Page 6

Go through what again?

This time I was sure she'd take me straight to some kind of mental hospital, so sure that I was genuinely surprised when we arrived back at her magnificent house. Polly barely slowed as she turned into the curved driveway, skidding to a halt when we were right in front of the door.

As soon as the car came to a stop, Polly leapt out. She opened the door for me, then dragged me out, holding onto me with a tight, steely grip. She didn't let go until we were in the house and the door locked behind us.

Part of me wanted to shout at her to get away from me, but I couldn't bring myself to. I was still too freaked out by what happened to be alone.

Without uttering a word, Polly led me down the hall, back into the room.

She pushed me to sit onto the bed then went to the dresser, opening the top drawer and rifling through the contents.

She began pulling out various items, tossing them beside me on the bed.

Cotton pads.

Gauze.

Medical tape.

Individually wrapped disinfectant wipes.

I stared at them with curiosity. What strange things to keep in a guest bedroom...

It dawned on me then. This wasn't a guest bedroom. Last night I had been too distracted by the message to notice, but I could see it all clearly now.

The bed and side tables were bolted to the floor. The dresser was secured to the wall. The windows had bars on them, and Polly kept drawers full of medical supplies on hand. It was almost like she had been ready for this, waiting for this exact sort of thing to happen.

Why did this place exist?

Polly knelt in front of me, avoiding my gaze, her brow twisted inwards, knotted in fury.

Taking my arm forcefully, she pulled up my stained sweater sleeves, painfully ripping back the fabric that had been stuck to my skin with drying blood.

I chewed my lip to stifle my cries, not eager to exacerbate the situation by making any noise.

Tearing open two of the packets, Polly pulled out what looked like wet naps, their stinging alcohol scent invading my nostrils.

She unfolded one and then callously placed it on my wounds, rubbing them down, washing away the crusted blood.

I winced and clenched my teeth; the alcohol stung, but at least I knew that some good would come from this kind of pain.

After Polly was satisfied with her cleaning job, she placed thin cotton pads along my gashes and wrapped an entire roll of gauze around them, holding it in place with tape. Each of my arms was now a thick and padded mass of white fabric.

When she was done, Polly gathered up the discarded wrappers and simply walked out of the room. She began to close the door but paused for a moment, peering through the gap.

She met my shining, wet eyes with her cold, distant ones once more. "Try to stay out of trouble," she commanded, then slammed the door shut. A familiar thunk followed, the sound of her locking me in.

Unable to hold myself up any longer, I fell backwards on the bed, pulling my knees in close.

For the first few hours, I was in too much shock to really do anything except hold myself and tremble there.

Processing the incomprehensible turn my life had taken was difficult.

There was something—and this was difficult to admit to myself—unnatural in my apartment, and now I was being held captive by someone I thought was my friend.

Though I already feared it, actually knowing that it, whatever it was, could touch me destroyed what was left of my logical foundations.

As I finally began to relax, I tried my very hardest to sort out my thoughts, no matter how impossible they seemed.

The growling thing in my apartment wanted me gone.

Fine, I would leave.

My stomach twisted at the thought of finding a new place, packing, moving.

.

.

all over again.

The money I had gotten from selling my old things was pretty much gone, so I'd probably have to live in some rundown place, but that was better than what I feared would happen to me if I chose to stay where I was. At least I would be able to leave that jerk of a neighbour behind as well.

But to do those things, I would have to convince Polly that I was (mostly) sane.

How would I do that, if she wouldn't listen to me? To her credit, she had taken me in and tried to help me... but I also understood that she wasn't my friend anymore.

For some reason, she had assumed the role of my caretaker.

Maybe I would just have to lay low for a bit, play nice, do as she said, and she would loosen her grip on me.

It was hard to stay angry with Polly, despite everything.

I knew how it must've looked, and why she would be reluctant to believe me. After all, until that moment in my kitchen, I, too, believed that there had to be some logical explanation for these events, even if that logical explanation was that I had lost my mind. Why shouldn't Polly have reached the same conclusion?

She hadn't heard the growl. She hadn't felt its burning touch.

She had no reason to believe in the supernatural.

And trying to convince her otherwise would only make me seem crazier.

