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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Theeaglestrikes on 2024-11-12 00:42:31+00:00.
I (37f) have a son (12m), who I’ll call Nathan, and a daughter (14f), who I’ll call Anna. A couple of months ago, I took Anna to a private hospital for a procedure to have four of her wisdom teeth extracted. Teeth that were, unfortunately, well-embedded in her gums, necessitating the use of a general anaesthetic. The doctor explained that it would be a lengthy procedure. Local anaesthesia just wouldn’t cut it. Anna wasn’t best pleased about that, and neither was I.
Now, anybody who’s seen the aftermath of such sedation, whether in reality or from sadistic, film-making YouTube parents, knows that it often leads to wonky, witty remarks. Though I didn’t personally have a recording phone at the ready, I’ll admit that I was hoping for some bizarre wordplay after the procedure. Instead, my daughter uttered something vile.
Before I repeat her confession, I need to give you some context.
My husband, Ed, used to go white water rafting with our two children and his brother, Darren. Some years, I’d go with them, but work commitments often clashed. Anyway, Ed wasn’t a particularly strong swimmer, so I always felt a little uneasy about the idea of him out on such unforgiving water without me. And, in late 2022, my worst fear came true. A strong current pulled my husband under, and by the time Darren had recovered his body, it was too late. Ed drowned.
The following months were awful, but Anna changed the most severely. To eke even a handful of words out of her became a rarity. But that didn’t stop Uncle Darren from trying. From helping the family to heal, in the wake of Ed’s passing. It was no surprise to me when he offered to come to the hospital with us — keep Nathan company whilst Anna endured her long procedure.
So, around eleven in the evening, when my daughter woke from the anaesthesia, all of those factors were filling my mind.
“Hello, darling,” I said softly, using a pinky to hoist Anna’s sweaty bangs out of her rolling eyes. “How are you feeling?”
Anna’s doped up face observed me absently. But within the teary pools of her wandering eyes, there swam thoughts. Loose, disconnected thoughts, but thoughts that still meant something. And when she opened her mouth to speak, two wads of tissue spilled from her puffy cheeks.
“The house looks empty…” Anna said in a half-muffle, wafting both of her hands at the right-hand side of the hospital room, which was an unlit space lined with empty beds.
“We’re not at our house, sweetpea. We’re in the recovery room,” I explained, poking a slight gap between the overflowing tissues so I could hear her more clearly. “This is a hospital, remember? And you’re got this massive space all to yourself, so I suppose it does seem quite empty.”
Anna mumbled something incoherent.
“You’ve had your teeth removed,” I continued. “And you’re going to feel a little out of it whilst the drug wears off, honey.”
“Where’s the man?” my daughter asked in that low, disoriented moan.
I smiled. “Dr Addis? He’s doing the rounds. But the nurse is here. Joyce. Remember her from earlier?”
The young nurse, fiddling with various instruments on a trolley, looked up and beamed. “Hello again, Anna! Everything went well, and you’re being really brave. I’m going to run a few tests now, then we’ll give you an oxygen mask to get you back into fighting shape. Make sure you tell me if you feel any pain or sickness, okay? It’ll—”
“No…” Anna groaned. “The man.”
“She must miss Dr Addis,” Joyce giggled.
I looked at the nurse apologetically. “Sorry.”
The woman grinned widely and shook her head. “Don’t be silly, Mrs Kary. I’m only teasing! Anna, I’m sure Dr Addis will be back soon, but we—”
“The man!” Anna insisted loudly. “Nathan didn’t see…”
“Sweetie…” I began.
Then my daughter’s wide eyes shot to me, and she slurred her wretched confession.
“Dad didn’t drown. Don’t tell Mum. He… He says he’ll kill us… if I tell Mum.”
There followed silence. A special silence which pressed heavily on the skin, weighing both Joyce and me to the floor. The nurse clearly felt something in Anna’s words. Something more than drug-induced nonsense.
“Where is the man?” my daughter whispered, and I finally understood that she was not talking about Dr Addis.
Uncle Darren and Nathan were sitting in the corridor. That horrifying thought circled my mind as I processed what Anna said. A string of supposedly drug-induced words. That was what any rational person would believe — or, at the very least, want to believe. But a memory came to the forefront of my mind.
Christmas Day, 2023. Darren made a pass at me.
“Gin and hormones, Cynthia,” he sheepishly promised after I spurned him. “That was all.”
