Story 1: The Deceptive Caregiver
It was 2 a.m. when the call shattered my world—my father had suffered a heart attack. Panic surged through me as I raced to the hospital, my heart pounding with every thought, every breath, desperate to see him. When I arrived, the ICU doors were locked, security and protocols in place, and the staff’s refusal to let me in felt like a crushing weight. I begged them, pleaded for just a moment to see him, but was told to wait. And wait. Hours passed like days.
Then, just when I thought I couldn’t stand it any longer, a woman appeared. She wore scrubs, a badge, and a warm, reassuring smile. She told me she understood the pain I was feeling and offered to let me in—for just a minute. I didn’t question it. I followed her through the maze of hospital corridors, her calming presence helping me breathe through the chaos in my chest. She brought me to my father’s side, unconscious but still alive. I grasped his hand, whispered that I was there, that I loved him. It was a small moment, but it felt like everything. And then she was gone. I never saw her again.
Months later, my phone rang. It was my father, now recovered, his voice urgent. “Turn on the news,” he said. I did—and my heart froze in my chest. The woman who had shown me kindness was all over the screen, handcuffed, flanked by officers. She wasn’t a nurse. She was a fraud.
The news report was a nightmare. She had been impersonating medical staff for months—performing minor tasks, speaking with families, and blending in effortlessly. She wore the uniform, used medical jargon, and never raised suspicion. But she hadn’t completed her nursing degree. She had dropped out. And she was suffering from a severe mental condition that made her believe—convincingly—that she belonged in that role.
Thankfully, no one died under her care, though some patients reportedly worsened. Investigators believe she never performed any major procedures, but the thought of her near my father, touching him, administering medications—it’s terrifying.
I sat there, trying to process it. This woman, this stranger, had led me through the hospital, into my father’s room, all while pretending to be someone she wasn’t. But after all that, the records confirmed: she never treated him. She had simply guided me to his side. I’m grateful my father survived and that she was caught—but I’ll never forget the unsettling kindness of a woman living a dangerous lie.
Story 2: The Horror Game Visitor
It was well past midnight when I found myself completely immersed in the horror game FEAR. The lights were off, the volume cranked up, and every creak of the game’s eerie world had my nerves on edge. Then it happened. A chill in the air. That unnerving feeling of being watched.
I turned around—and nearly screamed.
There, in the shadows of my room, was a pale figure. Long hair, dark eyes, motionless. My brain froze for a moment as it processed one terrifying thought: it was her—the ghost girl from the game. I was certain I was losing my mind, that the game had bled into my reality.
But then, the figure moved.
It wasn’t a ghost. It was a real person. A woman in her twenties, standing there with a blank expression. My voice caught in my throat. “Who—who are you?”
She blinked, almost confused that I was startled. “Oh, sorry. I’m here with your roommates. They said I could come in.”
Apparently, she was a friend of someone living in the apartment. They were having people over, and while I was holed up gaming, someone had thought it was fine to let her into my room. Unannounced. In the dark. While I was playing a horror game featuring a ghost girl who looked exactly like her.
I didn’t know what was more disturbing—how long she’d been silently standing there, watching me play, or how completely unfazed she seemed by the whole situation. She left without a care, like nothing was out of the ordinary.
But there I sat, frozen at my desk, heart racing, unsure whether to laugh, scream, or just turn off the game and go to bed.
To this day, every time I fire up a horror game, I check the room behind me first. Because sometimes, the real scares don’t come from the screen—they come from the person silently watching you from the shadows.
