Page 19 of Taunting Tarran
He’s been here, touching my things. But when?
Today! He’s been here today.
I back away from the disarray while still clutching the knife, and there, on my dining table sits a neat stack of freshly laundered and folded linen.
I reach out, my fingers brushing against the fabric.
‘OK, FUCKER. YOU CAN COME OUT NOW!’
I lash out, the knife pointing outwards. My grandpa would be so disappointed. He taught me better.
No one replies, the house is eerily empty. There’s no explanation. Either I’ve lost my mind and imagined this entire scenario, or I have a stalker. And what’s even worse is, I can’t tell anyone about it. Because, what’s truly insane, is that this is the most excitement I’ve had in years.
CHAPTER 10
THE BUTCHERBIRD
I clear each room, cautiously hoping that whoever was here has now gone. Nothing seems to have been taken, so whatever they were after wasn’t found. Yet, I still clutch the knife, just in case. Fear surges through my veins as I discover a note on my bed.
You’re getting warmer, Tarran.
I look left, then right, my heart pounding as I notice more items out of place. Finally, in the spare room, I suck in a deep breath, anticipating what’s to come. I pull the handle down and push open the door, and there, covering the floor like acarpet, are the petals of dozens of yellow roses…and another note.
I hope you like them.
I’m sure these weren’t here a few moments ago.
‘WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME? I’M CALLING THE POLICE!’ I shout, though I’m not really and have no intention of doing so. But he doesn’t need to know that. The last thing I need are more people probing into the fact that I’m in my thirties, live alone without even a pet, and to have some balding, middle-aged police officer remind me how dangerous my lifestyle is. Then, while rifling through my file, he stares at me and says, ‘You’re that girl! You’re her.’
I’m such a mess.
Sighing, I look outside towards the dense undergrowth, the patter of rain hammering against the window. The police here are pretty useless anyway. They wouldn’t do a damn thing to stop some lunatic breaking in. After all, he hadn’t taken anything, and if he had, I’d just be required to file a report. Grandpa always said, ‘Tarran, you must rely on yourself because no one else will look after you.’
As the storm really starts to roll in at sunset, I press my face against the cold glass, straining to see any movement on my driveway. I can’t seem to tear my eyes away, no matter how much I want to. Every rustle of leaves or flicker of a shadow sends a shiver down my spine.
They would be mad to be outside in this weather!
I’m straining harder, convinced someone is out there. The paranoia fuels my thoughts, each one more irrational than the last. I feel trapped, hyper-vigilant, and stuck in a never-ending cycle of anxiety.
FUCK THIS.
‘Eso es cariño…,’the voice whispers.
SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP.
I rush outside hurriedly throwing myself into my car to escape the anxiety that’s building.
The club is all I can think about, a place to drown out the voices. I turn the engine, my mind already drifting to all the sordid things The Conqueror will do to me.
The teeth? No, it can’t be.
I am praying the teeth incident was just a sick joke.
Then, as I start to pull away, a strong hand clamps over my mouth from behind, immobilising me. My heart leaps to my throat, and I freeze in horror.
I try to struggle, but a cold, menacing voice whispers in my ear.
‘I wouldn’t struggle, baby girl. Something tells me you were on your way to the club, defying my explicit instructions. And we can’t have that, can we?’