But that was something else that bothered me. Polly wasn't exactly acting normal herself. And she had obviously gone through something similar before... taking care of someone mentally fragile, like me.

I couldn't help but wonder who it had been, and the thought haunted me as I drifted into an uneasy sleep.

?

"Yes?" I called back immediately, knowing it was Polly.

"Are you hungry?" she asked through the door. Her voice was neither angry nor creepily cheerful... She actually sounded like her old self. "I made some food for you, if you want it."

I hesitated for a second, debating it. I was still a little wary of her, but I hadn't really eaten anything for the past day and a half, so I was ravenously hungry. And I figured it could be a good opportunity to put my plan into action. "Yeah. Some food would be nice."

Polly unlocked and opened the door. When she saw me sitting calmly on the side of the bed, she smiled and stepped aside to allow me to leave. I stood slowly, afraid that if I made any sudden movements she'd slam the door and lock me in again...

I walked past her and out into the hall.

We headed back down the narrow passage towards the foyer.

Polly took a sharp turn to the left, walking away from the front door, towards the back of the house.

She directed me through another large archway that opened into the lavish dining room.

The walls were papered with a dense pattern of leaves and vines, with white panelling on the bottom half.

A large brass chandelier hung above a huge antique dining table that could seat sixteen in the lush, cushioned chairs that encircled it.

But as she led me further into the room, I saw that there was only one place setting at the head of the long table.

Polly went ahead, pulled out the pretty chair in front of it, and smiled; this was for me. I began to see that once gentle smile as a command. One that I would have to obey if I were going to regain my sanity in her eyes. I smiled back and took my seat.

Once I was settled, she inched away.

"I'll be back in just a moment," she said and disappeared through a narrow door in the corner of the room. When she was out of sight, I thought of leaving, of running away, but it was hopeless. Where would I go? I couldn't go back to my apartment. And, even if I wanted to, Polly still had my keys. I slumped back in my chair.

Polly soon returned with a huge pot of... macaroni and cheese. She placed it in front of me and stepped back to give me full access. But I could only stare at it, dumbfounded. In a classy place like this, I was not expecting macaroni. And not so much of it!

I looked up questioningly, and Polly blushed a little.

"Uhm, yeah, I know, it's not much, but I'm not much of a cook..." she said, avoiding my gaze as she played with her hair.

I capitalized on this hint of friendly exchange. "Macaroni's fine, but... why did you make so much?" I asked, trying my best to sound casual and innocent.

"I could only find this huge pot. It didn't make sense to only fill it up part of the way," she replied, plainly, like that was a normal conclusion to come to.

Despite myself, despite everything, I laughed. It was a small comfort to know that beneath all her cold armour, there was still a shadow of the woman I knew. I helped myself to the enormous, steaming pot of macaroni, smirking to myself.

Polly sat in the chair next to mine, still a little pink.

Her playfulness faded quickly though, and she returned to watching me with narrowed eyes.

Though now she looked mildly confused, like she didn't expect to see me laughing and being logical. The same questions resurfaced in my mind; she was acting like she had been through this situation before.

"Polly," I said, putting the fork down. I made sure my tone was gentle. "I know you mean well. And I am grateful, very grateful, that you're trying to help. But you're also treating me like... like a prisoner. Is this all really necessary?"

Polly went white and her voice turned icy. "It's for your own safety."

"What do you mean?" I asked even though I knew what she meant: she thought I was a danger to myself and those around me. But I thought feigning innocence might get her to open up to me a little more.

"I know you're going through some hard stuff," Polly started, her voice barely a whisper, shaking a little. "Sometimes, when a person is under a lot of stress, it can make them think that there's no other way." She glanced at my bandaged arms.

"But all they need is to rest, to calm down, take a moment to reflect—with someone to watch them—so they can get better."

Had it been a little earlier, had I not been attacked in my apartment, I would have agreed with her.

If it had just been the noise and the note on my laptop, I could have easily tacked that up to excess stress, that my mind had been playing tricks on me.

But the gashes on my arms.

.

.

This was something more, something beyond ordinary comprehension, but there no proof that I didn't cut myself. Only my word, which at this moment, counted for nothing. But I had to try.

"Polly," I said, my tone as clear and even as I could make it. "I know how this all looks... But I'm not suicidal. Something attacked me. I know how utterly insane that sounds—believe me, I do—but it wasn't in my head. I'm not crazy."