I chose to accept that explanation, given that our entire family had already been through so much, but it never sat well with me. Even before Ed’s death, something about Darren had never sat well with me. He forced himself upon our family after the death of my husband — his own brother. Injected himself into the main artery of our lives.
And relatives should be there for a grieving family, obviously, but he tried, time and time again, to go above the call of duty. He continuously turned up at our house to take us for luxurious meals at restaurants. Incessantly coaxed the children into letting him ‘sleep over’ at our home. Would manipulate me into agreeing — feeding Nathan, primarily, with ideas that it would cruel for them to send me home at such a late hour.
Sometimes, at night, I’d hear footsteps from the hallway. Wake in a sweat, quaking in fear as I wondered whether I’d left my bedroom door ajar. And once, I was certain I opened half-sleeping eyes to see a figure sitting on the chair in the corner of the room. But I told myself it had been a dream. One fever dream of many.
“Anna…” I feebly whimpered. “Do you know what you just said? Was it true?”
My daughter loudly shushed me, trying to lift a finger to her lips, but her dozy limb only half-cooperated. “We don’t speak about it. He says he’ll hear if we speak about it. Says he’s always listening…”
“Mrs Kary,” the nurse croaked. “Should I proceed?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. I don’t know what we should be doing right now. Anna, was this a dream that you had? Please tell me that you—”
“This!” my daughter interrupted, showing a scar on her forearm. “This wasn’t from the oar… It was from him.”
My face turned pale as I eyed the faded scar on my daughter’s arm. A scar that Darren claimed Anna had acquired from her oar after it hit a rock, causing a large, jagged splinter of wood to cut into her flesh.
Before the ‘accident’, Anna talked. Talked, and talked, and talked. She hadn’t been that way for two years, but an influx of anaesthesia had reopened those old gates. I saw that in my daughter’s tearful eyes. She wasn’t aware of herself. Wasn’t aware that she’d confessed a dark secret to her own mother. But the words were true. I didn’t doubt that.
“Mrs Kary…” Joyce continued, still seeming uncertain as to what she should say or do.
“I’m going to find my son,” I said calmly, standing from the bedside chair. “Please watch Anna.”
My daughter’s eyes grew as she finally seemed to identify my face. “Mum…?”
I seized her hand and squeezed. “Everything’s okay, sweetie. Just let Joyce look after you, okay?”
“Right. Everything’s okay,” the nurse agreed weakly, as if I’d said the words for her benefit. “I… I’ll do those tests now…”
I rushed into the corridor and barrelled forwards. But I was so lost in my thoughts — so lost in the laces of my Converse — that I didn’t see. Didn’t lift my head until I’d almost stumbled into the row of blue, plastic chairs at the end of the hallway.
“Mum?” Nathan gasped, swivelling in his seat to look at me. “What’s wrong?”
I’d been too frightened to look ahead. Too frightened to wear a false smile and act as if all were well. But there was something far more frightening about seeing my son sitting alone, in the middle of the row. It was, of course, a blessing to know that I could snatch his hand and scoot him away without facing his questioning uncle. But it terrified me, nonetheless.
After all, Darren had gone somewhere.
“Mum, slow down!” Nathan pleaded, attempting to wriggle out of my handhold as I rushed towards Anna’s room.
I was ready to tear my daughter out of her bed, regardless of the nurse’s advice.
“Sorry, Nathan,” I panted as I shoved the door open. “But I need…”
I didn’t finish that thought.
The recovery room was alarmingly quiet. Anna’s segment, semi-partitioned from the rest of the space by a thick curtain of green fabric, was the only lit section of the large area. One solitary fluorescent light hummed loudly above my daughter’s bed — the only sound in the room. And my daughter had been left unattended.
I rushed over to her bed and asked, “Where’s Nurse Joyce?”
Anna looked at me with teary eyes. “She’s here.”
Rather than unpacking that, I pulled the duvet off her robed body. “We’re going home now, Anna. Come on. Nathan and I will help you stand.”
My son lifted his half-conscious sister with his shoulder under her arm, and I ran around to the other side of the bed. But before I managed to grab Anna from the left-hand side, I slipped — train sole squeaking unbearably on the tiles blow. Fortunately, my hand reflexively reached outwards and gripped onto the green curtain for security.
I didn’t want to look down. And when I did, I wished I hadn’t. There, starting to stain the lower half of m...
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