Chicago, on a winter morning, the air was chilly but dry. On a stone bench at the corner of the schoolyard, Alyssa sat curled up, one arm clutching her backpack, the other hand scratching her nose repeatedly, as if caught in an uncontrollable reflex. Alyssa, stop scratching, you’re bleeding, whispered Eleanor, one of the few classmates who still talked to her, her eyes filled with worry and fear. I. I can’t take it, Alyssa moaned, her voice muffled like someone with a cold.
It feels like something is crawling inside my nose. A streak of bright red blood ran down her lip. Eleanor instinctively stepped back.
The school bell rang. The children rushed inside, but Alyssa remained seated, her face pale, eyes dark with exhaustion. The itching had started when she was six.
At first it was just a mild discomfort, but over time it became a relentless obsession that didn’t ease despite visits to dozens of doctors ranging from private clinics to major hospitals. It could be chronic allergic rhinitis, one doctor suggested. No, I believe it’s a sensory nerve disorder, another shook his head.
There’s nothing to worry about. Some kids go through this phase and grow out of it, concluded a third. But it never went away.
The itching grew more intense, spreading up the bridge of her nose, followed by headaches and dizziness. Worse still, Alyssa frequently had nosebleeds at night. What’s wrong with that girl? She keeps sniffing all the time, a boy asked loudly in class, making everyone laugh.
E.W. Don’t sit near her, the girl shouted. Soon, Alyssa was completely isolated. No one in class would sit next to her.
At lunch, she always ate alone. The teachers, annoyed, believed she was making things up for attention. You need to be more serious, Alyssa.
No one scratches their nose constantly because something’s crawling inside, said her homeroom teacher, Ms. Catherine, coldly. I’m not making it up. It’s real.
I can feel it like, like something alive. Alyssa sobbed. Ms. Catherine shook her head inside.
You need to see a psychologist. Things were even worse at home. Their small apartment on the fourth floor of a Brooklyn complex was always quiet and cold.
Alyssa’s stepmother, Martha, was rarely home, and when she was, she barely spoke more than a few words to Alyssa. Their relationship was more like that of a boss and a maid. That afternoon, as Alyssa walked through the door, Martha shouted.
Go clean the kitchen. I’m not your damn maid. I. I’m a little tired.
I had a nosebleed at school this morning. Tired. Making up crap again.
Why don’t you just drop dead already? Alyssa froze. She bit her lip, dried blood crusted around her nostrils. She simply nodded and quietly walked to the kitchen.
That night, as she was mopping the floor, the itching surged like furious waves under her skin. She dropped the mop, sat down on the floor, and clawed desperately at both sides of her nose, her head spinning. What now? Martha stormed out from the living room, belt in hand.
I. I can’t breathe, it’s, it’s moving inside my nose. Alyssa screamed. Whack.
The belt lashed across her back, a burning sting like fire. Shut up. You’re such a drama queen.
No one pities a lunatic. No one defended her. The neighbors heard the yelling but remained silent.
Martha was the kind woman everyone greeted, who smiled and said she loved Alyssa very much, but the poor girl was a bit troubled. Once, Alyssa tried telling her biology teacher, Ms. Teresa, an older woman who paid close attention to her students. Ms. Teresa, my nose, it’s not normal.
I feel like there’s something inside it, like, like it’s alive. Ms. Teresa squinted. Are you serious? Does it hurt? Yes, and I get nosebleeds too.
I can’t sleep most nights because of it. Ms. Teresa paused, then spoke seriously, I’ll talk to the school doctor. But don’t mention this to anyone else, okay? Or they’ll say you’re making things up again.
Alyssa nodded. She felt a tiny glimmer of hope, faint but real. The following week, City Child Services personnel came to the school.
They interviewed Alyssa privately. Is there anything you’d like to share? Has anyone at home hit you? asked a woman named Laura, her voice gentle. Alyssa nodded slightly, scratching her nose continuously.
My stepmother, she hits me, starves me. But the more important thing is, there’s something very strange in my nose. Laura blinked.
Can you explain that? I feel it, moving. When I scratch, I can sense it contracting. It feels like, a creature.
Laura exchanged a glance with her colleague and jotted something down. The conversation ended quietly. A few days later, Martha showed up at school, smiling brightly.
I heard someone reported that Alyssa was being abused. That’s ridiculous. She’s had a history of imaginary thinking since she was little.
