I Accidentally Summoned A Succubus

Ten minutes passed.

Then twenty.

Linda hadn't moved. Her breathing had slowed, but her grip hadn't. My shirt was soaked at the shoulder. I didn't know if it was blood or her tears. I didn't care enough to check.

A nurse reappeared at the doorway.

"The doctor would like to speak to all of you. Privately."

Jen stood first. Raph followed. Linda tightened her grip on me when I moved to stand, but eventually peeled off like Velcro. She didn't speak—just slid her hand into mine, like we were paired off for a funeral procession.

No one questioned it.

We followed the nurse through two sets of doors, past rooms with curtains half-drawn and beeping machines, until we reached a small office with blinds drawn and a nameplate that read Dr. Halvorsen.

The doctor was already inside.

Raph cleared his throat. "Is Marcus okay?"

The doctor didn't answer. Just looked at us like we were a puzzle he hadn't finished solving.

"I'm going to ask you all something," he said finally. "And I expect honesty."

That set Jen off. Her spine straightened, her hands clenched, like someone just hit a courtroom buzzer.

The doctor folded his arms. "What happened tonight?"

Silence. No one said a thing, and it's not because no one had anything to say, but because no one knew which version of the truth we were willing to tell.

I watched them all squirm. Jen biting the inside of her cheek. Raph fidgeting with the string on his hoodie. Linda still gripping my arm like she was afraid I'd vanish if she let go.

The doctor sighed, stepped back, and gestured for us to follow him again. "Come with me."

We followed.

He led us down the hallway and into a room at the end of the ward. Inside, Marcus lay on the bed, eyes closed.

Linda rushed forward, gasping, "Is he—oh my God, is he dead?"

The doctor held up a hand. "No. He's breathing. Pulse is steady. He's in what we're calling a stabilized unresponsive state."

Raph squinted. "You mean a coma."

"No. Not exactly. His brain activity is normal. Strong, even. Vitals are fine. We didn't induce anything. He just… won't wake up."

I watched Marcus's chest rise and fall. In. Out. In. Out.

I'd seen dead men. Real ones. I'd done med school rotations, visited crime scenes, studied post-mortem photos until they stopped meaning anything. All of it just for fun. Marcus didn't look dead. He looked suspended. Like something hit pause on a system no one could reboot.

The doctor walked to the bedside and lifted the hospital gown.

"That is not the strange part.'' He said. "Look.'' 

We all leaned in with Linda clinging too close to me like we'd become some couple. I didn't have the energy to push her off. I was too preoccupied.

Until today, not many things surprised me. Until today, it was easy to predict patterns. But now, as I stare at the wound I'd earlier pressed my palm to—trying to stop the bleeding—there is nothing.

Nothing but clear skin.

No scar. No stitches. Not even a mark.

The wound was gone, and Marcus looked brand new.

Not believing my eyes, I stretched out to touch his skin. True to it, there was no wound. Then Marcus opened his eyes.

And smiled.

The doctor froze, we all did. Then, as if snapping out of a daze, he stepped forward and checked Marcus' pulse. Lifted one of his eyelids. Shined a light.

"Marcus," he said. "Can you hear me?"

Marcus blinked. "Yeah. Why?"

"Follow my finger."

He did.

"Any pain?"

"No."

The doctor pressed two fingers along Marcus' ribs, then moved down to his side, applying pressure. Marcus didn't even flinch.

The man had nearly died on the ER table less than an hour ago.

Now?

He looked like he'd just woken from a nap.

The doctor signaled the nurses. They rushed in with machines and updated charts, trying to recheck everything. Blood pressure. Temperature. Respiration.

The group—me, Jen, Raph, and Linda—were ushered out into the hallway. Linda stayed close again. I let her. I couldn't think straight long enough to care.

A few nurses pushed past us, wide-eyed, whispering words like impossible and healed tissue. One of them nearly dropped her tablet.

None of us spoke.

We were all thinking the same thing.

We saw it.

We all saw it.

That piece of wood had gone straight through his body. Out the other side. Blood everywhere. And now… nothing.

No explanation. No mark.

Like the whole thing had been made up. Like we were crazy.

Except we weren't.

I'd felt the wound with my own hand. I'd held pressure on it. I'd felt the warmth of blood coat my palm. I'd watched the color drain from Marcus's face.

And now he was sitting up and asking for water.

I leaned back against the wall, jaw tight. My thoughts didn't spiral, they calculated. Measured. Listed variables. Ran simulations. Found patterns. There was none here. No logic. No plausible loophole. Nothing my brain could hold onto.

The door swung open again.

The doctor stepped out. He didn't look tired. He looked afraid.

"Well," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Your friend is fine."

We stared at him.

He gestured loosely behind him. "No internal damage. Vitals are perfect. Lungs are clear. He's alert, responsive, and I can't find a single reason to keep him."

"That's negligent," I said. "You're letting a man with a massive trauma injury go home just because you can't explain what's wrong?"

The doctor looked me straight in the eye.

"My grandmother used to tell me bedtime stories," he said. "About demons. The kind that waited under the bed, or in the corner of the ceiling. She said if you called them by name, they'd come. But they never left for free."

We said nothing.

He went on. "I had my hands inside that man's chest. I was holding gauze over a hole I could see through. I felt the wound start to close around my gloves like the body was stitching itself from the inside out."

He swallowed, hard.

"I don't know what you kids did tonight, and I don't want to know. But whatever it was, something answered."

He stepped past us and kept walking. No goodbye. No signature. Just the sound of his shoes clicking against the tile as he disappeared down the hall.

We stayed frozen in place.

None of us said a word.