PART 3: WHAT WAS HIDDEN INSIDE THE CAST
The scratching sound lasted only three seconds.
Three seconds that changed everything.
I stared at Ethan's cast.
Ethan stared at it too.
Neither of us moved.
Neither of us spoke.
The tiny scraping noise came again.
Soft.
Faint.
But unmistakable.
Scratch.
Scratch.
Scratch.
My entire body went cold.
For a moment I tried convincing myself there had to be another explanation.
A loose bandage.
Fabric rubbing together.
The house settling.
Anything.
But deep down I already knew.
Ethan had been telling the truth.
Something was inside the cast.
And it was alive.
Ethan's face had become ghostly pale.
"You heard it."
It wasn't a question.
It was a statement.
A desperate one.
The relief in his voice nearly broke my heart.
Because for the first time in weeks, someone finally believed him.
I nodded.
"Yes."
The boy closed his eyes.
Tears slipped down his cheeks.
"I'm not crazy."
"No."
I squeezed his shoulder gently.
"You're not."
The words seemed to release something inside him.
Weeks of fear.
Weeks of isolation.
Weeks of being treated like a frightened child imagining monsters.
For several moments he simply cried.
Quietly.
Exhausted.
Relieved.
Then he whispered:
"Now will you help me?"
I looked at the cast.
And made a decision.
"Yes."
That night I called Richard.
Three times.
No answer.
A fourth call went directly to voicemail.
His assistant texted back twenty minutes later.
Mr. Caldwell is still in meetings.
He'll return tomorrow morning.
Tomorrow morning.
I looked toward Ethan's room.
Whatever was inside that cast had already been there for over a week.
I wasn't waiting another day.
Around ten o'clock, Ethan finally fell asleep.
I sat outside his bedroom.
Watching.
Thinking.
Trying to figure out my next move.
At 11:17 p.m., Vanessa left the master bedroom.
Exactly like the night before.
Silk robe.
Bare feet.
Silent steps.
She moved down the hallway toward Ethan's room.
But this time I was waiting.
The moment she reached for the doorknob, I stepped out of the shadows.
"Going somewhere?"
Vanessa jumped.
Only slightly.
But enough.
Her hand immediately dropped away from the door.
"Grace."
She forced a smile.
"What are you doing awake?"
"I could ask you the same thing."
For several seconds neither of us spoke.
The hallway suddenly felt very small.
Very quiet.
Then Vanessa laughed softly.
"I was checking on Ethan."
"At eleven o'clock?"
Her smile tightened.
"I care about him."
The lie landed heavily between us.
Because neither of us believed it.
I looked directly at her.
"What are you putting inside his cast?"
The color drained from her face.
Not completely.
Just enough.
Enough to confirm everything.
"What?"
Her voice sounded sharp now.
Defensive.
I stepped closer.
"What are you putting inside his cast?"
For a second I thought she might answer.
Instead she smiled.
A different smile.
Cold.
Dangerous.
And suddenly I understood why Ethan was afraid of her.
"You should be careful, Grace."
The words were almost gentle.
That made them worse.
"What does that mean?"
Vanessa leaned slightly closer.
"People who imagine things often lose their jobs."
Then she walked away.
Leaving me alone in the hallway.
Heart pounding.
Hands shaking.
Certain of one thing.
She was hiding something.
The next morning Richard returned.
I told him everything.
Or at least I tried.
The scratching sounds.
The late-night visits.
The container.
Ethan's fear.
Every detail.
Richard listened quietly.
When I finished, he rubbed his temples.
Looking exhausted.
Looking overwhelmed.
Looking like a man desperate for a simpler explanation.
Then he sighed.
"Grace."
My stomach dropped immediately.
Because I recognized that tone.
The tone people use before they dismiss the truth.
"I know you're worried about him."
I closed my eyes.
"Richard—"
"But Vanessa loves Ethan."
"No."
The word came out harder than intended.
"No, she doesn't."
His expression darkened.
For the first time since I'd known him.
"That's enough."
I stared at him.
Unable to believe what I was hearing.
"Ethan is terrified."
"He's grieving."
"Something is inside that cast."
Richard shook his head.
"No."
I realized then that Vanessa had already won.
At least for now.
Because Richard wasn't evaluating evidence.
He was protecting the life he wanted to believe in.
And people will ignore a shocking truth if accepting it means destroying their version of happiness.
That afternoon, Ethan suffered another panic attack.
Worse than all the others.
I found him in his bedroom clawing at the cast.
Sobbing.
Trying desperately to tear it off.
"It moved!"
He screamed.
"It moved again!"
His entire body shook violently.
Sweat covered his forehead.
His breathing came in frantic bursts.
And then something happened.
Something nobody expected.
The cast moved.
Not much.
Only a fraction of an inch.
But enough.
Enough for me to see it.
Enough for Ethan to see it.
Enough for Richard to see it.
We all froze.
The room fell silent.
The cast shifted again.
A tiny bulge pressed outward beneath the plaster.
Then disappeared.
Richard's face turned white.
"What the hell..."
Nobody finished the sentence.
Because suddenly the scratching started again.
Louder this time.
Scratch.
Scratch.
Scratch.
Directly from inside the cast.
Richard stumbled backward.
The disbelief vanished from his eyes.
Replaced by horror.
Pure horror.
For a long moment nobody moved.
Then Ethan looked at his father.
Tears streaming down his face.
Voice trembling.
Broken.
"You believe me now?"
Richard couldn't answer.
May you like
Because at that exact moment, something inside the cast pushed hard enough against the plaster to crack it.
And whatever was trapped inside was trying to get out.
