Three months ago, a devastating car crash stole my sight and plunged me into darkness. My parents, desperate to shield me from the chaos of the city and care for me better, relocated us to a sprawling manor nestled in quiet seclusion. The silence around me was as profound as the night that had swallowed my world. But this morning, something miraculous happened—I could see again. Light broke through the shadow, colors blossomed, and shapes took form. Tears of joy glistened on my lashes as I prepared to shout the miracle to my parents. Then, my eyes caught something under the bed—a crumpled tissue.
My obsessive need for cleanliness made me instinctively reach for it. The paper was smudged and hastily scrawled with words that sent a chill racing down my spine: “Don’t tell them you can see.” Them—my parents, obviously—but who would warn me? Only my parents and my husband, Lucas, had been in my room these past months.
Then, a gentle knock came at the door. “Lucia? I made you some soup,” my mother’s warm voice called. Quickly, I tossed the tissue into the dustbin, but when I opened the door, my heart froze.
Standing there was a woman, bowl in hand, smiling—but it wasn’t my mother. Her bright red lips curled into a smile that felt more cruel than kind, her eyes sharp and calculating. The voice was hauntingly familiar—the same as my mother’s—but the face was a mask, alien and empty. I stumbled backward in shock.
“Lucia, what’s wrong? Are you unwell?” The woman stepped closer, feigning concern.
“Just leave the soup, Mom. I’ll eat it later,” I stammered, backing onto the bed.
“You should eat it while warm. Let me feed you,” she insisted, reaching out.
“I’m still sleepy,” I lied quickly. “I want to nap.”
She dropped her insistence, leaving the bowl on the nightstand with a sinister smile before retreating. The door clicked shut and a wave of cold sweat soaked my skin. Where was my real mom? Who was this impostor?
Taking a cautious step outside, I scanned the grand, echoing manor. A man sat reading a newspaper, his back to me—you must be Dad, I thought. I whispered, “Dad?”
He turned slowly—and terror seized me. It was not my father. An unfamiliar face stared back, yet when he spoke, the voice was unmistakably my dad’s.
Feigning a smile, I whispered, “Nothing, Dad.”
The strange woman resurfaced, her red lips stretched unnaturally wide. “Lucia? Weren’t you going to nap?”
“I changed my mind,” I replied.
“Then let me help you with the soup,” she smiled, feeding me slowly with a spoon. Fear gripped me—I could barely taste the food, paranoid about what might be hidden within.
“You look sweaty, Lucia. Are you okay?” she asked, her eyes dark and all-consuming.
“I just don’t know when my eyes will heal,” I said, feigning frustration. She touched my head with a chilling tenderness.
Back in my room, I locked the door, heart pounding dread. Half a month earlier, Lucas visited. Back then, my parents were real. I found my phone still on voice mode and dialed him urgently.
“Lucia? Just landed. I’ll be there soon.”
“Lucas, you have to believe me. Something’s not right. I’m trapped in a nightmare.”
“I’m on my way.”
An hour would pass before he arrived. But the tension twisted tighter when the door knocked again.
“Lucia, time for your meds,” came a male voice—one that mimicked my father’s.
I ignored it, bolting the door. The knob rattled as footsteps descended. A sinister feeling clawed at me—they were watching.
Peeking beneath the door, a pair of eyes, mostly white with a cold stare, met mine. I froze, drenched in icy sweat. Pretending ignorance, I muttered, “Oh no, I dropped my phone.” The eyes vanished. I collapsed, breathless and trembling. What dreadful game were they playing?
Then Lucas called again, his voice thick with worry. “Lucia, where are you? I can’t find you.”
“I’m here in the manor. You’ve been here before.”
“No, Lucia,” he said, voice strained. “I’m at the manor—but it’s deserted, dusty, cobwebbed, like no one’s lived here in years.”
He sent a photo. The manor—empty, decayed, hostile. The walls I’d passed through, the furniture I’d touched—it was all an illusion. Cold dread pooled in my stomach.
“Don’t leave your room. I’ll try another way in,” his text blinked.
Footsteps creaked upstairs again.
“Lucia, I brought more soup,” the woman cooed, her voice syrupy, mocking.
A glass of water appeared on my stand, unfamiliar. They were poisoning me, drugging my mind.
Panic surged, but escape was possible—only through the window. Seizing the moment, I cracked it open and scrambled down the balcony railing, aching with every movement.
Outside, headlights pierced the dark. Lucas. Relief flooded through me as I sprinted to him, tears streaming.
“They aren’t my parents, Lucas! They’re fakes!” I cried, trembling in his protective arms.
He pulled me close, speeding away. The manor’s lights vanished—an empty shell, a trap turned to dust. The world wavered at the edges of my vision. Lucas’s voice, once anchoring, began to dissolve into a distant echo.
Then, suddenly, an overwhelming light. I found myself standing in a vast misty field. Ahead, figures resembling my parents loomed, their smiles cold and hollow.
“Lucia, dear,” the mother-figure beckoned, “It’s time to come with us.”
I stumbled back, soul screaming.
“Lucia, don’t go,” called a different voice. Lucas appeared, radiant with light, eyes full of warmth and fierce protection. “You can’t go with them. It’s not your time.”
“Who are they?” I whispered.
“They’re beings who came to take you, but you don’t belong to them yet,” he said firmly, extending his hand.
Pieces fell into place—the imposters, the dread, the chilling falsehood. I had been caught in a battle between life and death, and Lucas—my guardian angel—had come to save me.
“Trust me, Lucia,” he embraced me gently. “It’s time to wake up.”
Blinding light consumed us, and all dissolved.
I awoke in a hospital room, tubes and wires tethering me to life. Soft bleeps of machines filled the air. My real parents were there—tear-streaked and trembling. My father’s voice cracked, holding my mother’s hand. Lucas sat close, eyes brimming with unspoken love that nearly broke me.
I understood at last. The accident had slipped me into a coma, a limbo between life and death. The imposters were manifestations of dark forces intent on claiming me, but Lucas’s love fought fiercely to bring me back.
Doctors had given up hope, preparing to end life support. Yet, in that very moment, I returned. They called it a miracle—and truly, it was.
Now, I carry that miracle in my heart. I share my story—the darkness, the terror, and the blazing light that guided me home. I speak of destruction and hope, and the unwavering love that saved me. Every breath I draw, every light that floods my vision, is a testament to the power of love, the sanctity of family, and the preciousness of life.
