The Psychic Next Door

[First Draft] Chapter 3: Missing

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I left the shop without purpose. My need for food had completely disappeared, overshadowed by my disappointment. Bulbs seemed unnecessary in this state. Everything lost its urgency; it could all just wait. I felt like all my excitement and joy from my recent accomplishments had been sapped from me, and now I just wanted to wallow in yet another disappointment.

My gorgeous neighbour had turned out to be a jerk. And on top of that, he was apparently a psychic jerk, who said had forseen that no one would fall in love with me... not for a while. I could've screamed.

Instead I just silently crept the few feet back to my own side of the building and through my door. I flicked the lights on, and the single bulb that remained feebly lit the room. Even my new apartment, which only moments ago had seemed lovely and welcoming, now felt cold and hostile. Maybe this wasn't where I was supposed to be. It had to be an overflow of my bad luck, I decided.

Maybe it would wear off in the morning, I tried to convice myself, as I slunk off to my bedroom. I slid into bed, still wearing my moving clothes, and curled up beneath the covers. Before I could stop myself, I started to cry, sobbing into my pillows.

I thought I had rid myself of all the feelings I had felt for Rick, that I had moved on, but apparently not. It had just been hiding, pushed away deep down. It came rushing to the surface now. And again I realized how alone I was, so horribly alone.

I don't know how long I cried for because I cried myself asleep. When I woke up my face was pressed into the damp of my tear-soaked pillow and it was still dark out. I couldn't place what had woken me up so suddenly, because I didn't remember having a terrible dream or hearing a loud noise. I was just awake; really awake. It was like my body clock had suddenly gone awry and decided that now was the ideal time to wake up.

I rolled over my bed, trying to adjust my eyes to the darkness. What time was it? My hands grappled in the dark, reaching out to find my cellphone on my beside table, where I usually left it. I wanted to know what the time was. My hands reached out, unseen in the pitch black of the night. I felt the edge of my night stand, and ran my hand over the top, seeking the sleek form of my fancy cellphone.

Just as my fingers found it, I felt a breeze, a warm breath on my hand. Still clutching my cellphone, I retracted my hand, gasping. I held my hand close to my chest, protecting it. What was that?

I figured I was just imagining things because I was depressed, awake in the middle of the night and in a new apartment. It must have been a heat vent, right? But it had distinctly felt like breath on the wrist. And it had come from below my hand, almost from under my bed, while the vents in my basement suite were all on the ceiling...

My hand shook violently as I opened my cellphone, seeking the comfort of some kind of light, even if it was the dim blue from the screen of my cellphone. I felt like a child again, seeking the comfort of the beside lamp after a nightmare. The cellphone cast a ghostly glow around my room, barely improving the darkness. I held it up and scanned my room with it, using it as a weak flashlight.

Something flashed by, darting past in the shadows. Every muscle in me tensed, and I dropped my cellphone into the folds of my blanket, plunging the room back into darkness. I fought against my fear, willing myself to move, to think rationally. I lunged for my beside table, for the lamp to scare away the monsters in the shadows. I gripped the neck of it with both hands, strangling it, and fumbled for the switch. I panicked, it seemed like the darkness was moving closer, swallowing me.