"You weren't so sure of that yesterday..." Polly said.

I cringed, remembering it.

Yes, I had thought I was going crazy yesterday, but that was because I didn't want to come to terms with the fact that there might have been, that there was, some hostile supernatural presence in my apartment. That was, until I couldn't ignore it anymore.

"Yeah, but I was scared then. And confused. I'm feeling a lot more... sensible now."

Polly fidgeted in her seat. I took a mouthful of cheesy noodles and waited, watching her expectantly.

"Look, Rachel, I know you're usually a very practical, rational person." Polly's voice was hard, and she wouldn't look at me. "But that doesn't mean you're not susceptible to moments of... weakness. I know this all too well. I've seen this exact thing happen before."

Though I had suspected it, it was still a shock to hear her admit it. The tiny cheesy noodles tumbled out of my mouth as it fell open. "What?" I sputtered. "When? To who?"

Polly's eyes finally met mine. "To my sister, Lillian."

Her sister... She had never mentioned her sister before. I thought of the pretty girl in the portrait at the top of the stairs. Was that her? I couldn't force any of the questions that were tangling in my head out of my mouth, so I just stared at Polly in silence.

After a moment, it was obvious that she wasn't going to expand on that unless I asked, so I managed to force my mouth to work again. "What happened to your sister?"

Polly shook her head. "She went through some difficult times, just like you did, Rachel. There were some minor issues, but it started snowballing and... and she got very sick."

I tried to make my voice as relaxed as possible; it still shook a little. "Sick?"

"She was disturbed, Rachel."

"How?" I prodded.

Polly averted her eyes again. She blinked rapidly for a moment—was she on the verge of crying? I had never seen Polly cry before. It felt strange to see her like this now. "It was just like this. Just like you."

"Yeah," I said, feeling guilty for my impatience... but if this was just like my situation, I had to know more. "But what happened to your sister?"

Suddenly, Polly let out a strangled sob and hid her face in her hands.

My heart twinged as I watched her.

These answers were obviously painful for Polly to give.

It was difficult for me to decide between demanding more information and backing off, but while it hurt me to hurt her, at the same time, this was direly important to my situation.

I needed to know.

Thankfully, I didn't need to do any more heartless digging. Polly shuddered silently for a few more moments, then straightened up, took a deep breath, and continued, though her voice wavered. "S-she used to be completely fine, rational, independent... and happy. She was working on her master's, and she was in a long-term relationship, very much in love—at the time, it seemed like nothing could stop her.

"But the relationship ended suddenly, unexpectedly, just like yours. They had lived together, and everyone was sure they were going to get married... but just like that, it was over. She was devastated, like anyone would be, but I was sure she'd be okay. She was strong. Or, at least, I thought she was.

"And sure enough, she picked up the pieces and moved on. She got her own place, focussed on her studies... Everything seemed to be okay for a while. But then, for some reason, her mind began to... slip. She started telling me that strange things were happening in her new home. She would say she heard things... footsteps, voices... but I told her it had to be the other tenants in her building."

My throat felt dry and tight, and breathing became difficult. Polly was right, the similarities were eerie.

"But everything changed when she said she was attacked. She showed up on my doorstep one day, crying, with cuts all over her arms, sobbing that some invisible monster had attacked her."

Every muscle in my body tensed. My heart pounded so hard in my chest, I was afraid it might burst. An invisible monster?

"I took her in, of course. But right away I knew that something wasn't right."

"W-what do you mean?" I could no longer control my voice. It cracked and shook.

"Because whenever anything weird happened, or that 'imaginary monster' attacked, I was never around. It was obvious, Rachel. She was self-harming, and she was trying to hide it with some sort of delusion. What else could it be? A ghost?" Polly snorted derisively and then turned to stare right at me; her eyes were hard even though her cheeks shone with tears.

"She was using those supernatural stories as a scapegoat for her own actions."

A different fear started to creep through me. I swallowed hard.

Polly looked away again and continued. "But it broke my heart to see her like that. And I'll be damned before I let it happen to you, too. You're my friend, and I know you're stronger than this. You have to get a grip on yourself before it's too late."

