The Visitor

The first flash came at 7:17 p.m.

Eliza sat up in her cot, eyes wide in the dark room. The sterile white walls of Ward B had blinked with blue light—like a camera flash—illuminating the hallway just outside her door. She scooted back against the cold wall, shoving the pillow into her lap. She studied the crack under the door—waiting, listening.

Nothing. No footsteps. No voices. Just the distant humming of the AC vent.

She’d seen it before. Twice this week. Each time, the light vanished before anyone else noticed. Staff insisted she was “hallucinating again,” grinning and jotting notes in her file. But Eliza knew what she saw.

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed; the floor was cold against her bare feet. The door to her room was cracked open. She peered out.

Darkness. Then—another flash.

This time, it came from the end of the hall, just beyond the nurses’ station. Eliza winced, shielding her eyes. No alarm followed.

She crept forward.

The mental ward was always too quiet at night. Sterile. Lifeless. Every step Eliza took echoed. Each door she passed was closed—most likely locked tight. Like hers was supposed to be. As she rounded the corner, the hallway widened, revealing the nurses' station.

Empty.

Another flash. Brighter. Closer.

She ducked behind the desk, heart pounding. The light had come from the rec room—its frosted glass window now glowing faint blue. She squinted. A silhouette flickered behind the door.

Eliza edged toward it, pulse racing. She pressed her ear against the glass.

Nothing.

She reached for the handle.

Locked.

Suddenly, a whisper:

“Eliza…”

Her blood iced. It was her name—whispered from inside the rec room. Familiar. Impossible.

She staggered back. Another flash lit the hallway, and for a split second, the glass became transparent.

Inside, Eliza saw herself.

Standing in the middle of the room. Eyes wide. Mouth open in a silent scream.

The light vanished.

She blinked hard. The glass was opaque again, and the door still locked. Her reflection was gone.

“No,” she whispered, backing away.

She turned to run—and stopped dead.

The hallway behind her had changed.

Where the staff desk had been, there was now a wall decorated with old art—handmade, lit by a single flickering bulb. The fluorescent lighting of the ward was gone, replaced by a dim glow. The air smelled different—stale, like mildew and must.

“Eliza…”

The voice came again, louder now. Commanding. It bounced off the walls like the sound a red rubber ball makes in gym class.

She ran. Past the altered desk, past the unfamiliar walls, down a hallway she didn’t recognize. The doors here were older—warped wood with brass knobs. No nameplates. No windows.

She stopped at one door, panting.

Her name was carved into it:

"Eliza Gray – Subject 6B"

Her fingers trembled as she reached for the knob.

Another flash.

She found herself inside.

The room was wrong. It looked like her old bedroom from childhood—the one from before the hospital. Posters on the walls. A single teddy bear on the bed. But everything was distorted. The colors were off. Hazy, like a bad Polaroid.

The teddy bear turned its head.

“Eliza.”

The voice came from behind.

She turned slowly.

A child stood in the corner, dressed in hospital white. But her face was flickering like a broken projection—Eliza’s own face, overlaid and stuttering in and out of place.

“You’re not real,” Eliza whispered.

The young girl stepped closer.

“All of this isn't real, Eliza. You made this up. The people. The stories.”

“No…”

The lights flickered again. The walls pulsed. She clutched her stomach with one hand, her head with the other, as the ceiling began to crack.

"It's time to wake up, Eliza. You can't stay any longer."

“Please!”

“You wanted to escape.”

“Stop!”

The girl grinned.

"There's no need to hide now. We're safe. We're going to be okay."

Then everything froze.

The light went out.

Pitch black.

Eliza gasped in the dark.

Then, a single flash from above her.

She closed her eyes and rubbed them.

Just then, Eliza came to—coughing, choking on something lodged in her throat.

She felt someone grab her hand. Inaudible voices grew louder around her.

When Eliza opened her eyes, she saw nurses scrambling to remove a tube from her throat.

"Welcome back, kiddo. You really gave us a scare." The woman’s voice was clear and calm.

“What happened?”

“Your heart stopped. We had to shock you. You’ve been in a coma.”

“For... for how long?”

“Eighteen years.”

“My mom—I want my mom!”

Silence. You could feel the stares darting around the room.

Eliza was much too weak to fight for answers, so she relaxed in her bed.

The time was 7:14 a.m. Eliza pressed the incline button on the plastic bed rail. She studied her hands, running them over her body.

A gentle knock at the door.

“Eliza, there’s someone here who wants to see you.”

“My mom?”

A man peered in from behind the nurse. They exchanged looks before the nurse quietly walked away, closing the door behind her.

“Eliza… I’m sure you don’t recognize me, but I—”

“Yes, I do. You’re my brother. You look the same, just… old.”

Eric hung his head, grinning. His eyebrows twitched.

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s alright. I know this is a shock to you. You must have a lot of questions.”

“Just one. Where’s Mom?”

“Let’s not start with the hard ones, okay, Weasel?”

“Eric, I’m old now too. You don’t need to call me that.”

He grabbed Eliza’s hand and squeezed it, scanning her face with tears building in his eyes.

“Where is Mom?”

“…Not here.”

Eliza and Eric spent the morning discussing everything that had happened over the last eighteen years. He showed her photos of his kids and all the wonderful things he’d been able to accomplish.

Before visiting hours ended, they got candid about what Eliza did—and why. Eric apologized profusely for being absent. To their surprise, Eliza remembered what led to her decision to get in the water. Although she initially fell in, she didn’t fight. She didn’t struggle. She allowed herself to be consumed by the cold water.

“Eliza… Mom is dead.”

His words struck.

“A few nights ago?”

“Yes, actually. How’d you know?”

“Let’s call it a wild guess.”