Page 45 of Don't Watch Alone
The stocky one stands above me, with his knife raised high. My fingers come into contact with cold metal. I swing wildly from my knees. The ax penetrates his flesh, then bone. His scream cuts through the air. Blood squirts from his leg.
I get up quickly, tripping toward the exit. It’s right there.
A fist knots in my hair, jerking me backward. My neck pops. My skull slams down on the tile. Stars explode in my eyes. The ax spins across the floor. His knife is raised above me. His grin is pure murder.
Then I feel it—the weight in my pocket. My utility knife.
My instincts take over. My hand snaps it open, the blade shoots out. I slash upward, blind and fast. The knife grazes his flesh. His mask splits under my hand.
The air is thick with the scent of blood and the sour bite of fear. Adrenaline burns cold in my veins. He towers over me, a dark shape in the twitching light, his hand rising toward the mask hiding his face. My lungs lock up.
He pulls the mask off, and my world tilts. “Christian?” The word escapes as a broken whisper that doesn’t even sound like me. I’m staring at a face I know, a face I trusted—someone who wasn’t supposed to be here. The friend who we had gone to party’s with.
My hand jerks toward the wall, fingers scraping against the metal of the fire alarm. I grab the handle and yank hard. The shriek rips through the hall, a jagged wail that rattles in my skull. I don’t know if anyone will come. I just know I am not fucking dying here.
Christian doesn’t even blink. He steps forward, his sneakers smearing blood across the tile, his grin is a dead thing. His eyes stay on me, just empty, and the knife hangs low, easy in his grip. The blade catches the light and throws back my own twisted reflection.
“You should’ve stayed home,” he says, just calm as a whisper. “Would’ve saved you a lot of pain.”
I scramble backward, glass crunching under my heel, but there’s nowhere to run. Then movement comes up behind him, and my stomach drops. Robert steps into the light, a smear of blood across his jaw like a sick badge of honor. The crowbar in his hand drips black drops.
“Don’t look so shocked,” Robert says. His voice is low and almost… disappointed. “You had to know it was us.”
“No… no, I…” The words die, smothered under the weight of the nightmare. How the fuck could I have known?
Christian laughs—a dry, rasping sound I’ve heard a hundred times but never without any warmth. “You thought this was random? That some psycho just wandered in to carve up your friends?” He tilts his head, the knife flashing like it’s winking at me. “We’ve been planning this for months.”
Pieces slam into place in my mind: the party, me being drugged, the screams I told myself were dreams. A jagged picture of betrayal takes shape, sharper than any blade could ever be.
Robert moves closer. “Every locked door. Every shadow. Every scream. We wanted you to feel it. To feel helpless.”
Christian leans in, his breath is foul and hot, brushing across my ear. The stench of blood and decay clings to him.
“And now,” he says, “you get to be the last one who knows the truth… before it dies with you.”
I can’t move. My legs shake, locked in place, my body screaming to run but refusing to listen. Christian twirls the knife like a toy, his grin stretching wide, teeth stained pink with blood. I finally make a run for it back towards the toy store, where Eva lies lifeless in a rocking chair.
“You know the best part?” he says, echoing in the mall’s open space. His voice is almost giddy. “It’s all your fault that all of your friends are dead.”
“She deserves to understand. For just a second. Before it ends for her.” Christian says.
During that moment of shadowy swiftness, they cease to seem human—nothing but figures, polished steel, and a soft, spreading appetite that corrupts the air nearby.
My body moves automatically. I fall to the ground, my palms scrape the dirty tile, and I reach for the small opening between a shelf and a rack. Christian’s laugh shatters into a snarl behind me, sneakers slamming the tile in a sprint.
My fingers hook the edge of the display, dragging me through the tight space. Dust burst in the intense light, clinging to the fur of a giant teddy bear. Plastic price tags cut my cheek as I wiggle deeper into the gap. The smell of cheap fabric and chemical plastic chokes me. A sharp edge cuts my elbow, but the pain is faint compared to my pounding heart.
The crawlspace stretches like a tunnel, barely wide enough for my shoulders, leading into the forgotten back of the toy store. Piles of clearance junk and crushed boxes close me in.
Robert’s voice drifts closer than I expect. “She’s quick. Like a rat.”
Christian’s heavy steps echo right behind. “Let her run. Makes it more fun.”
I shove past a stack of board games, my hand brushing cold, hard plastic from a broken toy. The blackness is complete, broken only by streaks of light between shelves, catching the pale faces of forgotten dolls and toys missing their heads. Dust clogs my throat. I hold back the cough building in my chest.
Christian growls, a low grumbling coming from the doorway. “Smell her, Robert? That fear?”
I flatten myself against the dirty floor; my cheek is against the tangled fur of an oversized dog toy. I can now hear their breathing close to me. Footsteps circle the display. A finger taps the plastic pricing strip above my head.
