The Psychic Next Door

[First Draft] Chapter 8: Him

I was right. Polly's ankle was broken.

Miraculously, it was only a fracture, but they still had to put a big clunky cast on her. As the doctor was treating her, he pressed her for information on how her injury had occurred. I think he was worried because we were acting to shifty. We were beat up and I was sure we looked terrified. But she was able to come up with a story, flimsy but generic enough that it was believable. It was simple, no need to worry about messing up details.

But no matter how easy it was to tell, I could tell that she hate to repeat it, because it only made her think of what had really happened. Hell, even I didn't like listening to her fake story because it forced me think about the truth.

And the truth wasn't pretty: whatever it was that was after me wasn't just confined to my apartment. It could followed me, attack me whenever it wanted. I had seven stitches in my arm and a few more in my face to prove it, to remind me that it this was all real. I could no longer doubt my sanity, and neither could Polly.

After another doctor left, getting a some-what satisfying account of what had happened -- Polly told him we were moving a glass coffee table up the stairs when she slipped and fell, and I fell too, trying to stop her, smashing the coffee table in the process -- Polly turned to me. I saw a noticeable difference in her eyes; they were darkened, like a light had been gone out in them. They weren't quite dead, but they were injured, distant; they had come close, they had seen the kind of things you can't unsee.

"I'm so sorry I didn't believe you," Polly said, her voice quivering.

I shrugged. I didn't blame her; what rational person would believe that it was a hostile supernatural presence instead of the simple explanation of a emotional break down? If anything, I was blaming myself. This must have been something I did, and now I had gotten her involved. She had already suffered enough. Actually, she had probably suffered more, since her sister had gone through this -- except her sister hadn't survived. I wasn't about to rub that in her face.

"Don't worry about it." I whispered, not meeting her eyes.

"I'm going to help you."

"Help me?" I replied, my eyes flicking back to her face. I didn't understand what she meant by that. Her eyes were still flat, but her face was tense, resolute.

"I'm going to help you get rid of it. That thing hurt... killed... my sister. It hurt you, too. It might kill you. I can't let it do that to someone I care about again."

That was something that was bothering me. Polly's sister as attacked by something just like this -- maybe exactly like this -- and Polly never had a clue. It seemed that it had been careful to only attack her when she was alone so Polly had no idea, wouldn't believe her and therefore couldn't intervene. Yet, this time it had no problem attacking me while there was another person around this time. What had changed? Why didn't it care if it showed its true form to a perfect stranger? Was it something about Polly? Was it after her now too?

Or maybe it wasn't the same thing after all... After all this, and I was still at square one. I knew there was something, but I had absolutely no idea what it was, where it came from... or why it was after me. I wasn't about to let my friend face something completely unknown and dangerous for me. This was my battle, I knew this now.

"No, Polly, no. Look at you! I should have never dragged you into this, you're already hurt..." My eyes traced over the crisp white cast wrapped around her leg and the multitude of scratches and cuts that covered her exposed skin. I really mean it. I was determined to fight this, and doing this alone was the last thing in the world I wanted, but I knew it had to be this way. This was my problem, this was my fight. I couldn't make the mistake of dragging innocent people further into this. I looked away from her. "It's after me, only me, and if you're around me, you're in danger!"