Page 10 of Mania

Maeve

My chin slipsout from where it was resting in my open palm and I startle awake, quickly straightening myself up on the chair I’m sitting in. I glance around, worried I might have been caught dozing off, but the lobby is as quiet as always.

Now I understand why there wasn’t much training involved in the position: I’m a glorified night guard. In the four days I’ve been employed, a guest has only needed my assistance once.

I’m bored out of my mind most of the time.

There’s something about the early morning hours that feels like time has simply stopped and I’ve been forgotten inside a pocket of time in a far corner of the universe.

I try to occupy myself by reading or jotting down half-finished poems in my small notebook.

But …

I can’t evade the unnerving feeling that’s been plaguing me since I woke up in the graveyard nearly a week ago. I break out in goosebumps anytime my mind drags me back to that memory.

I don’t have any answers—and I don’t think I ever will.

I also can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched. I can never seem to escape the feeling, whether it’s here during my long shifts at the reception desk, or my late lunches in the hotel restaurant, or even in my bedroom at night.

It’s like a subtle prickle. A nearly-there tingle.

I don’t think I would be so sensitive to it if I hadn’t experienced the terror of being buried alive. Evenifit was just a vivid nightmare … it certainly didn’t feel that way.

“Excuse me.”

I’m pulled out of my thoughts by a soft, polite voice. Looking up, I find a young woman in a cream floor-length nightgown standing by the desk. I notice she’s barefoot but quickly avert my eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” I mutter as an apology, quickly stepping off the chair, trying to look more alert. “I didn’t notice you there.”

She quietly smiles, her red hair falling nearly down to her hips. “No need to apologize. It’s just —” Her smile drops as she looks around the lobby. “It’s silly really, but I can’t seem to remember my room number. Do you think you can help me?”

“Of course,” I say. “Let me just grab the guest book in the back office.”

She nods sweetly, hands poised together near her waist. I find the guest book on the desk. “What did you say your name was?” I ask, keeping my head down as I sift through the pages. When she doesn’t immediately answer, I look up.

She’s disappeared.

Dropping the book beside me, I lean against the reception desk to better look around—no sign of her. I crane my neck to look down the darkened corridor, but it’s empty.

“Okay …” I say slowly, elongating the word for dramatic effect. “You’re welcome, I guess?”

I think I hear faint footsteps approaching from the otherside and whip my head around but see no one. My nape tingles for the umpteenth time tonight, but this time I ignore it and sit back down. I check the time. “Only four more hours,” I say out loud with a sigh, my chin finding its way back to my open palm as I rest my elbow against the desk.

Time slows back to a crawl.

I struggle to stay awake.

I’m flung backinto awareness.

I’m … I—I’m naked in a bathtub and try to scream but nothing comes out. I try to move, try to pull myself out of the water, but I can’t seem to move my limbs. It’s hard to describe pure, unadulterated fear when every single piece of myself is focused on how to stop the feeling.

It’s instinctual. The lizard part of the brain desperate to survive, desperate to protect.

My arm moves.

If I could scream, my lungs would be burning from the strain becauseI’mnot the one moving my arm. I can’t stop it. The only thing I seem to control is the tears streaking down my cheeks.

My hand reaches for the blade resting on the side of the bathtub, and the terror that accompanies it feels damn near fatal.

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