PART 2: THE NIGHT I SAW HER OPEN THE CAST
After Ethan told me there was something alive inside his cast, I should have dismissed it.
Any reasonable adult would have.
Children imagine things.
Pain medication can cause confusion.
Fear can turn ordinary sensations into monsters.
That was what I told myself.
For exactly six hours.
Then I saw Vanessa standing outside Ethan's bedroom at two o'clock in the morning.
And everything changed.
That night a thunderstorm rolled across Greenwich.
Rain struck the mansion windows.
Wind rattled the oak trees outside.
The entire house seemed restless.
I couldn't sleep.
Something about Ethan's face kept replaying in my mind.
Not what he said.
How he said it.
The certainty.
The terror.
The way his eyes immediately searched for Vanessa before speaking.
Children lie.
But genuine fear is much harder to fake.
At 1:56 a.m., I got up to get water from the kitchen.
As I walked past the upstairs hallway, I noticed a thin line of light beneath Ethan's bedroom door.
I stopped.
The light disappeared.
Then reappeared.
Like someone was moving inside.
My first thought was that Ethan couldn't sleep.
My second thought made my stomach tighten.
Vanessa.
I moved quietly toward the hallway corner.
Careful.
Slow.
Not wanting to be seen.
Then I saw her.
She was standing outside Ethan's room.
Barefoot.
Still wearing her silk robe.
Looking over her shoulder.
Listening.
Waiting.
For several seconds she didn't move.
Then she opened the door and slipped inside.
Closing it behind her.
Something felt wrong immediately.
Very wrong.
I looked toward Richard's bedroom.
The master suite door remained closed.
Dark.
Silent.
He was asleep.
Vanessa had entered Ethan's room alone.
At two in the morning.
Without telling anyone.
My pulse quickened.
I moved closer.
The hallway carpet muffled my footsteps.
When I reached Ethan's door, I could hear faint sounds inside.
A drawer opening.
Fabric rustling.
A soft metallic click.
Then Ethan's voice.
Small.
Terrified.
"Please."
I froze.
There was another sound.
Vanessa speaking quietly.
Too quietly to understand.
Then Ethan again.
This time crying.
"No. Please don't."
Every instinct told me to open the door.
Yet something stopped me.
Instead, I leaned closer.
Trying to hear.
Trying to understand.
Another metallic sound.
Then Ethan gasped sharply.
Not the sound of someone waking up.
The sound of someone enduring pain.
My hand moved toward the doorknob.
Before I could touch it, the room went silent.
Completely silent.
Seconds later the door opened.
I barely had time to step back around the corner.
Vanessa emerged carrying something small wrapped inside a white towel.
She looked both directions.
Then walked away.
Fast.
Toward the downstairs kitchen.
I waited until she disappeared before entering Ethan's room.
The boy was sitting upright in bed.
Shaking.
His face was covered with tears.
When he saw me, relief flooded his eyes.
"Miss Grace."
I rushed to him.
"What happened?"
He immediately grabbed my wrist.
"Don't tell her."
His fingers trembled.
"Please don't tell her."
"What did she do?"
He looked toward the door.
Making sure it was closed.
Then he whispered:
"She opened it again."
My chest tightened.
"The cast?"
He nodded.
Tears rolled down his cheeks.
"She puts it back every night."
For a moment neither of us spoke.
The room felt strangely cold.
I looked at the cast.
Nothing appeared unusual.
Just white plaster.
Just bandages.
Just an injured arm.
Yet Ethan stared at it like it contained a loaded weapon.
"What's inside?" I asked.
His breathing became shallow.
Then he whispered:
"I don't know."
The answer surprised me.
"You said something alive."
"I hear it."
His voice cracked.
"I feel it moving."
A chill ran down my spine.
The next morning I watched Vanessa carefully.
For the first time, I stopped looking at her like a stepmother.
And started looking at her like a suspect.
She seemed perfectly normal.
Perfectly composed.
Perfectly charming.
At breakfast she poured orange juice.
Asked Ethan how he slept.
Smiled at Richard.
Played the role flawlessly.
Only one thing seemed unusual.
She kept glancing at Ethan's cast.
Not often.
Not enough for others to notice.
But enough for me.
Every time she thought nobody was watching.
Her eyes went to the cast.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Around noon, Richard left for Manhattan.
A board meeting.
An investor lunch.
The usual.
The moment his car disappeared down the driveway, Vanessa's personality changed.
Not dramatically.
Subtly.
Enough that most people would miss it.
Her smile vanished.
Her patience disappeared.
The warmth left her voice.
When Ethan accidentally dropped a spoon during lunch, she stared at him with open irritation.
Not concern.
Not affection.
Irritation.
As though he were a problem she couldn't wait to solve.
That afternoon I entered the laundry room looking for fresh sheets.
Vanessa was already there.
She didn't hear me enter.
She was standing beside the utility sink.
Holding something in her hand.
A small plastic container.
About the size of a jewelry box.
The moment she noticed me, she slammed the lid shut.
Too fast.
Far too fast.
Then she smiled.
"Grace."
I glanced at the container.
"What is that?"
For one brief second, something flashed across her face.
Panic.
Then it vanished.
"It's nothing."
Her answer came too quickly.
She slipped the container into a cabinet.
Closed the door.
And changed the subject.
The interaction lasted less than ten seconds.
But it was enough.
Because when she opened the lid, I had seen movement.
Tiny movement.
Something dark shifting inside.
Something alive.
That evening Ethan's condition became worse.
Far worse.
He refused dinner.
Refused television.
Refused to leave his room.
At one point I found him sitting on the floor beside his bed.
Staring at the cast.
Listening.
Waiting.
His face had gone completely pale.
I knelt beside him.
"Ethan?"
He looked at me.
Tears filled his eyes.
"It's awake."
My blood ran cold.
"What is?"
He slowly raised his cast.
Then whispered:
"The thing she put inside."
And for the first time since this nightmare began, I realized Ethan wasn't imagining anything.
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Because even from where I sat...
I could hear something scratching from inside the cast.
