Chapter 6: The Endless Curse

The world had become a blur of shadows and sounds. Elliot could no longer tell how many days had passed since that night in Henry's hospital room—the night everything changed. Sleep, when it came, was fitful, haunted by nightmares too vivid to dismiss as dreams. His thoughts were a tangled mass, memories folding into one another like layers of fog, too thick to navigate. And through it all, the tapping never stopped.

He had first felt it that morning—the faint flutter beneath his skin. It wasn't just his imagination. It wasn't a symptom of exhaustion. The tapping had embedded itself inside his mind and body, like an unwelcome parasite. At first, Elliot tried to rationalize it, chalking it up to the stress of Henry's condition. But the sound was relentless.

Tap… tap… tap.

It pulsed through him now, a constant, nagging rhythm. Sometimes it was faint, barely noticeable. Other times, it was a thunderous roar, syncing with his heartbeat, filling his thoughts with its repetitive beat. Even in the quiet moments of the hospital, the sterile hallways, and the silence between patient rounds, it was there. The presence. The entity.

It had become part of him.

At first, it was just a whisper at the back of his mind—a small, almost indiscernible pulse of something foreign. But as Elliot tried to resist, the sensation grew stronger, like vines wrapping themselves around his thoughts, tightening their grip.

He couldn't pinpoint when it had started—when he had lost control. Was it the night he had touched Henry's hand? Or had the entity been inside him even before, lying dormant, waiting for the right moment to take hold?

He tried to push the thoughts away, focusing on his patients, on his work, but reality and nightmare had blurred beyond recognition. The sterile walls of the hospital seemed to shift, darkened hallways stretching impossibly long, flickering lights casting eerie shadows that danced just out of sight.

A week later, Elliot found himself in his office, the tapping still echoing in his mind. He pressed his palms to his temples, willing the sensation to stop, but it persisted, growing louder with every passing second. His hand trembled as he reached for his glass of water, and for a moment, everything stilled. Then—

Tap... tap... tap.

His fingers moved on their own, tapping against the glass. The sound was unnaturally loud, filling the small office with its maddening rhythm. Elliot's breath caught in his throat. His hand had moved involuntarily, the rhythm now spreading to his body.

"No," he whispered, his voice trembling. "This isn't real."

But the tapping continued, relentless. His fingers drummed against the desk, twitching in time to the rhythm. Elliot squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will the movements to stop, clasping his hands tightly in his lap to suppress the urge.

But the entity wouldn't be stopped.

It was growing stronger. His every attempt to resist only made it more powerful, feeding off his fear and helplessness. Deep down, Elliot knew the truth: It was too late.

The next morning, Elliot found himself drawn to Henry's room again, the tapping roaring in his ears, louder than ever before. He couldn't stop himself from walking down the corridor, his body moving as though controlled by invisible strings. The sterile scent of disinfectant filled the air, but to Elliot, it felt tainted—like the very walls of Ravenswood General had absorbed the darkness that now consumed him.

He pushed open the door to Henry's room, his heart pounding as he stepped inside. Henry lay motionless, his body still hooked to the machines that kept him alive. But the air in the room had changed—it was heavier, more oppressive. The tapping surged inside Elliot's skull, as though it was drawn toward Henry's still form.

Elliot approached the bed, his hand trembling as he reached out to touch Henry's arm. The skin beneath his fingers was cold, lifeless, but a faint vibration pulsed beneath it—an eerie resonance that mirrored the tapping inside Elliot.

"Henry..." Elliot whispered, his voice trembling. "Can you hear me?"

Silence.

Then, tap… tap.

Henry's fingers twitched. The movement was barely noticeable, but it sent a cold shiver down Elliot's spine. The entity was still inside Henry. The connection between them had never been severed.

But now, Elliot realized with growing horror—it wasn't just inside Henry anymore. It was inside him too.

Over the following days, Elliot's condition worsened. He barely slept, barely ate. The tapping consumed him, filling every moment of his life with its incessant beat. It wasn't just a sound anymore—it was a pulse, a force that resonated through his entire being. And worse, Elliot could feel his control slipping, piece by piece.

It started with small things: his hand twitching, fingers tapping against surfaces without his conscious will. Then it spread—his legs would jerk involuntarily, forcing him to walk even when he didn't want to move. His head turned sharply at noises that no one else seemed to hear.

And then, the whispers began.

They weren't words, not exactly. They were distorted sounds, like voices carried on a wind from far away, muffled and broken. Elliot couldn't make out the words, but he could feel their meaning: They wanted him.

The entity wasn't satisfied with Henry anymore. It was spreading, growing, reaching out for something larger.

Elliot started avoiding his colleagues, barely speaking to anyone. He knew they had noticed his erratic behavior—the way his hands shook, the distant look in his eyes. Nurse Sarah had asked him if he was feeling alright, concern etched in her face. But what could he tell her? That he was losing control of his body?

Late one night, when the hospital was quiet and most of the staff had gone home, Elliot found himself outside Henry's room again. He wasn't sure how he had gotten there—his feet had carried him without his knowing. The door creaked open, and the familiar cold washed over him.

Henry lay as he always had, but the tapping was deafening now, reverberating off the walls of the room. Without thinking, Elliot reached for Henry's hand, clasping it in his own.

"I'm sorry, Henry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I didn't know..."

Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through Elliot's arm, like an electric current. His body convulsed as the pain spread, searing through his chest, his head. He clutched Henry's hand tighter, his knuckles white, as the entity surged through him, devouring him.

Then, just as quickly as it began, the pain stopped. Elliot gasped, his body limp with exhaustion.

But something was different.

He could feel it now. The entity had fully taken him. His limbs felt foreign, distant, as though they no longer belonged to him. His body wasn't his own anymore.

Without thought, Elliot turned toward the door. His legs moved mechanically, as though guided by an unseen hand. His mind screamed for control, but his body ignored him. The entity was in control now, pulling the strings, using him as a puppet.

As Elliot walked down the hospital corridor, he caught his reflection in a window. He didn't recognize the man staring back—pale, hollow-eyed, a ghost of who he once was. His mouth opened, as though to speak, to cry out for help, but no sound came.

Instead, his fingers twitched.

Tap... tap... tap.