Crowded, loud, and monotonous. Caleb had always hated the hospital, and not just because of the nightmares.

Christa fidgeted anxiously, looking to and fro in the hopes that her brother would come running to her any moment.

The elderly woman from the house had heard Christa's scream and called an ambulance in seconds. By some luck, a woman walking by happened to be a nurse. If she hadn't been there-

She shook her head, not wanting to imagine what else could have happened. In place of her grim imaginings, the image of the man flashed in her mind. A tailored suit; an all-black mask covered in scratch marks; a bloody knife with a serrated edge.

She flinched as an arm wrapped around her shoulder. Her head snapped to the side frantically, and she met her mother's gaze. They shifted closer together. Neither of them spoke a word, waiting in apprehension for any sort of news on Caleb's condition. When Dr. Garrison finally approached them, the tension only grew.

"Mrs. Carter," he began as Christa's mother rose to meet him.

"Oh, Doctor..." She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "Is my son okay?"

Dr. Garrison looked hesitant for a moment, speaking carefully. "He was in critical condition; had he gotten here any later, I fear it may have been much worse, but he's stabilized, at least for now."

"Oh, thank goodness!" A wave of relief washed over them. "...Is he awake?"

"I'm afraid not. He lost a lot of blood, but the transfusion from your husband helped. Still, he may be asleep for a while longer."

Christa turned to her right to look at her father hopefully. He continued to gaze ahead at nothing in particular. He'd used to visit Caleb every day after work, bringing him toys to cheer him up. In truth, he hated hospitals nearly as much as his son did- their family often joked that he'd passed it down- but he'd always put on a friendly face. Seeing him now was heartbreaking.

Tentatively, Christa took his hand, and he slowly faced her. At her hopeful expression, he looked down before plastering on an optimistic smile. Grabbing her mother with her other hand, she followed between them as they were led to a room.

Caleb was sprawled across the bed, tucked under the sheets and sound asleep. Christa was the first to reach him, pulling her parents behind her. She hugged them close as her eyes settled on his peacful face.

"He'll be okay. He's overcome worse before," her father reassured her.

"And we'll be there for him the whole time," her mother added after nodding a brief goodbye to Dr. Garrison.

She nodded along with them, confident that they would be okay.

Yet in the back of her mind, something lingered... A feeling of unease, the kind people get when being watched by those they can't see.

 

For over an hour they stayed by his side, holding hands and chatting to let him know they were there, whether or not he could hear them. Finally, he stirred, ushering a long silence into the room. His face contorted into one of fear or pain, though his eyes stayed shut. Worried, Christa leaned closer to him. "Caleb?"

A strained mumble was her only answer. Caleb tossed in his sleep, wincing as the movement caused his injuries to flare with sharp pain. He whimpered in his fitful sleep, squirming. It was then that it clicked in Christa's mind. This was just like before... when he would have nightmares the last time he was in the hospital. Desperate to calm him down somehow, she pulled away from her parents and put her hands on his mattress. "Caleb... I'm here."

All at once, his eyes shot open, and his head swiveled to look at her in terror. "Christa? No... No! You can't be here!"

"What...?"

"He's here- the bad man! With the mask!" He lurched into a sitting position, much to Christa's alarm.

"Hey, hey! You can't move too much yet-!" She froze as he scrambled back on the bed, pointing shakily to something behind her. Slowly, she turned. The room was empty, dimly lit with nothing but the bedside lamp. Their parents were nowhere to be seen. She realized how silent it was, as if they were the only ones there.

In the dark hallway, she caught a glimpse of a shrouded figure walking by. The lamp light barely illumated his face as he passed; a black mask covered in scratch marks.