You brought the cup of coffee to your lips and sipped on its warmth. This was your second cup of the day. Last night you couldn't get yourself to sleep, you'd spent hours tossing and turning. Every creak, every whistle, any noise that overtook the fan in your room put you on edge. The paranoia was eating you alive, and you were letting it.
When morning had come you'd left extra early to head to Kristen's for a coffee before work. You'd drank that till lunch, and on your lunch break you'd gone in for a refill. It was the only thing keeping you standing at this point.
Now you stood leaning on a wall with a broom beside you, taking a short break before finishing up your shift. Ms. Marley had left you and Aiden unsupervised for the evening, meaning you weren't exactly the most productive. Your foot tapped on the ground as you looked around the shop and through the windows.
The entire shift you found yourself glancing around every few moments. Even here you couldn't shake the feeling someone was watching you. It was bad before, but last night had worsened it. The feeling made your skin crawl, and you were already yearning for your next appointment with Alicia to make everything go away.
Suddenly the back door a few feet away swung open and in barreled Aiden. He was carrying a box half his size that seemed a little too heavy for him to manage. Groaning, he lowered the box to the ground as carefully as he could before shaking out his arms. Aiden glanced up at you and smiled.
"Enjoying the show?" He teased.
You rolled your eyes and set your coffee down. "Uh-huh. What's in the box?"
With a smirk, Aiden pulled out a box cutter from his pocket. "Dunno, haven't opened it yet." Wordlessly you headed over to watch as he sliced through the packing tape.
"Looks like Ms. Marley ordered in some new stuff." He looked up at you and asked, "wanna help set 'em out it?"
"Yeah, sure," you said. Organizing was at least more interesting than sweeping.
Every now and then Ms. Marley would do some online digging to try and find new stock. You assumed this was one of those times. The box held several bubble-wrapped trinkets that you had to cut free before doing anything with. All of them looked well maintained, and most were shiny golds and silvers. There wasn't a ton of space on the shelves left, but with some maneuvering you managed to get everything to fit.
A few music boxes and old clocks later the box was empty and it was already a couple of minutes past when your shift ended.
You yawned and retrieved your coffee from the table, pulling on your jacket after. "See you tomorrow, Aiden."
He waved with one arm, the other supporting the box. "See you!"
The door chimed as you left, and you took a final gulp of coffee before throwing it in a nearby trash can. You shoved your hands in your pockets and made your way toward the parking lot. The sun was already setting, but the grey clouds blocking the sky didn't allow much color. Only pale hues of yellow and orange managed to poke through.
You shivered as a draft from behind blew through you. The days were getting colder as winter approached, and you made a mental note you needed to start dressing warmer.
Once you arrived at the parking lot you climbed into your car and waited for it to heat up. It was probably a good time to pull out the big puffy jacket you'd had for a couple of years, and maybe some gloves too. You placed an icy hand on the steering wheel as you put the car in drive and pulled out of the lot.
You couldn't say you were eager to go home. Lately you'd felt a lot more safe at work than at your apartment. You were beginning to doubt the safety of the locks on your place the more you wondered how the hell someone got in. With how last night went, you were scared of what today would bring you. Would your window be open again? Would the place be trashed? You didn't know what to expect, but you knew you were scared. It'd be stupid if you weren't with everything you'd been told. Someone wanted to kill you, and you had no one to help you.
You reached over and turned up the music, trying to drown out your thoughts. You didn't want to think about any of that right now. Humming along to a song, you kept your eyes trained on the road. Distracting yourself wouldn't work for long, but at least it'd work until you got home.
A handful of stop signs later, you pulled in front of the apartments and parked in your usual spot. The night was fast approaching, and most of the light left in the area came from the street lamp. You powered off the car and stuffed your keys in your pocket.
Looking up you saw the salt and pepper hair of Allen in front of your door. With furrowed brows, you got out of the car and hurried over. As you made it to the steps he noticed you and regarded you with a strange expression.
"Is everything okay?" He asked with more concern in his tone than you'd expected.
"Yeah, why?" You replied as you made it to the top of the stairs. He motioned to the door and you froze.
Against the white of your door was a streak of blood. It looked like someone had dragged their fingers down the center, and it didn't seem all that old.
"I just got home a little while ago and noticed while walkin' past. Any idea what it means?" Allen asked as he studied the marks.
You felt sick. "I um... No." You swallowed down a lump of dread and forced yourself to lie. "Probably just some weirdo pulling a sick prank."
Allen hummed, "Guess so. Wouldn't be the first time." He paused and looked at you. "You make sure to tell me if anything more happens, alright?"
