Page 23 of Don’t Watch Alone

Chapter twenty

Blaiz

“Come on, Jade, almost there,” I say, speeding up, my eyes glued to the light ahead—Electric Avenue, my neon second home, where I spend my days acting like things make sense. The sign buzzes above us, bright as ever, but the second we round the corner, something in me drops.

The front gates are locked—tight, dead-bolted, no doubt about it—and my stomach knots up immediately, like my body’s trying to reject the sight before my brain even processes it.

“What the fuck…?!” I breathe, squinting through the bars, trying to make sense of the unsteady light still shining from inside.

The display TVs haven’t shut off—some loop through bullshit demo footage, others spit out static like they’ve shorted out—but it’s the shine that gets me, that sickly fluorescent light, like the store’s alive.

From deep inside, the bassline of th e storefront stereo pounds like a heartbeat silenced under floorboards.

“Greg! Hey, Greg!” I shout, slamming my palms against the cold-ass metal gate, my voice ricocheting down the mall.

He has to be in there. He has to. Greg owns the place—hell, he owns this whole damn mall—he’s the only one who could be here.

It sure as shit wouldn’t be Andy, not that creep, not this late.

Greg would blow a fuse if he even thought Andy was hanging around after hours.

I call out again, louder this time, my fist pounding against the gate hard enough to make my knuckles ache, but there’s nothing. No movement, no shadow behind the displays, just that eerie sound.

“Fuck this,” I mutter, turning to Jade, who hasn’t moved from where she’s remaining a few feet behind me, arms wrapped around herself like she’s trying to hold in her own fear. “Let’s check the back door. The stockroom leads straight into his office. I’ve got keys.”

She nods and walks in sync so close behind me I can feel her breath against the back of my neck. The hallway stretches ahead of us like something out of a nightmare, too long, and too empty. Every fucking creak, every sound from an unseen vent, feels too loud.

“I’m gonna radio Derrick,” Jade whispers, digging out her walkie like it’s a lifeline. “Derrick, you there? Over.”

Just static. A low hiss, no voice. No confirmation. Nothing.

I reach the plain metal door marked Employees Only and search through my ring of keys, my hands are trembling more than I want to reveal.

When I finally get the right one, the lock clicks and the door swings inward into total fucking darkness.

I lean in, turn on the light, and the stockroom is filled with a humming sound.

Rows of boxes, sealed tight and stacked, fill the space, and for a second, I tell myself it looks normal.

We move fast, straight to the office tucked at the back, the one place Greg always is when he isn’t standing at the front counter. “Greg?” I call, pushing the door open.

Empty .

But not untouched.

His coffee mug sits right there, on the edge of the desk, still steaming. Not lukewarm. Not forgotten. Hot. Fresh. Like he stepped away just seconds ago.

I glance at Jade, already forming the sentence—He must’ve gone to the bathroom or something—when something catches my eyes. I turn, slowly, my gaze moving from the chair to the floor—and there it is, tucked half under a stack of crumpled instruction books beside the desk leg.

A fucking hand.

Skin-toned, severed clean, fingers curled like it had been gently set down instead of dropped in a panic.

The sound that rushes out of me doesn’t even feel human—it’s raw, broken, not a word, not a thought, just this savage scream that bursts out of my throat. Jade jumps, her eyes mirroring mine, and when she sees it, her own scream erupts out.

“RUN!” I scream, grabbing her by the arm without waiting for her reaction.

There’s no logic, no strategy, just pure fucking terror and adrenaline flooding every nerve in my body.

We tear out of the office, down the distance of the stockroom, back through the floor where the TVs glow, like they’re mocking us or something.

I slam through the employee door, Jade right behind me, and we nearly fall into the mall hallway.

Then the music starts.

The overhead speakers, which had spent the night playing relaxed jazz and store announcements, cut out mid-note—as if something had yanked the cord straight from the wall. For a moment, there was silence. And then, something colder creeps in: the fucking Halloween theme.

That’s when I know—we’re not just being watched anymore. Someone’s waiting for us.

The quiet doesn’t last. That floating piano note’s sharp pain ruins the moment, then the notes creep down my spine. It wraps around everything; this mall, the silence, Jade’s trembling body, and turns it into some fucked-up stage. A soundtrack, built just for us .

“Go. Run towards the food court,” I say, grabbing Jade’s arm and dragging her along, my eyes sweeping the walkway ahead—the dark storefronts with their dead display windows, the stiff mannequins frozen in place, the lifeless escalators that stretch upward into blackness.

We run, our footsteps crashing against the tile, that cursed music increasing behind us, like it’s chasing us on two legs with a knife.

The food court yawns ahead like a place of the dead—chairs flipped over, trays strewn across the floor, napkins plastered to puddles of spilled soda. No people. Just the aftermath. At the far edge, behind the burger place, I see it: a narrow hallway tucked away where employees disappear on breaks.

We don’t slow down.

The dim entryway absorbs us whole, the lights above flickering just enough to throw everything into jerky motion, like frames from a broken film reel.

The stink hits immediately—old grease, bleach, something sour beneath it all.

Jade’s sobs echo off the concrete, and it’s like the music’s still seeping through the damn walls.

“It wasn’t real,” she gasps out between sobs, like if she says it fast enough, loud enough, she’ll start to believe it. “The hand, maybe it was fake. There wasn’t even blood. You saw it, right?”

I want to lie, and maybe I do. “You’re probably right.” I don’t know if I sound convincing, and I don’t really care. She just needs to keep moving. “We’re going to try the walkie again. Maybe Derrick, Drew or Eva will answer us.”

I touch the radio on my belt as if it were important, even though it’s been silent for the last half-hour as the world has fallen apart.

We keep going. The hallway has a small bend, doors along each side, and a low hum from machines hidden behind them: boilers, ice machines, the things missed when broken.

Each door feels like a question we don’t want to answer.

And then one of them isn’t fully shut. A heavy metal thing, gaping open just enough to let out a slow puff of cold.

It’s a walk-in .

“Here,” I say, drawing Jade closer, whispering because any noise might stir something up.

She flinches back, shaking her head. “It’s gonna be fucking freezing in there,” she says hesitantly, immediately hugging herself tight.

“It will be,” I say.

There are racks of produce, shelves of sealed containers, and a stainless-steel hook hanging a little too perfectly from the ceiling. The air hits my face—sharp, sterile, laced with lemon cleaner and something vaguely like flesh. I hate it. But it feels safe. Or at least unseen.

“I think this is our best shot,” I mutter. “Just for now. Just until we know that everything is going to be okay.”

I step inside first. The cold covers me instantly, stinging my skin, and clinging to my clothes. I turn, meeting Jade’s eyes, silently begging her to follow me. Because out there, the music hasn’t stopped. Out there, someone’s still listening and watching us.