Page 25 of Don’t Watch Alone

The lights are out. The black absorbs everything. I stumble, catching myself on something cold and smooth. Plastic. Mannequins. I push between them, finding a narrow gap, and press myself in. I stand still with my breath held. Pretending I’m one of them.

I wait.

He walks past. His figure moves in the same slow, calculated way, searching the unlit area like he’s sniffing me out. I don’t dare breathe until his shape fades. My heart still slams in my chest, loud enough I think it might give me away. But it’s quiet. He’s gone. I think.

Then I shift, just slightly, and feel something against my hand. Something cold.

Familiar.

My fingers slide over it, and then up; onto a face. It’s not plastic; it’s skin.

Cold.

I jerk my hand back as if I’ve been shocked, but it’s too late.

It’s Derrick.

He’s standing, propped up like the mannequins, dressed exactly like before—but his face is waxy and pale, and his eyes… fuck, his eyes are open, vacant, and still. One tear. One perfect tear still frozen on his cheek. He’s gone. And it hits me all at once—Jade, Derrick… who the fuck is next?

Grief wants to engulf me completely, but a tough, nasty sensation develops as a result. A desperate kind of rage. I can’t die here. I won’t.

I tear away from him, not looking back. My feet slam the floor as I sprint toward the elevator, and this time, I don’t slow down.

I hit the button over and over, jamming my finger into it like it’ll make the thing move faster.

The doors creak open. I throw myself inside, slam my palm on the ‘2’ button.

I need to get to that toy store and find out why Eva hasn’t answered me on the walkie.

The elevator is a gamble. The second that bell chimes, the bastard chasing me will know I’m here.

I press the button anyway because I don’t have any other options.

The ride feels like it lasts forever, my reflection in the filthy steel walls looking pale and hopeless.

The doors slide open on the second floor, and as I step out, something wet drips onto my face.

I reach up, smear it with my palm, and pull my hand back.

Blood. My stomach jerks. I tilt my head up, and my heart stops.

A foot dangles from the emergency exit above.

The sneaker is the same one Drew had been wearing earlier.

A scream forces its way up, but I smack my hand over my mouth. I can’t let the killer know where I am.

I force myself out of the elevator and sprint to the toy store.

The gate is already open, like it’s some kind of invitation.

Inside, the aisles of dolls and board games feel like a twisted funhouse.

I whisper to myself with every step, praying Eva is alive somewhere in this store. The deeper I go, the colder it feels.

And then I see her.

She sits in a wooden rocking chair in the center of an aisle, her body unnervingly still. Her head is gone, but it’s resting in her lap, her glassy eyes staring straight at me. My scream explodes out of me before I can stop it.

The mall PA comes to life with static. “Blaiz, you won’t escape. You’re next.” The voice drips with amusement, followed by a laugh that’s so twisted and gleeful it makes my skin crawl.

I ran straight to the sporting goods store.

Locked. I yank at the gate until my hands ache, but it won’t budge.

Panic pushes me back into the hallway, scanning for anything I can use as a weapon.

I race down the escalator to the first floor, every step echoing through the empty mall.

The movie theater—there has to be something inside I can use for a weapon.

Behind the concession counter, I dig through drawers and cabinets, finally grabbing a metal bar. Then I hear it. Footsteps.

“Blaiz… Blaiz…” A whisper, so familiar.

My chest tightens. A hand clamps down on my arm, and I swing with every ounce of strength I have. The bar smashes into a body with a sick thud. The figure collapses. I blink and see Andy lying flat out on the sticky floor.

My brain searches for answers. Was he the killer? He had to be. But then why whisper my name like that? Was he warning me or trying to lure me closer? I don’t have time to figure it out. The PA laughter echoes in my skull, and every instinct tells me to run.

I shove through the theater doors. The room consumes me.

The smell of stale popcorn and syrupy cherry slush is heavy in the air.

A blank screen appears ahead, the rows of seats stretching out like a dark, endless maze.

I hurry down the aisle. My shoes are sinking into the sticky carpet. Every sound I make seems too loud.

I crouch behind the last row, pressing myself to the wall, fighting to slow down my breathing. My eyes glance across the room. The only doors are the ones I came through and the little access door to the projector booth high above. If I went up there, it would make me a sitting duck.

A single creak cuts through the silence, far off, somewhere near the concessions. My blood chills. Either Andy woke up, or the real killer is coming to get me.

The bar is still in my grasp. It offers little security, but I have nothing else. I look over the tops of the seats. I see dark areas and the soft light from the lobby, but no movement.

Then the theater speakers come to life with static.

A warped lullaby pours out gradually and off-key.

Twinkle, twinkle, little star. I have a bad feeling.

He’s playing with me, twisting the toy store’s soundtrack into a death song.

He is waiting for my reaction, either from the projector booth or somewhere else.

The red glowing fire alarm near the exit looks like deliverance to me. If I can reach it, maybe I’ll draw attention, maybe force him out. I inch down the aisle, silent as I can, the lullaby throbbing through the night. Halfway there, it stops.

The sudden silence is worse than the song.

“Found you, Blaiz.”

The voice is right behind me, guttural and close enough to feel on my skin.

I spin, and swing the bar with everything I have. It collides with something soft, then hard, and a grunt of pain follows. I don’t wait. I bolt for the exit, shove the doors open, and run desperately to get away from the killer.