Three months ago, a devastating car accident stole my vision, plunging me into a world of silence and shadows. My parents, protective and desperate, uprooted us from the relentless pace of the city to a peaceful casa, hoping the quiet would nurture my fragile recovery. For weeks, my world remained an endless night — until this morning. Suddenly, light spilled over everything again: the soft hues of dawn, the delicate shapes of familiar objects, and the vibrant colors that painted my room. I blinked in disbelief, tears welling up with joy. Just as I was about to call out to my parents and share the miracle, something on the floor caught my eye—a crumpled tissue lying tucked beneath my bed.
Driven by an obsessive need for cleanliness, I picked it up, smoothing it out with trembling fingers. My heart sank. Scrawled hastily across its surface were words that froze me: “Don’t tell them you can see.” Them? It had to mean my parents, but who else could it be? The only people who had entered my room over the past months were my parents and my husband, Mateo.
Before I could piece together this chilling puzzle, a knock interrupted me. “Lucia? I made some soup for you,” my mother’s gentle voice floated from outside the door. Panicked, I stuffed the note into the trash and opened the door—but my breath caught in my throat.
There she stood: a woman holding a bowl, her smile wide but eerily cold. Her lips were painted a sharp, unnatural red, and though her voice mimicked my mother’s perfectly, her eyes held a shrewdness I had never seen in the gentle woman I loved. Her features were unfamiliar, unsettlingly so. My face froze in shock.
“Lucia, are you not feeling well?” the woman asked, stepping closer with a feigned concern that sent chills down my spine.
“Just… leave the soup here, Mom. I’ll eat in a bit,” I stammered, sinking back onto the bed.
“But soup is best hot. Let me feed you,” she insisted softly.
“I’m still a bit sleepy,” I lied quickly, shaking my head. “I just want to rest.”
She hesitated, then placed the bowl on the nightstand and left quietly. The moment the door clicked shut, relief poured over me like cold rain. This was not my mother. Who was she?
Swallowing my dread, I edged out of my room into the airy two-story casa. In the living room, a man sat facing away, engrossed in his newspaper. Assuming it was my father, I called softly, “Dad?”
He turned—and horror struck. It wasn’t my father at all. An unfamiliar face stared back at me, but his voice, his tone, was identical to my dad’s.
“I’m fine, Dad,” I forced a weak smile, though my heart pounded with fear.
Suddenly the red-lipped woman emerged, her smile unnaturally bright. “Lucia? Aren’t you supposed to be napping?”
“I changed my mind,” I muttered.
“Then let me help you with that soup,” she said eagerly, offering me a spoon. I barely tasted it, dread twisting in my gut.
“Why are you sweating so much, Lucia?” she asked, eyes too large, their whites overwhelming her irises.
“I… I don’t know when my eyes will heal,” I said, pretending frustration. She smiled then, stroking my head in a sickly tender way.
Back in my room, I locked the door and huddled, heart racing. Two weeks earlier, Mateo had come to visit. Then my parents were real. Desperate, I retrieved my phone—still on voice mode—and dialed him.
“Lucia? Just landed. I’ll come see you right now,” Mateo’s voice crackled over the line.
“This will sound crazy,” I warned urgently, “but you have to believe me—it’s happening. They aren’t who they say they are.”
“I’m on my way,” he promised.
Outside, footsteps approached. “Lucia, time for your medicine,” the man’s voice echoed. I didn’t answer. The doorknob began to turn.
“Why lock the door? Your eyes won’t get better without the meds.”
I held my breath until footsteps retreated. Heart pounding, I crouched and glanced under the door.
A pair of unnerving eyes, almost all white, stared back.
Cold sweat soaked me. I pretended not to see, crawling around to find something. “I dropped my phone,” I whispered. The eyes vanished. Collapsing, I gasped for air. What did this sinister pair want from me?
An hour later, Mateo called again, panic threading his voice. “Lucia, where are you? I’m here!”
“I’m at the casa. You’ve been here.”
“No, the place I’m seeing is covered in dust, abandoned… I don’t see you or your parents.”
He sent a photo: the same casa, but lifeless, decayed. A dread settled deep within me. I was trapped in a nightmare far beyond imagination.
“Don’t leave your room. I’m trying to find another way in,” Mateo’s text came.
Suddenly, footsteps climbed the stairs. “Lucia, here’s more soup,” cooed the woman’s voice. A glass of water sat freshly on my nightstand—a trap.
Panic surged. I remembered the window was my last escape. Flinging it open, I gripped the balcony railing and slid down, cold night air slapping my skin.
Outside, headlights blazed. Mateo’s car. I ran, fear propelling every step.
“They’re not my parents!” I sobbed as he wrapped me in his arms. “They’re imposters!”
He pulled me in and sped away. I looked back—the casa was dark, abandoned, a ghost of the home I had known.
Dizziness swept over me as the edges of reality blurred. Mateo’s steady voice reached me, but something in it felt off.
“You’re safe now, Lucia,” he promised.
“Do you believe me?” I asked, breath trembling.
His gaze lingered, a strange smile touching his lips. “Always, Lucia. I believe you.”
My heart sank, the nightmare far from over. Weakness claimed me as darkness swallowed sound and sight.
Then, light—blinding, pure—enveloped me. I found myself in a misty field where shadowy figures smiled coldly. “Lucia, dear,” the mother-figure called, voice hollow, “come with us.”
Revulsion surged. I stepped back.
“Lucia, don’t go.” Mateo’s voice broke through the haze, surrounded by radiant light. His eyes showed love and protection.
“You can’t go with them; it’s not your time,” he implored, reaching out his hand.
“Who are they?” I whispered.
“Beings trying to claim you,” Mateo said, firm and tender. “But you belong here, with us.”
Suddenly, it all clicked—the strange casa, the imposters, the looming danger. Mateo wasn’t just my husband: he was my guardian angel, fighting for my soul.
“Trust me, Lucia,” he urged, drawing me close. “It’s time to wake.”
The light surged, and everything vanished in searing brilliance.
I awoke to the sterile hum of a hospital room. Machines beeped rhythmically. My real parents sat nearby, tears streaming, clasping hands. Mateo was there too, his gaze full of love that pierced straight to my soul.
They told me how the doctors had already lost hope, preparing to let go. Then, miraculously, I returned—rescued from the void.
I realized that the terrifying casa, the imposters, was a fight for survival in the space between life and death. Mateo’s love had anchored me, pulling me back from those dark beings that had tried to claim me.
Now, I dedicate my life to that miracle—sharing the story of light piercing darkness, of love so fierce it defies death. Every time I open my eyes and see my family, I am reminded: life is a precious gift meant to be cherished, and I am here for a reason.