A psychologist even noted last year that she shows mild paranoid tendencies. Ms. Catherine nodded. We’ve noticed some odd behavior too.
Maybe she should see a psychologist again. Laura had no choice but to agree, disappointed. Without concrete proof, it was just one child’s word.
And Martha, with her skilled eyes, won again. That night, Alyssa curled up in bed. Her nose wouldn’t stop itching.
She scratched until her skin cracked. Blood oozed out, staining the pillow. Her eyes were wide open.
She couldn’t sleep. Why doesn’t anyone believe me, she whispered. Why can’t they see it? I’m not crazy.
In the dark, streetlight filtered through the window slats, casting long strips of light on the floor. She touched her nose again it felt stiff, like the skin was pulsing, something deep inside watching each breath she took. Another night passed.
And the 12-year-old girl stepped into a new day with sunken eyes, bloody fingers, and a nameless terror pulsing with every breath. The clattering of dishes echoed through the small kitchen. Alyssa was washing them under the dim yellow light, hands numb from the cold water.
A bruise from a rattan whip still marked the back of her right hand. She didn’t dare stop for even a moment. Hurry up.
You think you’re a damn princess. Martha’s voice rang from the living room, full of rage. Alyssa swallowed hard and replied, trembling, why yes.
I’m almost done. Oh, so you dare talk back, huh? Disrespectful little brat. Seconds later, Martha was behind her, plastic slipper in hand.
Whack! The blow landed on Alyssa’s shoulder, nearly knocking her over. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.
You live in my house, eat my food, wear my clothes, and you think you deserve forgiveness. Alyssa bit her lip, still washing dishes as tears streamed down her face. Her nose began to itch again, the same way it always did when her emotions surged.
That thing inside her was reacting. She quickly scratched, trying not to let Martha see. But Martha saw.
Doing that nose thing again. What, you need attention that bad? You think I don’t know you want people to feel sorry for you. I’m not, it really itches.
Shut up. Martha grabbed Alyssa by the hair and dragged her to the dark storage room under the stairs a dusty space with no windows, just a rickety wooden chair and moldy walls. Stay in here until morning.
Think about your stupid crazy stunts. Please. I’m scared of the dark.
I’m not your mother. I was forced to raise you. If it weren’t for that damn will your father left, you’d be on the street by now.
The door slammed shut and locked from the outside. Alyssa burst into tears. She curled up on the floor, shivering from the cold.
In the darkness, the itch exploded like a wild animal. She clawed at her nose, blood running down her hand. And for the first time, she swore she heard a faint noise, like a soft squeaking deep in her nasal cavity.
The next day, Alyssa arrived at school wearing a thick scarf that covered most of her face. Eleanor approached and whispered. Are you okay? I texted you yesterday but you didn’t reply.
I was locked, in the storage room, all night. Eleanor’s eyes widened. Why? Martha said, it was because I made things up.
I just wanted someone to believe me. Eleanor squeezed Alyssa’s hand tightly. I believe you.
But I’m scared of Martha too. She once came to school and talked to my teacher. Everyone thinks she’s a good mom.
Yeah. Everyone thinks that. That afternoon, Miss Catherine, the homeroom teacher, called Alyssa to the office.
Do you know why I called you, Alyssa? No, ma’am. Someone reported your case to child welfare. Do you want to say anything? Alyssa clenched her fists and looked down.
A moment of silence passed. I. I think it’s unfair. I’m not lying.
I really, itch. Every day. And Martha, doesn’t love me.
You believe she’s hitting you. Yes. And starving me.
Locking me up. Miss Catherine nodded. You need to be honest, Alyssa.
This is serious. Alyssa looked her teacher straight in the eyes. I’m not lying.
But I know, people always believe Martha over me. And sure enough, after the meeting, Martha once again came to the school, all smiles. I’m sorry if anything I’ve done caused concern.
Alyssa is a special child. She’s been traumatized since she was little. My husband her father died in an accident, and I don’t think she’s ever truly gotten over it.
We understand, Miss Catherine nodded. It’s not easy raising a child with complex psychological symptoms. I try my best.
But sometimes she makes things up, like claiming there’s a living creature in her nose. It’s heartbreaking. We’ll recommend she get more counseling, said Mrs. Teresa.
Martha smiled gently. I really appreciate that. I only want what’s best for Alyssa.
