Lucas didn't remember exactly what happened that day. It was a blurry memory, like a painting smeared with too many strokes, but he knew it was one of the worst experiences of his life. He was only seven years old at the time, but the fear he felt back then still haunted him, as if that day had been etched into his mind, marked in the shadows of his memory.
It had seemed like an ordinary morning, but for Lucas, there was no such thing as ordinary. His world was always in motion, always adrift, like a boat without direction. He walked around the house with his eyes fixed on the floor, hearing the distant chatter of adults, feeling like an invisible presence. No one ever looked at him properly, no one ever saw him. He was just a silent shadow that dragged itself through the corners, trying to be a part of something he could never understand.
That day, the murmurs felt louder than usual. He was standing by the window when the shadows began to move, faster than they ever had before. He could have sworn they were alive. They shifted, twisted, and coiled, as if something unseen was crawling across the room. The walls seemed to bend, and Lucas felt his chest tighten. He wasn't sure if he was imagining it, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to happen. Something terrible.
He turned away from the window, wanting to hide, but his legs refused to move. His body felt heavy, as if it were sinking into the floor. He reached for the door, but before he could even touch the handle, he collapsed. His head slammed hard against the ground, and the world around him began to spin. His body jerked, his breath came in ragged gasps, and his vision blurred.
He had never experienced anything like this before. It wasn't just the dizziness or the pain. It was as if his body was betraying him, as if the very air was conspiring against him. He tried to call out, but the words wouldn't come. The panic was suffocating, and in that moment, he realized he wasn't alone. The shadows weren't just in the corners of the room—they were closing in on him.
His vision went dark.
The next thing he remembered was waking up in a sterile room, the scent of antiseptic stinging his nostrils. He could hear the steady beep of a monitor somewhere nearby, but the world still felt distant, detached. He tried to move, but his body felt heavy, as if he had been drained of all energy. His head was throbbing, and his hands were trembling.
It took a moment for the fog in his mind to lift, and when it did, he realized he was in a hospital. But there was no one there. No comforting voice, no familiar face. The room was cold and empty, the white walls echoing with silence.
He tried to sit up, but his body wouldn't cooperate. His head spun, and his vision blurred again. Panic bubbled up in his chest, but he forced himself to stay still, to breathe.
After what felt like an eternity, the door creaked open, and a nurse entered. She didn't look at him right away. Her eyes were focused on the clipboard in her hands, and she shuffled to the side of his bed, adjusting the IV drip. Lucas watched her silently, but she didn't seem to notice him.
"How are you feeling?" she asked, her voice flat and professional.
Lucas didn't answer. He didn't have the energy to respond. Instead, he just stared at her, waiting for her to look at him, to see him, to show any sign of care. But she didn't. She finished her task quickly and turned to leave, not bothering to speak another word.
Lucas watched her go, feeling a sharp pang of loneliness. No one cared. No one ever did. He had been in this hospital for hours—maybe days—and yet, no one had come to check on him, no one had asked what happened. His parents hadn't come. His mother, who was always so quick to scold him for small things, hadn't even bothered to show up. They hadn't noticed.
It wasn't unusual, though. Lucas had long since stopped expecting them to care. His mother was too busy with her life, her work, her own struggles. His father? He was always absent, always somewhere else, caught up in his own world.
Lucas had learned to live with it. He had learned to be invisible. To fade into the background, unnoticed, unheard.
But in that moment, lying in that sterile hospital bed, a deep ache settled in his chest. A hollow emptiness. The shadows inside him had always been there, but now, they felt darker, more suffocating. He was alone. And he always would be.
No one came to visit him. Not his parents, not his friends, no one. He had always been alone in the world, and nothing had changed.
As the hours dragged on, Lucas fell into a restless sleep. The shadows continued to haunt him, dancing just beyond the edge of his vision. He could feel their presence, even in the sterile hospital room, even in the dim light of the late afternoon.
When he woke again, it was to the sound of hushed voices. He opened his eyes to find two doctors standing at the foot of his bed, speaking in low tones. They didn't seem to notice he was awake, and they didn't seem to care. Lucas strained to listen, but the conversation was muffled, and the words blurred together.
"… need to observe him more closely…"
"… something off about his behavior…"
"… possible diagnosis…"
The words floated in and out of his consciousness, too distant to make sense of. But one thing was clear: they were talking about him. Talking about what was wrong with him. But no one ever told him what it was. No one ever explained.
Lucas closed his eyes, feeling a tear slip down his cheek. He wasn't even sure if it was real. The tears, the pain, the loneliness—it all felt so surreal. So distant.
And yet, it was all too real.
He could feel the shadows closing in, wrapping around him tighter than ever before.
They had been with him since he was a child. Watching. Waiting.
And now, they were taking him. Little by little. Day by day.
No one could help him.
No one even cared.