You kept your eyes downcast as you pulled out your keys. "...Of course. I'll go clean this up. Thanks, Allen."
"Anytime, Y/N." He said, heading back to his own room.
Your hands were already shaking as you unlocked the door and pushed it open. Not bothering to close it, you walked over to the kitchen and wet a few paper towels. Tears were already welling in your eyes as you made your way back to the door and began scrubbing the red off. You wanted it gone. You hated blood. How it looked, how it smelled, everything about it made you feel ill.
The longer you spent trying to make it look like the blood was never here, the more you started to shake. You could already hear your heartbeat in your head and your chest was starting to tighten. Sinking your teeth into your tongue, you forced yourself to keep going until your door was white again and you were left with a pile of wet, dull orange paper towels.
Flashes of the cult appeared in your mind every time you blinked. You remembered when animal blood was poured into a bowl attached to a statue and the way the color stuck to the sides, staining it. You remembered how it smelt, the rot, you remembered having to chant along as it was poured. You remembered believing it was normal.
Shaking yourself out of it, you kicked the door closed and ran over to the trash can. You chucked everything inside before furiously washing your hands in the sink. The water was cold as you doused your hands in soap and lathered them up again and again trying to get rid of the smell. You panted as you finally dried your hands, your eyes wide and alert.
You quickly returned to the door and locked it, then looked around the room for any sign that someone had been in there. Your bed was the same mess you'd left it as, your couch still had a blanket balled up in a corner, dishes were still in the sink with nothing noticeably out of place, and the window was still closed. You exhaled deeply and finally took off your shoes and jacket.
You were alone. You were fine. It was just a bit of blood. But you knew what that blood meant. Those streaks affirmed that you were being stalked, that you were in danger. Hell, they were probably watching you right now. You shuddered, pacing back and forth as you tried to calm yourself, but how could you? What were you supposed to do? You were so undeniably fucked.
Pausing, you took in a deep breath before walking over to the kitchen and pulling a knife from the knife block. At least if someone came in you had something you could defend yourself with, even if you didn't really know how. You moved into the bedroom and set the blade on your bedside table. You flopped back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, your heart still hammering against your rib cage.
Whose blood was that? The thought made you nauseous. Had the killer murdered someone just to smear that on your door? Or was it animal blood? And why leave it there? You were sure it was just to scare you, but why keep on taunting you like this? You had so many questions with no one to answer them. You were stuck with nowhere to go and no one to turn to with a killer on your ass.
You knew why the killer was after you all, to avenge Jack, but how far were they going to go? Would they kill every survivor they could get their hands on until caught? That thought horrified you, yet a part of you understood their motive. The cult was a horrible thing, and you knew that well. What you and everyone else had let happen was disgusting and selfish, and every second of every day you hated yourself for what you let happen to Jack. You knew why the killer wanted you all dead. But you didn't want to die.
Even though you never believed Alicia when she said it wasn't your fault, you knew you'd been manipulated. Manipulated so much that you'd believed human sacrifice made sense. You blamed yourself, but at the same time you knew what happened, you knew about the brainwashing, you knew why you had to be deprogrammed. You'd been so filled up with the sick beliefs the committee had spewed you had no longer understood what was real and what was fiction. But you still wished you could have done something, and you hated the fact you'd been so blind as to not let yourself.
You couldn't stop the tears from falling, even as you squeezed your eyes closed. Taking in a shaky breath, you rolled onto your side and buried your face in a pillow. What started as small cries quickly turned into sobs that wracked your body. Your chest burned as you squeezed the pillow, trying to both muffle and stop yourself. What right did you have to cry? You weren't the dead one. He was. Jack was dead, and you'd stood by and watched as it happened. You didn't deserve to mourn him. You didn't deserve anything.
The more you thought the more your crying picked up and the more you tried to hold it in. You wished you would have been smarter, more observant. You wished you hadn't been so fucking selfish. You gasped for breath, the air feeling too dense to swallow.
In and out, in and out. You needed to stop crying. You needed to control yourself, but damn it everything hurt. Your head hurt, your chest hurt, your eyes hurt. Everything hurt and you just wanted it to stop, but it wouldn't.
You pulled away from the pillow and aggressively rubbed your eyes. You were fine, you were so fine. Just calm down. Breath.
Minutes passed and your breathing gradually grew steadier. Now you were just left with red, puffy eyes that stung when you opened them. You were tired of this, of feeling like this. You felt like you were falling apart, and at this point it was less of a feeling and more of a fact.