That evening, Martha threw Alyssa’s old cloth bag onto the bed. If you ever dare talk bad about me again, you’re not going to school anymore, you hear me? I didn’t talk bad. I just told the truth.
Truth, my ass. She lunged forward, grabbing Alyssa by the collar and shaking her violently. The girl screamed in fear.
I’m sorry. I won’t say anything again. Too late.
Smack. Another vicious slap. Alyssa was flung onto the bed, her head hitting the corner of the table.
She lay there, panting, blood trickling from her nose this time mixed with a dark gray mucus. Martha paused for a moment, eyeing the strange substance on Alyssa’s hand with a frown. Disgusting.
And now you’re leaking who knows what. Then she turned and walked away, leaving Alyssa alone in pain. The next day, Mrs. Teresa, the biology teacher, once again pulled Alyssa aside during recess.
Do you remember what we talked about last time, Alyssa? Yes. I remember. I found it strange that there were reports claiming you’re mentally unstable, but I don’t believe that.
Were you really being hit? Alyssa nodded. She doesn’t treat me like a person. To her, I’m just a burden.
Every day she calls me useless. And your nose. You still feel that thing? Yes.
It’s even stronger now. I can clearly feel it, like soft roots moving back and forth. Last night, there was black mucus.
It wasn’t blood. Mrs. Teresa fell silent, visibly shaken. She opened her wallet and pulled out a small card.
This is the business card of Dr. Smith. He’s a new neurologist in Chicago. I’ve told him a little about you.
He said if you’re willing, he’ll examine you for free. Alyssa took the card with trembling hands. For the first time, someone was seriously listening to her.
That night, Martha came home late. She smelled disinfectant coming from Alyssa’s room. What the hell are you doing in here? Nothing, just cleaning a bit.
What are you hiding in that bag? Alyssa stepped back, shielding her backpack. Nothing, just… some papers. Martha snatched the bag and tore through it.
Dr. Smith’s card fell out. What the hell is this? Who gave you this? Ms. Teresa, but it’s just in case I need it. Martha clenched her jaw, ripped the card in two, and threw it to the floor.
You think you’re clever, huh? No one is going to help you. I’m the only one you’ve got. And you better behave before I make you disappear, like your father.
Alyssa froze. The last sentence hit her like a knife. For a brief moment, she saw Martha’s true eyes cold, devoid of humanity.
That night, for the first time, Alyssa pulled the phone she’d hidden under her mattress and turned on the flashlight. She leaned into the mirror and gently pulled up her nose. Inside, under the dim light, she saw something black something like a root, twitching slightly.
Alyssa shuddered, trying to record it. But before she could save the video, Martha kicked the door open. You’re filming now.
The phone was snatched from her hand and smashed to the floor. Pieces flew everywhere as Martha stomped over. You’re just a useless piece of trash I was forced to take in.
I should have strangled you the day you were born. Alyssa dropped to her knees, covering her head. But inside, the thing in her nose began to squirm violently, as if it too were enraged.
Alyssa sat alone in the school bathroom, the door locked, pale face lit by the sickly yellow light. She pulled a small mirror and mini flashlight from her coat pocket. Her hands were trembling.
This time I’ll catch it, she whispered, her voice hoarse from countless sleepless nights. She tilted her head and gently pulled open her left nostril. A dull itch surged along her nasal bridge like a tiny current running down her nerves.
She turned on the flashlight and aimed it at the mirror. Suddenly, a black shape appeared. Its form was unclear, but it twitched faintly, like a living root.
Alyssa held her breath, frozen. In that moment, she no longer felt like herself but like the host of an alien creature. No, no way, she whispered.
She grabbed her phone and started recording. But suddenly, a loud thud came from somewhere nearby, startling her. The camera shook, the light wobbled.
The video blurred just as the creature began to move more violently. Damn it, she panted. At that moment, someone knocked hard on the bathroom door.
Who’s in there, came a teacher’s voice. I’ll be right out. Alyssa quickly cleaned up and hid the phone in her shirt.
When she stepped out, she met the suspicious gaze of Ms. Lucy, her French teacher. Is something wrong, Alyssa? You look… exhausted. I… I just have a cold, ma’am.
Your nose is bleeding. Alyssa reached up to wipe it. The blood was no longer red it was brownish, slimy, and had a strange, foul odor.
