When Allison Valentine, a self-proclaimed z-lister, fled suburban England for the shimmering lights of New York City, she didn't expect to find faux fame. But when a text from the best friend she left behind warns her that the very horror she fled f...
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Tuesday morning saw me in my aunt's apartment, sitting uncomfortably in a chair as I posed obnoxiously in front of the New York skyline. The camera clicked over and over again as I lifted my chin, tilting my head so the light would hit my face in just the right way. It was vapid and embarrassing but it was my job, apparently, and so I grinned at the right points and lifted my legs so they looked statuesque, tricking the camera but not myself.
"That'll pay for my apology postcards," I murmured to nobody in particular, grabbing the camera and clicking through far too many images. I sighed in relief, noting that at least two weren't completely horrendous and would just about do. My aunt Millie lost her mind when she saw the six zeroes on my follower count, but it only served to ignite my nerves more than they already were. My 'job' was easy, but it had never felt mine. As though I had somehow blagged my way into a city and existence which I would never have ownership of.
I winced as my phone buzzed from underneath my bed, stuffed inside last week's t-shirt and a pair of ripped jeans. I hadn't dared to look at it since I fled England, and it was about as selfish as it got. I sent my brother a fleeting text on the plane saying I was alright, then shoved it away till this very moment where it vibrated obnoxiously over and over again. I would have turned it off, but the idea of seeing a message seemed so unsettling that I opted to let it keep me up at night, buzzing over and over.
"Allison!" my aunt beamed, light hair falling in pristine waves around her shoulders as her head bobbed past my doorway, "I'm heading out to a bit of a shindig tonight, I might get a hotel in the city so don't wait up. Don't forget it's brand posting day tomorrow! You forgot last week. You'd lose your own head if it wasn't for me!"
I smiled weakly, trying to catch up with her words, "Shindig?"
"Oh, yes," she grinned, clearly pleased I'd asked, "I'm doing a bit of networking, going to try and pitch a few men in suits my management company idea. Well, all I'll have to do is show a photo of you and they'll bite my hand off-"
"Not sure I'm a fan of that," I grimaced, but she waved me away.
"Allison Valentine, we do what we do to get ahead; you do it, I do it. You wear silly clothes and pose for pictures, I suck up to rich men with boring stories about their boring wives. I don't judge you, you don't judge me."
"Wait!" I called, voice coming out a little more frantic than I intended. Aunt Millie raised an eyebrow curiously, moving slowly back into the doorway, "Uh... can I come?"
She scoffed loudly, "Where's Allison? You hate these networking things, you said they're an 'orgy of self-important, vapid-"
"Nope," I smiled falsely, "Doesn't sound like me. Do you have a plus one?"
She shrugged apologetically, "I do, but I'm taking Chester, the man I met at golf a few weeks back. Allison, are you alright?"
"I'm fine," my shoulders sagged, goosebumps pricking my arms. I had told my friends so confidently that this was all in their heads, and yet the idea of spending the night alone filled me with such a bloodcurdling fear that I was already shaking like a leaf.
"Well, ring me if you need me," she grinned, sending me a jaunty wave, "Don't wait up!"
"I'm probably going to," I sing-songed into the pillow I was clutching, ice-cold fear washing in waves through my body as I heard the door slam. The silence was heavy; almost deafening. My footsteps felt far too loud as I rose from my bed, padding barefoot through the apartment and turning all the lights on to shun the darkness of 8 pm.
Pulling the curtains closed, I found myself shivering, unsure if the temperature had dropped or if I was already conjuring drama up in my head. It used to be one of the telltale signs, the cold. Whenever someone would begin shivering, the rest of us would panic, slamming all the doors shut and getting as close to one another as we could. Sometimes aircon was a little too high, sometimes demons would be lurking under our beds. Now, it was just me, rubbing my arms harshly to bring some warmth back to them.
"Trash TV," I told nobody but myself, shuffling quickly towards the sofa and hopping on quickly enough that nothing could nip at my toes from underneath. I knew I was being ridiculous but I hadn't been alone since my friends explained what happened and no amount of rationality stopped that tiny voice in my head telling me to run and hide. Therapy had dulled that voice, and now I was simply choosing to ignore it.
Women screamed at each other in glorious HD as I reclined back, wishing my body felt as relaxed as it looked. I found myself jumping at every shrill shriek coming from the speakers, opting to turn it down just the tiniest bit. When I grabbed the remote, it fell straight from my grasp and clattered noisily on the floor.
"Shit," I hissed, shaking my hand manically as I held my eyes closed, trying to ignore the goosebumps erupting among a distinct feeling of dread. The plastic was ice cold but it was okay, because it was a mild day and the flat wasn't particularly warm. I hummed quietly to myself as I kept my eyes trained on the television, leg jiggling almost manically. Why had they told me? It was likely nothing, and now I had to contend with my own mind convincing me that-
Bang.
Then I did jump, inhaling so quickly that I choked on my own breath, spluttering into the silence of the apartment. My eyes were saucer-wide, frozen in shock as I stared at the door the abrupt bang had come from. My bedroom.
"One, two..." I held my eyes closed and followed the instructions my therapist had taught me. Numbers will calm you, she told me, when you're having an episode. So I did exactly that, eyes squeezed shut and staring the infinite darkness behind my lids as I carried on muttering my way to calm.
"Three, four..." The room felt colder somehow, as though someone had suddenly opened all the windows. It didn't matter though, because I was lost in a world of blackness where all that mattered was counting numbers, and none of the things I was conjuring up were real.
"Five, six..." It sounded so much like footsteps. The slap of bare feet on the floor, then the rapid, peeling sound as they unstuck from the wood, getting closer and closer. It wasn't, though, because that wasn't what was happening here. It was simply me, and numbers. Me and numbers.
"Seven, eight, nine..." I was nearly there, but it all just felt wrong. All I could see was black but just a foot away, it felt like a thousand eyes were on me. And if I really went still, really stayed quiet, it felt like... breath on my neck. Like-
"Ten!" a harsh voice hissed in my ear, sending me flying backwards to the corner of the sofa as I let out a bloodcurdling scream, eyes flying open. My breath came out in pants as I jerked my head around, seeing nothing but an empty flat and... nothing.
"Stop, stop, stop," I whispered over and over again, gulping back the threat of sobs as my frantic eyes scanned every corner of the room, staring. Nothing, there was nothing there, but there was. I could... feel it. I could feel it in the room with me for the first time in years, watching me from somewhere. I was crying now, wheezing and clutching to the fabric of the sofa as I tried to keep my eyes everywhere so nothing could be behind me. I wasn't brave, not brave enough to do anything other than stick to the seat like glue, clumsily muttering the verse I had learned one week after I arrived in this city.
