Chapter 20 - Eyes wide Opened
It was a humid evening at 06:30 PM on Tuesday when Becky made her way along the quiet streets outside Haul Academy.
Her backpack bounced lightly with each step, the familiar rhythm grounding her as she headed toward her Granny's birthday house party.
The air was thick with the scent of blooming jasmine, a faint, sweet aroma that stirred memories of past mysteries - though tonight, everything felt ordinary. Or so she thought.
As Becky turned the corner near the town square, a sudden murmur of voices caught her attention... A crowd had gathered, their whispers rising like a restless tide, pulling her forward.
At the center stood a teenage boy, no older than nineteen, wearing the crisp uniform of an art student from the neighboring Westridge Academy. His eyes were wide open, staring blankly into the air, and his arms were spread slightly, as if caught mid-flight.
He was unconscious yet upright, his body rigid and motionless...like a statue animated by some unseen force.
Becky's heart skipped a beat. She instinctively pulled out her phone, fingers trembling as she snapped several quick pictures : the boy's vacant gaze, the unnatural spread of his arms, the uneasy faces of the onlookers : before slipping the phone back into her pocket.
Her mind raced, memories flooding back of strange events she'd witnessed before. This wasn't just a random incident.
She quickly dialed Rossie, her voice low but urgent.
"Rossie, something's happening in the square. A boy from Westridge—he's standing there, unconscious, arms out like a statue, eyes wide open.
It's… weird. I'm sending you the pictures now."
On the other end, Rossie's voice was tense but steady.
"Stay calm, Becky. Keep your distance, and don't touch anything.
Just then, the distant wail of police sirens cut through the evening air.
Two officers pushed through the crowd, their faces serious as they approached the boy.
One officer spoke quietly into a radio while the other gently tried to lower the boy's arms. The boy didn't resist, but his stance remained frozen, his eyes unblinking and empty.
The officers exchanged a glance, the weight of uncertainty heavy between them.
Carefully, they lifted the boy onto a stretcher, the crowd parting silently as they carried him toward a waiting ambulance.
Becky watched, her chest tight with a mix of fear and curiosity.
She hung up and immediately started texting Michael, Ethan, and Angela, her messages brief but loaded with urgency:
"Town square. Weird kid. Unconscious, arms out, eyes open. Cops took him. Pics incoming."
As the ambulance pulled away, Becky lingered a moment, the boy's eerie image burned into her mind.
Whatever this was, it felt like an echo of their past battles—an ominous pull dragging her back into a mystery she'd hoped was behind them
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
The Doctor's Office
It was 08:15 AM on Wednesday, and the sterile halls of St. Mary's Hospital buzzed with the quiet efficiency of morning rounds.
Inside Dr. Patel's office, a small room lined with medical charts and a cluttered desk, the air was thick with tension.
The boy's parents - Mr. and Mrs. Nguyen - sat across from the doctor, their faces etched with worry. Their son, an art student from Westridge Academy, lay unconscious in a nearby ward, still in his rumpled school uniform, his eyes wide open and unblinking, his arms slightly spread as if frozen mid-gesture.
The strange occurrence from the previous evening in the town square had left them desperate for answers.
Dr. Patel, a middle-aged man with graying hair and a furrowed brow, adjusted his glasses, his expression a mix of professionalism and unease.
"Mr. and Mrs. Nguyen," he began, his voice measured, "we've run extensive tests—blood work, EEG, MRI—everything we can think of.
There's no sign of trauma, toxins, or neurological damage. His vitals are stable, but… I can't pinpoint a cause.
This is unprecedented in my experience."
Mrs. Nguyen clutched her husband's hand, her voice trembling.
"But his eyes - why are they open like that? And that position - he hasn't moved since last night.
Is he in pain?"
Dr. Patel sighed, leaning forward.
"I've never encountered this before. His brain activity is normal for an unconscious state, yet he remains rigid. It's as if he's… locked in some external influence.
We're monitoring him closely, but I can't offer a specific diagnosis yet. We'll consult specialists."
Mr. Nguyen's jaw tightened, his frustration palpable.
"This isn't natural. Something happened out there. You have to find out—"
Before he could finish, the office door burst open, and a nurse, her face pale and breathless, interrupted.
"Dr. Patel, you need to come quick! The boy - he's moving, but it's… strange."
Dr. Patel sprang to his feet, motioning for the Nguyens to follow.
They hurried down the hall to the ward, where the boy lay on a hospital bed, still in his Westridge uniform.
His eyes remained open, unseeing, but his body had begun to twitch - jerky, unnatural movements that defied the stillness of unconsciousness. His arms flexed slightly, then spread wider, as if responding to an invisible force. A low, guttural hum emanated from him, sending a chill through the room.
Mrs. Nguyen gasped, stepping back, while Dr. Patel approached cautiously, his stethoscope in hand.
"Get a neurologist and a psych consult—now," he ordered the nurse, his voice steady but his eyes betraying uncertainty.
The boy's movements grew more erratic, his head tilting as if listening to something only he could hear, the weird happenstance deepening into an unsettling mystery.
As the minutes stretched on, the medical team arrived—Dr. Reynolds, a neurologist with a calm demeanor, and Dr. Simmons, a psychiatrist known for her work with unusual cases. They immediately began their assessments, the room filling with the soft beeping of monitors and the low murmur of professional speculation.
Dr. Reynolds examined the EEG readouts, his brow furrowing.
"There's no seizure activity, no abnormal electrical discharges. His brain waves are consistent with deep unconsciousness, yet these movements—" He gestured toward the twitching limbs.
"They don't fit any known neurological pattern."
Dr. Simmons knelt beside the bed, observing the boy's face.
"Could this be a form of catatonia or a dissociative state? But the open eyes and the humming… that's unusual."
The boy suddenly convulsed, his body jerking violently. The humming grew louder, resonating through the small room. Everyone froze, watching in tense silence as his fingers twitched and his lips moved, forming inaudible words.
But we need to understand what triggered this. Was there anything unusual at the town square last night?"
Dr. Simmons stood, her eyes thoughtful. "This might be beyond the medical.
We may need to involve experts in environmental or even paranormal phenomena."
The room fell silent again, the weight of uncertainty settling over everyone. Outside, the hum continued, a haunting reminder that this was no ordinary medical mystery.
The boy's strange movements were just the beginning of something far more complex - and far more frightening - than anyone had anticipated.