It smelled like rotting meat. That night at home, Alyssa secretly retrieved an old phone she’d hidden under the bed. Thankfully, Martha hadn’t found it.
She planned to send the video to Eleanor. Someone has to see this. I’m not crazy.
The message with the video was sent. But just a few minutes later, she received a single reply. Gross.
Don’t text me again. Immediately, the, blocked, symbol appeared. Alyssa froze.
Her hand dropped. Tears streamed down her face uncontrollably. She breathed heavily, hand reaching toward her nose the itch now burned like fire.
She scratched and scratched until her skin bled. What the hell are you doing in there? Martha roared from outside the door. And nothing.
Open the door. The door slammed open. Martha stormed in and snatched the phone.
The video was still open halfway through. You filming this freaky crap again? You want people to call you a monster? I just want someone to believe me, it’s real, it’s inside my nose. Shut up.
You’re driving me insane. Martha struck her with a thunderous slap, knocking Alyssa’s head into the edge of the table. She staggered, nose bleeding again worse than usual and the smell was overpowering.
Martha wrinkled her nose and covered it. What the hell is that stench? It’s it, it’s that thing. Enough.
From now on, you’re banned from having any devices in this house. She stomped on the phone, shattering it, then dragged Alyssa out of the room and locked her in the storage closet again. Stay there and think about what you’ve done.
The more you talk, the more you make people want to throw you in a psych ward. The next morning, she arrived at school with a bruise on her forehead. When Mrs. Teresa saw her, she gasped.
Alyssa, what happened to your head? I… I slipped on the stairs. Really? Yes. Teresa didn’t believe her.
She glanced down and noticed scratch marks on the back of Alyssa’s hand. Do you, want me to talk to someone for you? No one believes me. Even my best friend thinks I’m disgusting.
Mrs. Teresa looked deep into Alyssa’s eyes. You’re not disgusting. The ones too scared to face the truth are the ones who should be ashamed.
That afternoon, Alyssa lay on her bed with the lights off. The room was steeped in the dim gray glow of dusk. She closed her eyes, but couldn’t sleep.
The stench of rod in her nose had now spread to her throat. She felt like she was decomposing. Suddenly, a violent itch struck.
She shot up, gasping, and rushed to the bathroom. She turned on the light and picked up the mirror again. This time, it was clearer than ever.
It wasn’t just a root. It looked like a tiny, wriggling trunk contracting with each of her breaths. When she shone the light directly on it, something glinted, like an eye reflecting the beam.
Alyssa screamed. What are you? Get out of my body. Martha ran in from the living room.
What now? There’s something in my nose. I swear I’m not crazy. It’s alive.
It has eyes. I saw it. Martha froze for a few seconds, then stepped closer, her eyes dark.
You’re starting to creep me out. Please, mom, don’t hit me. I’m telling the truth.
You hear yourself. You sound like a sick freak, imagining everything. No.
I recorded it on video. What video? What phone? Alyssa froze. She realized, all the evidence had been destroyed.
Martha looked at her with a smug smile, as if she had known that all along. You’ve got nothing. Just a little psycho living off pity.
No one’s going to believe you, Alyssa. Night fell. Alyssa didn’t eat.
Martha didn’t bother asking. She lay with her face to the wall, clutching her pillow tightly. She could feel it the creature fused to her, second by second.
Her breathing made it shift, as if they shared the same nervous system. She didn’t know what exactly was living inside her. But clearly, it was growing.
If I don’t do something, it’ll kill me sooner or later, she whispered in the dark. A sudden sharp pain shot up her nasal bridge. She jolted upright.
Blood poured from her nose more than ever and mixed with fine gray threads. Clenching her teeth, Alyssa grabbed some tissue and stuffed it into her nostrils. It was no use.
Blood kept gushing, the rotten smell filling the room. She gasped for air and collapsed to the floor. In that semi-conscious moment, she saw a pair of eyes, eyes like the one in the mirror staring at her from within her own body.
And she knew, everything was just beginning. In the middle of a regular math class, Alyssa slumped over her desk. She kept sniffling, her face pale, her eyes glazed from severe sleep deprivation.
Alyssa called Ms. Rachel. No response. Alyssa.
Her voice rose. The entire class turned to the back of the room. Alyssa slowly lifted her head, but instead of answering, she collapsed onto the desk.
