Chapter 7: The Final Tap

The hospital seemed quieter than usual. Even the distant hum of machines, the soft shuffle of footsteps, and the whispered conversations felt muffled, as though the world had dimmed in response to something lurking beneath the surface.

Dr. Nathan Richards, a young resident only a few months into his rotation, stared at the chart in his hands. Elliot Thompson. He had heard the name many times—Elliot was something of a legend in the medical field. Now, the once-brilliant psychologist lay still, trapped in his own body, his mind seemingly gone.

Nathan's brow furrowed as he reviewed the notes from the ICU nurses. "Patient showing signs of improvement… responds to basic stimuli…" The lines didn't match the eerie feeling he had when he had glanced into Dr. Thompson's room earlier. There was something off about the case, something the clinical notes couldn't explain.

He couldn't stop thinking about that tapping.

He had heard it earlier, faint but persistent, a rhythmic drumming that echoed through the sterile corridor as he passed by Dr. Thompson's room. It wasn't the sound itself that unnerved him—it was how unnatural it felt. Like the pulse of something that shouldn't be alive.

Curiosity gnawed at him, drawing him back to the room. There had been nothing abnormal in the chart, no signs of deteriorating vitals or neurological decline. In fact, according to the records, Dr. Thompson was recovering, though his movements were minimal and his responses erratic.

But Nathan couldn't shake the feeling that the tapping was more than just random muscle contractions. It was almost… purposeful. As if it were communicating something.

With a final glance at the chart, Nathan made his decision. He needed to check on Dr. Thompson one last time.

The hallway leading to the ICU felt longer tonight, each step echoing in the emptiness. The hospital had quieted down, the usual buzz of activity dwindling as night settled over the building. The air felt heavier here, the lights dimmer. Something about this place, about this room, felt suffocating.

When Nathan reached the door to Elliot's room, he paused, his hand hovering over the handle. He didn't know why, but an icy dread crept up his spine, making him hesitate. The faint tapping reached his ears again, and his heart skipped a beat. It was so soft, barely audible, but it was there. A steady, insistent rhythm.

Tap… tap… tap.

Nathan swallowed the lump in his throat and pushed the door open.

Inside, the room was still, bathed in the cold blue glow of the monitoring equipment. Elliot lay in bed, his face pale, his eyes open but blank, staring at the ceiling. The sight unnerved Nathan more than he wanted to admit. Elliot's hands rested at his sides, but one of his fingers was gently tapping against the bed's metal frame.

Tap… tap… tap.

Nathan's pulse quickened as he stepped closer, drawn to the sound despite the growing sense of unease curling in his stomach. He told himself it was nothing more than reflexive movement, but deep down, he knew there was more to it. The tapping wasn't random. There was something behind it—something dark and waiting.

As Nathan approached the bed, the tapping stopped. Silence descended on the room like a heavy shroud, and the air seemed to grow colder. He stood beside Elliot, staring down at him, searching for any sign of recognition, any glimmer of consciousness in the older man's vacant eyes.

Nothing. Elliot remained utterly still, as though his body had simply shut down.

Nathan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. What was he doing here? What did he expect to find? A part of him knew this was all absurd, that there was nothing to fear, but his instincts screamed otherwise. Every fiber of his being told him to leave, to turn around and walk away, but his legs refused to move.

Instead, he reached out.

His hand hovered just above Elliot's arm, close enough to feel the unnatural chill radiating from his skin. Nathan hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest, and then, just as his fingers grazed Elliot's wrist, his eyes moved.

Nathan jerked his hand back, his breath catching in his throat. Elliot's eyes, once glassy and distant, were now locked on him, cold and unblinking, like a predator sizing up its prey.

The room seemed to close in around him. Nathan's mind screamed for him to run, but his body remained frozen, paralyzed by the intensity of Elliot's gaze. There was something wrong with his eyes—something inhuman. They were empty, hollow, like staring into a void that swallowed all light.

The tapping started again.

Tap… tap… tap.

Nathan's blood ran cold. He didn't know what he was seeing, what he was hearing, but he knew one thing with absolute certainty: Elliot Thompson was no longer in that body. Something else had taken his place, something far darker than he could comprehend.

Without thinking, Nathan stumbled backward, knocking into the bedside table. The sound of the clattering equipment broke the spell for just a moment, and Nathan tore his gaze away from Elliot's eyes. His breath came in ragged gasps as he tried to regain control of his racing thoughts, but the tapping continued, louder now, more insistent.

Tap… tap… tap.

It was coming from his own hand.

Nathan's eyes widened in horror as he looked down at his hand, at his fingers drumming against his thigh, mimicking the same rhythm. He hadn't meant to do it—he hadn't even realized he was doing it—but now he couldn't stop. The tapping was no longer just a sound. It was a part of him, crawling through his veins, burrowing into his mind.

It's inside me.

The realization hit him like a cold wave. Whatever had taken Elliot was spreading, reaching out through the tapping, through the rhythm that pulsed through the very air around them. Nathan's mind raced, his thoughts spiraling into panic as he tried to understand what was happening. He needed to stop. He needed to leave before it was too late.

But as he turned to flee, his legs refused to move. His body felt heavy, sluggish, as though the air itself was pressing down on him, holding him in place. The tapping in his hand grew louder, more deliberate, and Nathan's pulse quickened as the darkness inside him spread.

He could feel it now, a presence—cold, calculating, and ancient. It wasn't just inside Elliot anymore. It had already entered him.

The door to the room creaked open behind him, and Nathan's heart leapt into his throat. He spun around, expecting to see a nurse, a colleague—anyone who could help—but the hallway outside was empty. The tapping continued, growing louder with every beat, until it filled his ears, his mind, his soul.

He was losing control.

Suddenly, a low whisper echoed through the room, barely audible but unmistakable: "Let go."

Nathan's vision blurred as the weight of the presence inside him pressed harder, invading his thoughts, his body. The tapping in his hand was no longer his own. His fingers moved without his command, a puppet to some unseen force.

"Let go."

His legs moved of their own accord, stepping closer to Elliot's still form. The tapping was all-consuming now, a relentless rhythm that pounded through his skull. The presence inside him grew stronger, taking root in the depths of his mind, erasing his thoughts, his memories, his will.

As he stood over Elliot's body, Nathan realized there was no escaping this. The entity had already won. It had passed from Henry to Elliot, and now to him. And soon, it would pass again, spreading like a plague, unstoppable and eternal.

The tapping slowed, then stopped altogether.

Nathan's body stilled, his mind no longer his own.

In the suffocating silence, the door creaked open once more, and a nurse entered, her steps light and unassuming.

"Dr. Richards?" she asked, her voice bright. "Everything alright?"

Nathan turned to face her, his face calm, composed.

But it wasn't Nathan anymore.

The entity had found its next host.

The nurse didn't notice the faint tapping at first, but as she turned to leave, she heard it—soft, deliberate, rhythmic.

Tap… tap… tap.

It followed her down the hallway.