Page 9 of Fright Night
Another meal I have zero desire to attend.
The walk from City Hall to the park is only a few blocks and my pace remains swift. The October breeze blows harshly on my legs, making me question why a skirt over pants was my choice when dressing. Coupled with the chill, another kind trails me. The kind one gets when being watched.
He’s nearby. No matter how many peeks over my shoulder, there’s nothing around. The road, being midday, is fairly quiet with only the occasional car driving by and none slow enough to suggest one is carrying Knox.
There’s nothing here…yet he is. Hemustbe.
Sinking my hands into the pockets of my coat, my shoulders lift to my ears. Partly for warmth and partly to rid the sensation slinking down my spine. If Knox is nearby, I wish he’d make himself known and get the pain over with.
He’s not back to play tricks. He’s back for revenge.
Because I fucked up.
After his arrest, I attempted to fix my mistake by insisting to Henry that I lied to the police and should be the one in trouble, not Knox. That it was a stupid game that inadvertently went too far. Henry seemed to believe me, though begrudgingly, but nothing ever came of it, no matter how far my insistence to get the charges entirely dropped went.
He claimed the best he could do was knock the drug possession and dealing charges to community service rather than jail, but we both knew what utter bullshit that was. I’ve witnessed the man talk about so many backdoor and shady deals for crimes worse than Knox’s accusations, but he suddenly “couldn’t” help his own son.Wouldn’tis more likely.
I’d believe it made no sense, except I’ve watched them interact many times, and it never ended well.
Henry used the arrest to get rid of Knox; that much is obvious. For whatever reason, Henry didn’t want me to have any contact with him because no matter how much I begged, he wouldn’t hand over his location, only later learning he also took Knox’s phone, leaving the number in my contacts useless.
Brushing aside thoughts of Knox, I arrive at the city park that stretches the block and is surrounded by a fence, half of it consumed by the Halloween fair.
After greeting the staff setting up the sign atop two looming pumpkin stacks, I tread the makeshift path that’s been created by fake pumpkins lit by battery-powered lights, to give the illusion of flames when switched on.
The path branches off into a few different directions: a hay barrel maze to my right that consumes a massive chunk of the park—a magnificent feat, truly—the food section to the other, a face painting booth in front of me, circus tents with different kinds of spooky shows and a House of Mirrors, and other smaller games meant to entertain some of the younger kids.
I stop by each one, checking if there’s anything needed. Staff still setting up tents confirm things are on track, so I check in with the electrical team who’s been running wires everywhere, while also trying to hide them beneath cable covers for safety.
Once finished, I start towards home and the prickling sensation trails me there.
Home should be relaxing.Should be,anyway.
It’s not.
After spending most of the evening pointlessly staring out the window, I go to bed. Just because Knox showed up once doesn’t change the fact that tomorrow is busy and staying anxiously awake for him is unhealthy.
After triple checking my front door and every single window throughout the house, reassuring myself they are indeed locked tightly, I slide into bed and beneath my blanket.
My eyes drift to the note on my bedside table; the one he hid beneath my mattress. I kept it because…well, I don’t really know why. Proof I’m not making any of this up.
To sleep, I slip it inside the drawer before it becomes my unwanted focus all night.
My eyes slide shut, the day wearing on me, and with my hand clutched around the blanket for safety, I attempt to sleep.
An hour passes and still nothing. My eyes remain shut, but my mind is too active. Every crack of the house reacting to the wind has me tensing, listening for the accompanying steps that would indicate Knox’s presence.
With a lengthy sigh, I inhale and exhale deeply, willing myself to drift away on the exhale.
Thud.
I shoot upright in bed, strands of hair flinging into my face.
That was the front door! He’s here.
Doing exactly what people scream at movie actorsnotto do, I get out of bed and rush for my shut bedroom door. Now, I understand why characters in horror movies run towards the killer. There’s an innate feeling ofneedingto see the danger with their own eyes, to make the decision on how to best react.
Ihaveto see he’s here and real and back before figuring out what exactly he wants.
