On a stone bench at the corner of the schoolyard, Alyssa sat curled up, one arm clutching her backpack and 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, and Eleanor instinctively stepped back.

The school bell rang. The children rushed inside, but Alyssa remained seated, her face pale and her 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 said, shaking 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 and 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. «Ew! Don’t sit near her,» a girl shouted.

Soon, Alyssa was completely isolated. No one in class would sit next to her, and at lunch, she always ate alone. The teachers, annoyed, believed she was making things up for attention. «You need to be more serious, Alyssa,» said her homeroom teacher, Ms. Catherine, coldly. «No one scratches their nose constantly because something’s crawling inside.»

«I’m not making it up. It’s real,» Alyssa sobbed. «I can feel it… like something alive.» Ms. Catherine shook her head disapprovingly. «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,» Alyssa replied. «I had a nosebleed at school this morning.» «Tired? Making up crap again?» Martha sneered. «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, 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,» Martha snarled. «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, feeling a tiny glimmer of hope.

The following week, City Child Services personnel came to the school and 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. «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.

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.»

Without concrete proof, it was just one child’s word against a skilled liar, and Martha won again. That night, Alyssa curled up in bed, her nose refusing to stop itching. She scratched until her skin cracked and blood oozed out, staining the pillow. 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, as if the skin were 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, her 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.