The Girl who Cried Wolf

seven. disembodiment

          The cool night air pinches and pulls at my skin. I barely feel the stinging over the sweat coating my red-skinned body. God knows how long I've been running for, the sun was only just starting to set when I decided to go for a jog, but I couldn't get my legs to stop moving.

I needed to feel stronger, faster and less vulnerable. If that man in the library taught me anything besides utter terror, it was that I was weak. My solution to that was taking up a self-defence class, going to the gym and running non-stop. 

Usually, when I'm scared or upset, I sit in bed all day and eat until my stomach grows stretch marks. But, I couldn't do that anymore--not when someone wanted me dead. The thought was enough to have my head spinning, and that combined with my exhausted body sent me crashing down onto the floor. Sitting there, on the sidewalk in the pitch darkness, I try to steady my irregular breathing pattern--that was exactly the type of thing I was terrified of.

I couldn't let my guard down no matter what. My windows stayed locked and covered, my door was barricaded during the night when I decided to sleep--if I even could sleep. Seeing dead people should be enough to demolish my sense of fear, but this was different. Dead people with a still heart are way less terrifying than monsters with a sense of consciousness. 

Maybe it was the thought of how fucked up everything was, or maybe it was the fact that my heart will not stop pounding loud enough to deafen me from everything else, but I began crying right here on the sidewalk. I heave, sucking in the toxins and dust from the air around me. 

Some people wished for fortunes and fame, but the only thing I've wanted--all that I've been fighting for the past two years--was complete and utter normalcy. I wanted my mum, fuck, I wanted her back so badly that I couldn't stomach the oxygen I needed to live. Maybe I didn't want to live anymore, or maybe I did but just in a different way. Every day was a fight and I was exhausted. I just needed to relax but there wasn't a moment of peace with this stupid sixth sense bullshit.

And Ethan--whatever the hell happened with him was the mouldy cherry on an overbaked cake. I wasn't sure how to feel. On one hand, it's comforting to know that whatever I can do or whatever I am isn't a singularity in the world and obviously he wouldn't tell me about it off the bat right away but, he hasn't spoken to me in days ever since it happened. Part of me had hoped he was going to check up on me, care about how I was doing. It was stupid and childish to do so, but what is hope if not persistent and disappointing? 

I breathe in hard, wiping the tears from my cheeks as I feel my phone vibrate in the strap around my arm. 

The ripping of velcro pierces the quiet night air, my phone being released to me as I see a simple text from 'Ethan' with nothing but his pin drop location. My stomach sunk, the lack of context didn't exactly sit well with my stomach especially considering Ethan didn't seem like the type to send his location for a late-night booty call. 

The lull hum of whispers in my head began to get louder and more consuming until I checked the location and took off running in that direction. It could be nothing, could have been the slip of his thumb as he drifts off to sleep, but I needed to check for myself. In a way, I felt I owed it to him to even attempt to save his life in return for the library. 

The location he sent wasn't far from where I was, so I got there in a matter of adrenaline-fueled minutes. The house in front of me sat dark and abandoned, the shrubs of greenery almost swallowing the house whole and returning it back into the earth. The only light was the moon and a single torch sitting on a rusty glass and metal table on the wrap-around porch. 

I approach the torch hesitantly as if I were walking up to a rabid animal, my hand lightly reaching out to graze the suspicious light. It didn't feel out of the ordinary or like it was going to harm me, but one thing did make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. 

The torch was warm. 

Someone was close and had been holding this torch tightly enough to heat the surface only to leave it outside when the inside of the home was almost as black as night? Yeah, not happening. 

I debate turning around and walking away from the home. Whatever the hell Ethan was and what he was doing was none of my business. But then all I can see is his face, how ashamed and disgusted he looked with himself when he saw the fear on my face. I relate to him in that way, we both scare people without meaning to. 

"Fuck," I whisper under my breath, clutching the torch tightly in my hand and slowly making my way into the home. The weight of my body causes the rickety old floorboards to creak under my beat-up Converse. I cringe, mentally praying whoever was silently stalking in this house wouldn't be offended by my presence. 

The further I get into the house, the more I realise this is a bad idea. What was I going to do if there really was a killer in here or worse, the guy from the library? Was I meant to fight? Because that's going to go down like a bag of rocks on a seesaw. 

The sound of objects scattering across the room jolted my heart rate up. I flinch, spinning quickly to point the light where the noise came from. 

To my horror, I felt a rush of air come over me as if someone had just run right towards me. I pinch my eyes shut, letting out steady breaths to try and calm myself down. 

You see scary things all the time, Gracie. Get it together. 

"Gracie..." An eerie voice whispers my name in my ear. I whip around once again, a small whimper of fear escaping my lips. No one was there. 

"You think I'm scared?" I shout, scared. 

It was silent for a few moments before I felt the same eerie presence over my shoulder, "I can hear your heart racing, my dear," 

Before I can react, a dusty vase flies off the shelf and hits the ground hard. A stray shard of glass shoots up in the air before coming in contact with the side of my cheek, cutting the skin. I hiss, reaching my hand up to cover the wound. 

Anger coursed through me, the thought of whoever this is playing games with me and intentionally trying to scare me unleashed a familiar pressure in my throat, one I've learned to contain but never yield.

"I'll give you something to listen to, asshole," I mumble more to myself. 

Before I can make a noise, a dainty hand reaches over from behind me, covering my mouth and seeling my scream within my lips. 

"Don't make a sound," 

My flight or fight instincts kick on, my arm reaching up to yank the slender hand off of my to give myself enough time to book it out of the door. I can feel the dryness in my chest mixed with the cold night air making it harder for me to breathe without wheezing, but I won't stop. 

What the fuck has Ethan gotten me involved in?