Jill lay on her back, bound down at the ankles with leather restraints that were too tight to be comfortable. Her fingers trembled against the rigid white linen, her knees bent up and secured in stirrups that snapped as she moved. Fluorescent lights buzzed above her, casting a harsh light on everything antiseptic.
The doctor stood at the foot of the bed, slowly sliding on his gloves. His expression revealed nothing except weariness and distance. Two nurses stood nearby, ready to assist.
"Is everything ready?" he enquired, his voice low.
The nurse beside him, a lady with drawn lips and a clipboard under one arm, nodded. "Yes, Doctor."
Jill turned her head slightly. Her chest constricted. They moved around with harsh urgency.
"I still don't think this is right," she murmured, her voice thin and uncertain. "It's like… something inside me is warning me. Telling me to stop."
The doctor didn't look at her. "Try to relax."
Her heart thumped in her ears. The air had a weight now. Something was watching.
The Doctor was about to start the procedure when the lights went out simultaneously.
A heavy, utter quiet ensued. The overhead light's buzzing had also stopped.
"Doctor?" Jill called. Her voice sounded too small for the room.
"Stay calm," the doctor said. "The generator will kick in soon."
Jill struggled against the bindings and tried to sit up. "Okay…"
The silence didn't last.
There was a scream that followed.
Chaos erupts.
One of the nurses shouted sharply and raw, as if it were pulled from her lungs—then another, followed by the sound of a tray dropping, which reverberated throughout the room, resulting in a metal clang.
Jill's breathing quickened. She blinked into the darkness, her eyes useless. The sounds turned ugly—wet, choked, sudden. Someone gasped, and another Nurse Sounded as if she was being choked to death.
There was a violent crash at the door—like a person being thrown against it—followed by a terrible plunge to the ground.
The screams did not stop. They ripped through the room, raw and agonised, as the doctor and two nurses fought fiercely for their lives.
"Doctor?" she whispered. "Hello? Please…someone talk to me"
Her voice quivered like glass about to break. She could hear her breath, which was thin and high, like a thread drawn too tight.
Something moved. Not footsteps—too smooth. She couldn't tell what it was. But it was there, in the room, pacing and watching. She waited. Silence pressed against her chest.
She gasped, gripped by fear, straining to see through the dense darkness—but nothing came into view.
Terror clung to her face. The room had become dead silent—no voices, footsteps, nothing.
Meanwhile, someone was there. A figure stood still in the shadows, and she could not make out the face.
The lights flickered back to life.
She blinked quickly, her eyes stinging from the unexpected brightness, as if attempting to make sense of what she'd just seen, clinging to a moment that already felt fleeting.
For a moment, everything appeared normal. Then she noticed the changes.
Blood streamed down the table's legs. The doctor's body was crumpled at the foot of the bed, his throat open. One nurse lay with her back to the wall, her neck twisted the wrong way. The other hand still held a scalpel that had not assisted her.
Jill couldn't breathe. She stood still, wide-eyed, and her chest tightened with terror.
A solitary drop of blood fell from above, landing with a soft, terrible pat. She gradually lifted her gaze—
The second nurse floated from the ceiling, her body soaked in blood.
The room was flooded with red. A bloodbath.
She opened her mouth, but no sound emerged. Just a stuttering breath, and then—
"Oh my God…"
She wasn't alone.
Larry stood by the door. Shirt half-unbuttoned, eyes as quiet as a cemetery. A machete hung in his hand, dripping thickly and slowly onto the floor. The amount of blood on him was too much for only three people.
"You're a stubborn woman, Jill," he said, almost gently. "Don't mistake my patience for mercy."
She attempted to scream, but her throat wouldn't cooperate. He turned and walked out without another word.
She drew in a breath, then shrieked, "ALICE!"
Her voice broke. Her hands clawed at the bed, pulling on the straps till the leather dug into her skin.
Alice burst in.
"What is it? What—"
Her breath stuck in her throat the instant she saw the scene—bodies sprawled, blood everywhere.
"Oh my God…" Alice said, scarcely breathing.
"What happened?" Alice enquired, her voice shaky.
Jill gulped hard, trembling in her words. "He was here."
"Who?"
Jill's face crumpled, and a raw, throbbing sob escaped from her chest. "Larry."
Alice was shocked and dumbfounded. Her knees buckled for a moment before she turned and ran, her footsteps slapping down the corridor.
"Alice! Wait!" Jill yelled after her, pulling herself free. The right strap snapped. She scrambled off the table, falling barefoot in a warm puddle.
The hallway was long, white, and empty. Jill's gown clung to her back. She ran.
"Alice!"
She reached the lobby doors just in time to see Alice dash into the street, but never saw the truck.
It appeared out of nowhere, blue and rusty, large and swift. The horn did not sound, the tires did not squeal, and the motorist failed to brake.
Alice flew, her legs raised off the ground. Her body twisted in midair, like a puppet on strings. Jill would never forget the screech she made as she hit the pavement.
Jill stood transfixed and gazing. Her mouth hung open. The breath returned in a cry.
When the truck driver noticed the horrific scene, he pushed the throttle and drove away without looking back.
She dashed to Alice and dropped to her knees on the asphalt.
"Alice? Alice—look at me. Look at me, dammit!"
There was blood. Too much. On her face, her dress, leaking from the corner of her mouth. Her eyes fluttered.
"I can't feel my legs," Alice whispered.
Jill cradled her, brushing hair from her face. "You're okay. You're gonna be okay, you hear me?"
Alice blinked once, slowly. "He did this?"
Jill nodded, worry etched deep in her face, as if she knew she would lose her friend.
Alice coughed and winced, then murmured, "Told you he wasn't done…"
Then her eyes rolled back.
"Alice? Alice!"
But she was gone—her chest still, mouth slightly parted as if caught mid-sentence.
Jill's breath sounded more like a growl, trembling with rage and fear. Her body swayed as she stood. People had gathered now, staring. No one helped. They just looked, wide-eyed and frozen.
Her hands were slick with her blood, Alice's, and someone else's. Her legs felt weak, but something deeper kept her upright—rage.
She turned toward the road, scanning the street for that truck. It was gone.
The sky above the hospital was now grey, low, and rumbling. It seemed like it might rain, but the air was dry, hot, and still—a storm without water.
A Cop touched her shoulder. She did not hear what he said and couldn't respond, her ears ringing in silence.
She looked down at her arms, Alice's blood drying in streaks. Her stomach twisted.
A sudden movement in her stomach.
She placed her palm flat against her stomach. There it was again: a change, like something coiling within her—a slither.
Her breath was shallow as she backed away from the officer.
She collapsed to her knees, a picture of despair, and cried deeply, a pain-filled howl that seemed to resonate for miles.
"Larry," she said quietly, sobbing. "What have you done to me?"
The thing inside her moved once more. This time, it wasn't subtle. It pressed against her ribs, testing the limits of her skin.
She stumbled back, knocking her back to the floor. Her stomach rippled as if something were swimming.
"Stop," she gasped.
She wailed on the floor, hands holding her stomach as pain wrenched through her.
"Stop it, stop it—" she sobbed quietly.
However, the agony did not subside.
And she realised this was only the beginning.