You forced yourself to sit up. You needed to eat, and you needed to shower. Then you could sleep, or at least try to. You just needed to keep to your schedule and then everything would be okay. Or at least that's what you told yourself.
It felt like you had weights strapped to your back when you stood. Everything seemed slower, duller. Your head felt foggy. You didn't have much of an appetite, but at least cooking would give you something else to think about. There wasn't a whole lot of food in your fridge. You hadn't gone grocery shopping in a couple of weeks, so your selection consisted of apples, packaged deli meat, leftovers from a few nights ago, and an assortment of condiments you had nothing to put on.
"Leftovers it is..." You muttered to yourself, pulling it out and giving it a stir before sticking it in the microwave. You leaned against the counter and crossed your arms, unintentionally staring at the window next to the front door. The curtains were already drawn as they always were. Even during the day you never left them open. You didn't want anyone peeking in at you, or your stuff. You always liked your privacy, more so now than ever.
✦★✦
Four blank concrete walls surrounded you. It smelt like metal, and it was cold enough to see your breath. In your hand was a dripping rag that paired with a bucket of water on the floor in front of you.
Drip... drip... drip water droplets hit the floor with a rhythm that rang loudly in your ears.
As you looked down your breath caught in your throat, but you couldn't look away. Jack. Jack laid before you, hands at his side with a thin sheet covering him. His eyes were closed, and had the circumstances been different he might have looked peaceful. You knew better though.
Matting his hair and smeared across his tan skin was a coat of dried blood. Your stomach swirled with discomfort, not that you could do anything about it. Even as you tried to move your limbs, you couldn't. It was like you were watching a movie through your own eyes.
Jack didn't move even as you brought the cloth to his face and gently wiped away the grime. Rubbing softly at his skin, you studied his features. Normally fluffy short brown hair now lay slick to his head, and his eyelashes were clumped together with red. He had a rectangular jaw that seemed more gaunt than it had at the beginning of the week. Along with that, his body seemed flushed as it tried to keep itself warm. A week earlier when you'd seen him standing he'd seemed so intimidating. He had been tall, muscular, and on the quieter side. It was harrowing seeing such a seemingly strong individual so weak.
The cloth moved over his eyes, and as you wiped away the blood they opened. Black voids stared up at you as you froze in place. He was expressionless, yet his dark sclera appeared full of emotions you couldn't read. Tar dripped down his cheeks and began to soak into the towel.
"Why didn't you save me?" He asked. You didn't have an answer. He placed a cold, clawed hand over yours, and squeezed.
You abruptly woke up with a gasp and lurched forward to a sitting position. Tears rimmed your eyes as you panted and clutched at your chest. Guilt choked you even as you tried to calm yourself down and get control of your breathing. Why didn't you save me? His deep, broken voice played in your mind.
Why hadn't you? It was the question you'd asked yourself every day. It was the question Alicia had tried to get you to forget about, after all, the past was the past, right? You didn't believe that, and clearly neither did the killer.
An icy feeling washed over you. That same feeling of being watched had returned. You wanted to shake it off, but as you tried to ignore it, it seemed to grow more intense. As your eyes adjusted to the near pitch-blackness of the room, you glanced around anxiously.
What the fuck.
A shadowy silhouette stood at the foot of your bed. You blinked several times and squinted. Was it a jacket? Had you forgotten you'd put something there? A sudden breeze from the open window to your right made your eyes shoot open.
The more you stared, the clearer the figure became. It was a large, masculine form that towered over you. They didn't move, and neither did you.
Until your mouth opened and you let out the loudest scream you could get out before grabbing the pillow beside you and hurling it at them. You lunged over and grabbed the knife on your bedside table, quickly turning and pointing it at the intruder.
But they were gone, leaving the window the only evidence of their break-in.
A loud bang sounded from your front door before it suddenly burst open and in ran Allen with a baseball bat in hand. He looked around your apartment, clearly alarmed, until he saw you and then the opened window. He lowered the bat.
"What happened, kid? You alright?" Allen asked.
You were too distraught to process the splintered door, only breaking into tears. "Some... Someone broke in!" It was hard to breathe, let alone think straight. "They jumped out!" You never let go of the knife.
"Should I call the cops?" He reached for his phone without waiting.
You gave a shaky nod before turning your head to stare out at the tree line. You didn't bother trying to stop yourself from crying this time. Hot tears ran down your cheeks as your grip on the knife only tightened. Was that them? Was that the killer? You shuddered. Why had they left? Were they coming back?
You gulped thickly and stared up at the black sky. If you had slept a moment longer, would you be dead right now?
I sure wonder who that strange man was
8.9 pages · 3,112 words