Page 50 of Stalked By the Alphas
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the hallucination to disappear. But when I open them again, the man is still there, watching me from behind that white half-mask. A whimper escapes my throat as panic claws at me. I need to get away, to hide, but my body won’t cooperate. I’m paralysed with fear. A scream bubbles up, but I clamp my hand over my mouth to stifle it. I don’t want Carter to hear, to come rushing in and see me like this.
Trembling violently, I back away from the window until my legs hit the bed. I sink down onto the mattress. “Go away. Please, just go away.” I curl into myself, hugging my knees to my chest as I rock back and forth. Tears stream down my face as I struggle to breathe through the panic.
This can’t be real. It has to be the medication, or stress, or lack of sleep. But some small, terrified part of me wonders - what if it is real? What if I’m not hallucinating at all?
When my breathing finally stops coming in harsh pants, I inhale deeply and exhale. I need to know if it’s still there, so I force myself to look back at the window, dreading what I might see. The masked man is gone, but the relief I feel is short-lived. My skin crawls with the certainty that it’s still out there somewhere, waiting, watching. I crawl under the covers and pull the duvet over my head, curling up into a ball and squeezing my eyes shut, willing myself to go to sleep, to detach from this reality and to try to get some rest. But all I can see when I close my eyes is that face. That horrible, grinning face.
A noise startles me, but I realise it’s just Carter moving around downstairs. The sounds should be comforting, but instead, they just remind me how isolated I am up here. How vulnerable.
My mind races, replaying the image of the man over and over. Was it real? A hallucination? Or something worse? The uncertainty gnaws at me, making my skin crawl.
I need to calm down and think rationally, but every creak in the house, every shadow flickering across thewall, sends a fresh wave of panic through me. My breath comes in short, sharp gasps again as I struggle to control my racing heart.
Suddenly, the silence is shattered by a loud thump from downstairs. I jolt upright, my heart in my throat. What was that? Is Carter okay?
I strain my ears, listening for any further sounds. Nothing. The silence stretches on, oppressive and suffocating.
Should I check? The thought of leaving the relative safety of the bedroom terrifies me. But the thought of lying here, imagining all sorts of horrors, is almost worse.
Another thump, louder this time. I can’t stand it anymore. I have to know what’s going on.
Slowly, I ease myself out of bed. My legs feel like jelly as I creep towards the door. I pause, my hand hovering over the doorknob. Do I really want to do this? But another muffled thump from downstairs propels me into action. What if Carter is in trouble, and I’m cowering up here when he might need my help?
I open the door as quietly as possible, wincing at the slight creak of the hinges. I feel sick from the erratic thump of my heart when I take the stairs, slowly, quietly.
Clinging to the bannister, I make my way down the stairs, pausing every few steps to listen. The house is eerily silent now. No more thumps or strange noises. Just the oppressive quiet pressing in on me from all sides.
As I reach the bottom of the stairs, a floorboard creaks under my foot. I freeze, holding my breath. Nothing. No reaction to the noise.
“Carter?” I call out softly, my voice barely above a whisper. No response.
I edge into the living room, but it’s empty.
A shadow moves in my peripheral vision, and I whirl around, a scream lodged in my throat. But there’s nothing there. It’s just my imagination playing tricks on me again.
I’m about to turn back when something catches my eye—a smear of red on the doorframe leading to the kitchen. My blood runs cold as I approach slowly, hardly daring to breathe.
It’s blood. Fresh and glistening. My heart pounds so hard I can hear it in my ears. With trembling fingers, I reach out to touch the smear, half-expecting it to disappear. But it’s real, wet and sticky against my skin.
“Carter?” I call out again, louder this time. My voice cracks with fear. Still no answer.
I force myself to take a step into the kitchen, then another.
A soft scraping sound comes from behind me. I whirl around, my breath catching in my throat. Nothing’s there, but the hair on the back of my neck stands on end.
“Carter, please,” I whisper, “if this is some kind of joke, it’s not funny.”
A strangled sob escapes me as I back away, needingto get back to my room. What happened here? Where’s Carter?
Suddenly, a hand clamps over my mouth from behind. I try to scream, but the sound is muffled against the gloved palm. An arm wraps around my waist, pulling me back against a solid chest.
“Shh, shh,” a voice whispers in my ear.
A bloodcurdling scream rips from my throat, muffled against his hand, as I recognise that voice. It brings a terror with it like no other.
“Shh, baby girl,” the masked magician from Leah’s party murmurs in my ear. “Be a good girl and don’t make a sound, or your boyfriend is going to end up in the ground. Do you understand?” A flash of steel catches my eye as he holds up a wickedly sharp knife.
My blood turns to ice at the masked magician’s chilling words. Carter. Oh God, what has he done to Carter?
