I Can See Their Death (Rewriting)

Chapter 5

The insidious darkness wrapped around me as I fought to regain my senses. My father's voice cut through the haze, a lifeline tethering me to reality.

“Anleane!”

The urgency in his voice jolted me to attention, snapping my eyes open. The stark surroundings told me I was in a room, but not just any room—a hospital room.

“Anleane, get hold of yourself! I'm here! Do you see me?!”

My father's grip on my shoulders anchored me as he pleaded for my attention.

“F-Father...?”

His earnest expression mirrored my own confusion and bewilderment.

“Yes! It's me, your dad!”

As my mind grappled with my surroundings, I struggled to piece together the puzzle of my situation. I was lying on a hospital bed, disoriented and bewildered.

“W-why am I in the hospital?” I managed to utter, my voice tinged with unease.

Father's smile held a tinge of bitterness, his brow furrowing as he prepared to reveal a troubling truth.

“Your brother found you sitting on the kitchen tiles, unresponsive. You were staring at the ceiling, not blinking or reacting to anything. We rushed you here.”

A chilling sensation rippled through me as I struggled to recall the events leading up to this moment.

“Staring at the ceiling? How...?”

My mind raced, piecing together fragmented memories like shards of glass from a shattered mirror. Fear mingled with curiosity as I tried to decipher the enigma that had led to my collapse.

“Where's brother?”

“Resting in the waiting room. He was exhausted.”

Slowly, I raised a trembling hand to my neck, my fingers brushing the sensitive skin. The lingering sensation of being strangled haunted me, a visceral reminder of a horror that felt too real to be dismissed as mere imagination.

Father's voice cut through my thoughts, concern etched across his features.

“Why are you touching your neck? Are you in pain? Should I call the doctor?”

I hesitated, my eyes locked on my father's worried expression.

“No, it's alright, dad.”

His relief was palpable, yet an air of tension lingered between us.

As the conversation shifted, I couldn't ignore the unsettling sense of déjà vu that enveloped me. A question tumbled from my lips, my anxiety spilling forth.

“Dad, do you think our house might be haunted? Could there be ghosts?”

A sigh escaped him as he attempted to assuage my concerns.

“We've lived there for eleven years, Anleane. There's no such thing as ghosts.”

He was right, of course. Our family home had been a sanctuary of normalcy for over a decade, untouched by supernatural phenomena.

“But then, why...”

My thoughts spiraled, the memory of the red-eyed apparition etched into my mind.