Sarah, stood there, her face contorted with fear. She had clearly been searching the hospital for her daughter. Seeing her in the restricted room, standing over the patient with the nurse, she froze.
— “Lily! What have you done?!” her whisper was as loud as a scream. She rushed to her daughter, grabbing her arm. “I told you! I told you—!”
She stopped mid-sentence. Her eyes fell on the jar in the nurse’s hand. On the thing crawling inside. Then she looked at the nurse’s face. Then at the monitors and the rising numbers.
Sarah went silent. Her grip on Lily’s arm loosened. She slowly, as if in slow motion, looked down at her daughter.
— “What… what is that?” she managed to breathe.
Suddenly, the hallway erupted in noise. Fast, confident footsteps and voices approached. It was the silver-haired chief of medicine.
— “Is the night nurse in there? What’s going on with these readings? I saw a spike on the remote monitor.”
The doctor appeared in the doorway. Behind him was Artie’s father, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, but burning with a desperate hope.
— “What happened?” the father demanded. “Is he… is he better?”
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