Page 8 of Don't Watch Alone
I can’t speak. I just point, my eyes are locked on the door like it’s suddenly grown teeth.
Then… silence. Just as quickly as it began, the pounding stops.
We don’t move. We just sit there, frozen, straining to hear any other sound.
Eventually, the movie ends. The credits scroll on and on. I sit there, my nerves vibrating like charged wires. “I think I’m going to bed,” I say.
Tony glances at me, his expression softening. “You don’t want me to stay? Just in case?”
I force a smile and try to sound casual. “Nah. I need actual sleep. And if you stay, that’s not happening.” I give a weak laugh.
He doesn’t look too sure. “Alright,” he says slowly, “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” He leans down and kisses my forehead, his lips lingering a second longer than usual, like he knows something’s wrong with me but doesn’t want to press it any further.
I walk him to the front door of the apartment complex, dread gathering in my stomach. I watch as he heads to his truck, the streetlight making his shadow dance across the pavement. When the door shuts, something shifts in the corner of my eye. A shape. A movement. Too fast to be anything solid, too real to have imagined it.
I gasp. Then I run back into my apartment and secure the door, shove the padlock into place, and slide the chain across. The metal clicks feel pointless, weak against the unease settling deep within me.
I strip down, climb into bed, and wrap the blanket around me for protection. The roomis still. Just the steady tick of the clock on my nightstand to remind me time is moving forward.
I try not to think about the man I had seen earlier.
My eyes grow heavy, the initial excitement starting to wear off, exhaustion dragging me down. I think I finally fall asleep, but it’s not peaceful. It’s a twisted, clouded sleep, full of dark shapes that shift just out of reach and the sound of someone knocking—again and again—always just about to break through.
Chapter five
Blaiz
Thephonerings,yankingme out of my dream and dumping me straight back into 1984. I slap around on my nightstand until I find the receiver. “Hello?” My voice is rough and barely awake.
“Do you work today?” It’s Jade. No mistaking that voice or the deafening giggle that follows. I flinch and pull the phone away for a second.
“Yeah. Eleven,” I say, rubbing the sleepies from my eyes and squinting at the ceiling.
“Oh, okay. Derrick’s throwing a party tonight, and I was gonna see if you wanted to go shopping for something new and totally rad.” The snap of her gum comes through loud and clear.
I sigh. “I would, but I’ve got work. Greg won’t let me call in either. I hope he’s not there today.” I roll over in bed, twisting the phone cord around my finger as I stare at the bright pattern on my comforter.
“Ugh, Greg,” Jade groans like she bit into something sour. I can picture her wrinkling her nose. “Catch you later. Peace out!” The line clicks dead.
I drag myself out of bed and head straight to the shower. The hot water helps, a little. Once I get out, I wrap one towel around me and another on my head. I need caffeine if I’m going to survive another Saturday at Electric Avenue.
In the kitchen, I yank open the fridge, grab a can of Coke and pop it open.
Madonna blasts from the boombox on my dresser. Energy creeps back in. I blow-dry my hair until it’s huge, then hit it with the crimper until it’s practically a life of its own. Neon yellow shirt, acid-washed jeans, my favorite jean jacket covered in pins and patches—I’m ready. Maybe not for life, but definitely for a mall crowd.
I make my way to the front door, unlocking the knob and deadbolt. When I reach for the chain, my hand becomes numb.
It’s unlatched.
I know I locked it last night. I always do. A chill crawls down my spine. Maybe I was just too tired. Maybe I forgot. I shrug it off and open the door. As I step outside and go to lock up behind me, a voice cuts through the morning air.
“Morning.”
I almost jump out of my body.
“Good morning,” I say, trying not to sound rattled. I turn, but all I see is a man walking away, his back is to me. There’s something familiar about the way he moves, the shape of his shoulders. I stare, trying to place him, but nothing comes to me. I ignore it and head for my car.
When I pull into the mall lot, a familiar buzz kicks in. I park and make my way toward Electric Avenue, our shrine to neon and cassette tapes and high-voltage fashion.
