Me, concern etched on his face. “What happened?” I croaked, my head throbbing with pain.
“You fainted,” my friend replied, his voice tinged with urgency. “But listen, we don’t have much time. You need to remember what you saw under the bed.”
Under the bed? The memory was hazy, but I strained to recall. And then, like a bolt of lightning, it hit me. I remembered what I had seen—my wife’s parents, speaking in hushed tones in French, their expressions grave.
“But why did I faint?” I asked, confusion clouding my thoughts.
My friend hesitated, then leaned in close, his voice barely above a whisper. “Because what you saw under the bed… it wasn’t human.”
My heart skipped a beat as his words sank in. Not human? What could he possibly mean?
Before I could press him for answers, a doctor entered the room, breaking the tense silence. My friend shot me a meaningful look before slipping out of the hospital room, leaving me alone with my thoughts and a growing sense of unease.
As the hours passed, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something sinister was lurking just beneath the surface of my seemingly normal life. What had my friend seen that had caused him to react with such urgency? And what did it have to do with my wife’s parents and their secretive conversations in French?
Determined to uncover the truth, I resolved to confront my wife and her parents. But as I gathered my strength and prepared to face the unknown, a chilling thought crept into my mind—what if some secrets are better left undiscovered?