I shuddered and swelled at the same time. Polly really did consider me a friend, despite all her strange behaviour. But just what wasn't Polly going to let happen to me? I had to know.

"What... happened?"

Polly shook her head again, her fiery cloud of hair whipping around her face.

Her face was clenched, her chin shook.

.

.

it was a look of pure pain.

"I tried to help her, but... it didn't work. I tried everything. Doctors, drugs... She was in and out of institutions, she saw several psychologists, but nothing helped. She refused to cooperate, saying that this was something only she could handle. And the doctors... they were useless. They said they couldn't find anything wrong with her, aside from depression, even though her arms were slashed to ribbons. They would release her, send her back home to me, or to her apartment, and then a few days later, I would find her with new scratch marks and cuts and then the cycle would start all over..." Polly covered her face in with her hands again and started sobbing quietly.

"I didn't understand!" Polly shrieked suddenly, pounding her fists on the table, making the dishes rattle. "I didn't understand why they thought she was sane enough to be on her own! She never told them about the 'monster' that attacked her, and they didn't listen to me when I told them. They never knew just how disturbed she had become. They just didn't have room for her, and they didn't think she was a danger to herself. But they were wrong... so wrong..." Tears streaked down Polly's face, and she was breathing so hard that I was afraid she was about to have a panic attack.

But now I knew for sure.

Polly didn't need to say it. Lillian was dead; I just didn't know the details.

Had Lillian had been pushed to suicide to escape the attacks?

Or was it one last onslaught by the entity itself?

My body tensed, and a chill shot through my veins.

Would my own invisible monster do the same to me?

"Polly," I said, my voice shaking with the rest of me. "Polly, maybe your sister wasn't... disturbed."

Polly snapped her head up and looked at me like I had just uttered the most offensive thing in the world.

"You're right, Polly. At least partially. I think I am going through the same thing as your sister. But it's not what you think it was. There really is something out there! Something tortured your sister, and something hurt me too!"

"Do you even hear yourself?" Polly whispered furiously, tears still pouring down her face. "Do you think you're in any state to judge for yourself? You didn't know my sister, you didn't see how she was, you don't know what it was like—"

"I do! I do know what it's like!" I shouted back, not in anger, but just to be heard over Polly's thundering voice. "I'm going through it as we speak!"

"It's not real!" she snarled through gritted teeth. "It's in your head! You're sick! How could you even know what's real anymore?"

I winced; that hurt. "You think I want to believe this is real? Of course not! I'd much rather be crazy, to be honest. But it is real!" I felt tears now freely flowing down my own cheeks.

"No!" she screamed, jumping out of her chair and covering her hands with her ears, trying to shut out my voice, like a child.

"Polly, please, listen to me—"

"No! Shut up! You're lying!"

But a scream erupted around us, just like in my apartment, as if it wanted to disagree. That hellish screech reverberated through my body, right through to the marrow in my bones.

I looked at Polly, to see if she heard it too. She had; her expression was wide-eyed terror. Her hands couldn't keep it out. In that moment, I knew that all her reasoning had dissolved. It had to be a horrible realization, but not as terrible as mine...

It had followed me.

Why? I was going to leave my apartment, I was going to do as it said. So, why'd it follow me? Terror choked me and froze me in my seat.

Suddenly my plate flew into the air and burst into a thousand shards.

The sharp pieces floated before me, as if in slow motion, before rushing towards my face.

I closed my eyes and raised my hands to shield myself as the shards shot past me.

A few tore into the flesh on my cheek, and I screamed in pain.

But my cry was drowned out by the thing's wail.

I opened my eyes cautiously, trying to think through the din of the screaming, looking around for it.

Like before, there was nothing there—or, at least, nothing I could see.

Polly just stood there, her eyes wide.

I shuddered at the thought of what was going through her mind right now: to know that her sister had been right all along, that the supernatural was real.

.

.

and that Polly had failed to believe her.

I attempted to grab her, to drag her after me as we made a break for the door, but as I reached for her, the huge, heavy table rose up into the air, knocking us back.

Polly crumpled to the ground and I was thrown into the wall.

The table soared higher and higher, touching the vaulted ceiling, and then flipped over.

It hung over Polly's collapsed form, lingering for a moment, before it began to descend. I lunged for Polly, trying to protect her.