Page 5

FOUR

FREYA

My hair was damp, locks sticking to my neck, and drops of water trickled down from scars on my hands. Each scar was burning upon my skin. I couldn’t bring myself to look at them—tiny, red souvenirs of something I wanted to take back. I knew I shouldn’t have done this. But sometimes, I can’t think straight when dark thoughts take me. And lately, shadows danced across my mind.

Looking into the mirror, I immediately wished I hadn’t. The face in front of me was a ghost of me: pale, empty, draped in a loose white shirt that hung limply from my body. My legs and face matched the color of a towel wrapped around my head.

I wished sometimes I could be someone else, but I was stuck in this body.

I inhaled deeply and unwrapped the towel, my hands raking through the damp locks, squeezing out excess water. The towel landed in a soggy puddle on my bedside floor as I picked up the old brush I dug from the bathroom drawer. I brushed my hair, one brushstroke at a time.

Somehow, I calmed myself and said being alone in the house wasn’t that bad. All doors and windows were locked.

I am as safe as I could be.Right?

I left the brush lying on the table beside the mirror and turned towards the door. I hadn’t wanted to go outside my room until morning, but the possibility of having tea and a book—something, anything to distract me from my thoughts—prevailed.

There may be something to read on the living room bookshelf.

Slipping from my bedroom, I crept down the hall and the stairs. The house was never this dark. The air was different, too quiet. I wrapped my arms about me and moved into the kitchen, flicking the light switch with a hesitant touch of my fingers.

The light flooded over the naked countertops. I looked to my left and my right, my eyes darting about as if I was about to step into traffic.

Just making sure that no one was here.

That I was still alone.

I wandered over to the counter, my arms reaching for the kettle, and filled it with water and put it to boil. The hiss of the boiling kettle filled the quiet kitchen. I leaned my body back into the wall, my arms heavy from my lack of sleep, my eyes growing heavy too.

His face was frozen in my mind. Still haunted me. And I couldn’t let him into my dreams, either.

Tea was not enough. I needed something stronger.

I reached for a mug and spooned in several grinds of instant coffee. The kettle finally whirred to silence, and I poured hot water over the powder. The intense smell of coffee filled my nose, grounding me in place.

I circled my hands around the hot mug and gazed in the direction of the window. The howling outside, winding its way through trees, and bent branches until they smacked into each other. The maple tree was my focal point—red leaves scattered about like blood on the damp ground.

For a moment, I found peace in the storm. The rain, the wind, and darkness felt strangely comforting. Almost. Until that feeling crept in.

That strangely familiar feeling ofbeing watched.

Again.

My breathing was stuck in my throat as my eyes drifted past the maple tree. The moment I looked his way again, he was there. Standing under the tree.

Shadowed branches crossed his face, but I still knew. Even without the helmet.

I gasped.

The mug fell from my grasp and smacked hard onto the floor, breaking into thousands of little pieces. The coffee splattered across the tiles, and my heart was racing in my ribcage, my breathing turning into gasps.

This is how each horror movie starts. And it never ends well.

I let out a scream and backed away, my hands going up to cover my face. I collided with the wall, my fingers spreading enough to look through.

He was gone.

Fear took over me, chilling and paralyzing. He could be anywhere now. Anywhere.

I sprinted from the kitchen, my bare feet hardly noticing the sharp pieces of broken china under them. The living area was impossibly empty, dark seeping into each corner, stretching where there shouldn’t be.

The telephone.

I grabbed for it, pulling it from the cabinet in my trembling hands. I bunched my fingers over the buttons to dial.

999.

The line rang twice before an operator answered.

“Emergency. Which service do you need?”

I was gasping for breath, gripping the telephone in my hand, hoping he could hear me.

“P-Police, I need the police!”

“Okay, stay on the line. Can you tell me your address?” the operator said, I could hear her fingers typing on the keyboards as I said my address.

“14 Balmore Road, Milton, Glasgow.” I said slowly, my voice trembling. My palm now pressed against my mouth to muffle the sound of my shaky breathing.

“What’s happening? Are you in immediate danger?” she asked, still typing; I could hear the clicks on the line.

I turned around, and somehow I felt his eyes on me, but I didn’t know from where, my breath just came out quicker, “There’s a man—outside my house. He was watching me.”

“Do you know him?”

My stomach twisted into thousands of little knots, punching my gut.

“No.” I said, “I mean, I don’t know. I... He was following me earlier.”

“Okay, I’ve dispatched officers to your location. Stay inside and lock the doors and windows. Can you still see him?”

I was about to turn, my eyes searching for him through the window. “No… but he was right there. He’s—gone now.”

