Page 7 of Don't Watch Alone
“Jesus, Tony,” I snap, swatting at his arm as he steps inside like it’s no big deal. “You scared the shit out of me.”
He grins, eyes creasing at the corners. “Why are you so jumpy? You look like you saw a fucking ghost.”
“Come in, asshole,” I mutter, stepping to the side and letting the door shut behind him. “I’ll tell you everything.”
Without hesitation, he heads for the fridge like this is his place too, and honestly, it might as well be at this point. He grabs a beer, cracks it open, and plops down next to me like he didn’t just drastically shorten my lifespan.
I take a deep breath. “Remember how I passed out last night?”
He grunts something that might be a yes, already halfway through his first sip.
“Well... there was this guy at work today.” I pick at a loose thread on the cushion beside me, staring down like maybe the fabric will make this easier to say. “He wouldn’t stop watching me. Like, full-on staring. Not in a normal way either… it was like he was trying to crawl into my mind with his eyes.”
Tony doesn’t say anything, just takes another drink.
“And the weird part?” I push on. “I swear I saw him at that party last night. Just a glimpse, but it felt... familiar. Like the same stare.”
“Creepy,” he says, finally giving me something, though he still sounds like he’s only halfway listening.
“Tony, I’m serious. It felt like he was following me. Like every time I turned around, there he was. Not doing anything, justwatching.”
He sets the beer down and looks at me for real now. “You want me to go down there and beat him up or something?”
I blink. “No. I mean, come on. What good would that do?”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know,” I say, a little sharper. “I just needed to tell someone. It was... disturbing.”
He leans back. “Alright, alright. So some guy was weird. Bad day. It happens.”
I don’t answer. I just reach for the remote, flick on the TV, and start digging through the VHS tapes on the shelf. My fingers land on the Poltergeist, the plastic case soft from wear, and I slide it into the player.
The screen lights up with static, then fades into that familiar theme, and I sink back into the couch.
Maybe letting someone else’s nightmare play out on screen will help return mine back into the darkness where they belong. Or maybe not. But it’s worth a shot.
“We should make some popcorn,” I say, though my voice reveals my nervousness with atremble, even as the credits crawl across the screen.
“I’ll get it,” Tony says, already getting up from the couch. His grin is certain, like he knows exactly how to pull me back from the edge. He always does that.
The sound of kernels popping echoes in the apartment. But when he comes back, he’s holding another beer and a bowl of popcorn so full it’s almost overflowing.
“You didn’t bring me a Coke?” I ask, grabbing a pillow and hurling it at him. It hits him square in the chest, but he just laughs and catches it.
“Hey!”
I shake my head, already on my feet, craving something fizzy and sweet. I scoop some ice into a cup, crack open a can, and let the Coke fizz and hiss as it pours. That soft carbonation sound is oddly soothing. I drop back onto the couch, snag a huge handful of popcorn, and try to let the comfort of normalcy sink in.
The movie’s playing again—Diane struggling in the muddy water, surroundedby skeletal arms. The music screeches, high and panicked, and then…
Someone starts pounding on the front door.
Not a knock. Not even a banging. It’s wild, desperate, and aggressive. Like they mean to break through the wood.
I scream before I can even think about it, the kind of scream that rips your throat. My heart jumps so hard I feel it in my teeth.
Tony flinches, beer sloshing over the rim of his can. “What the fuck was that?”