“Alright, stay on the phone with me. Is there anyone else in the home?”

Just about to respond, my line went dead.

I was not alone in the house anymore.

I dropped the telephone. It hit hard on the ground, and I wasn’t moving until the image of him flashed in front of my eyes. My bare feet slammed against the wooden steps as I sprinted upstairs, my heart pounding so hard in my chest I could barely hear my breathing. The steps rang in my ears as fear climbed up my spine.

I grabbed the door and flung it open, sliding into the room.

Holding. Listening. He was here. Somewhere.

The wind gust swept in through the open window, and the curtains whirled inside. My fingers brushed against the table, wrapping around the hard plastic lamp. I lifted it and held it in the air in my trembling hands.

Is he still inside?

My breath came in shallow gasps as I moved forward, the lamp raised above my head, its cord swinging behind my back. My eyes scanned the room from corner to corner. The air felt too still, too thick like the room itself was holding its breath with me.

Then—I turned.

On my bed, arranged with maple red leaves, was a smiley face.

The lamp slipped from my hands, hit the carpet, bounced, and struck my foot. I didn’t flinch. Didn’t feel it.

All I could do was stare.

Breath hitched. Lungs frozen.

My heartbeat rattled inside me. My hand clamped against my chest as if I could physically hold my heart in place. My eyes stretched wide, panic creeping up my throat.

I shook my head. A whisper fell from my lips.

“Where the fuck are you?”

I stepped back, my legs unsteady, hands shaking as though they weren’t my own.

Then—the sound.

A knock.

Sharp. Hollow. Too loud.

Then again.

Louder.

It sliced through the silence, each pound against the door carving into my ribs. My pulse roared in my ears.

Police? Or him?

I had to move.

Forcing my legs to move, I walked downstairs, my breath shallow between my lips. I hesitated at the door, peering through the blurred windowpane. Flashing colors bled into the glass—red, blue, red, blue.

I had to open the door.

My fingers found the handle while my eyes were still on the windowpane, and I pulled, moving with the door.

The officers stood there, looking at me. They must’ve seen all sorts of things, but from the way they stared, I had this feeling I was a walking mess, barely holding myself together. My hair was still damp, my black under-eyes growing darker by the minute, and that white shirt just hung off me. My chest rose and fell rapidly as I struggled to catch a breath.

One officer stepped forward, saying carefully. “It’s okay. You called us. We’re here to help.”

I swallowed hard, nodding, trying to force my body to believe his words.

One of them turned away, already scanning the perimeter around the house, his flashlight cutting through the night and shining towards the thorned bushes near the window.

The other stepped inside, closing the door behind him. His notepad was out. His mouth was moving, asking too many questions I wasn’t ready to answer.

I wasn’t sure if it was over. Or if it was just beginning.

But one thing was for sure, that man, my stalker... He will be back.

I barely slept last night.

The officers had combed through every inch of the house. They stayed for hours, checking and rechecking as if the danger might still be there in the shadows. At some point, they called Grandma. I’d never heard her sound so concerned. She didn’t hesitate to cut her trip short and said she’d be here today instead of Monday. I know that should have comforted me. But it didn’t. For a moment, I even thought about calling Dean. But I talked myself out of it.

My eyes burned from too many tears, the skin beneath them darker than yesterday. My limbs felt numb. My mind wouldn’t quiet. I was tired. I was scared. And more than anything, I just wanted it to stop.

But it wouldn’t.

The clock buzzed. 6 a.m. sharp.

I could hear the low hum of an approaching car in the yard. I knew it had to be her.

I forced myself to get up, my body protesting every single movement. Sliding into my slippers, I rushed downstairs, feet barely touching the steps. The moment I saw her at the door, something inside me cracked.

Tears came to my eyes again, and before I could think, I ran straight into her arms, clinging to her warmth, to the only thing that felt safe.

“Oh, darling,” she murmured, holding me tighter, the guilt pressing into her as she kissed the top of my head. “I never should have left you all alone.”

She clicked her tongue, pulling back just enough to cup my face in her hands. Gently, she wiped the tears from my cheeks, then took my hand in hers. I followed her wordlessly into the living room, my pulse still uneven, my thoughts still a mess.

“He’s gone now,” I said, the words leaving my lips too quickly.

As if saying them would make them true. As if I could force myself to believe it.

But deep down, I knew better. He was laughing at me.

I could still feel his breath behind my neck, the hunger in his eyes.

It wasn’t just fascination. It was something darker, something more dangerous.

And no matter how much I tried to convince myself otherwise, I knew the truth.

And the worst part?

This wasn’t over.

Not even close.