Do I keep you up at night? Thinking about me?
My chest tightens, and I can feel the walls closing in. I want to throw the phone, smash it into a thousand pieces, but I’m too terrified of missing the next message.
I want to be brave. I want to tell him to go to hell. But my fingers feel heavy, like they’re glued to the screen.
Another message.
I’d be happy to sing you to sleep.
I choke back a sob, shoving my fist into my mouth. My hands are slick with sweat, and I can’t stop shaking. I curl up tighter, burying my face in my knees, trying to block out his words.
Another buzz. I force myself to look, vision blurry.
Or maybe you’d rather hear me whisper your name. I know how much you like that.
My throat feels tight, and I can’t breathe past the panic clawing at me. I drop the phone, press my hands to my temples, willing the fear to go away.
Something hits the window—a sharp tap. I freeze, my skin prickling. Another tap, louder.
I inch forward, heart pounding, and reach for the curtain. My hand shakes as I push it aside just enough to peek out.
The street below is empty. A plastic bag flutters across the pavement, caught in the wind. No one’s there. I try to convince myself it was just a tree branch scraping against the glass.
My phone vibrates again, and I nearly scream. I snatch it up, fingers slipping on the screen as I check the message.
Do you want me to come in?
I can’t stop the sob that tears from my throat. I scramble off the bed, rushing to check the locks on the windows, the deadbolt on the door. Everything’s secure. Everything’s locked.
I text back before I can think, fingers flying over the keyboard.
Leave me alone!
Instant reply.
You don’t mean that, Little Spider. I know you like the game.
My stomach flips, and I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting the wave of nausea. I try to think logically—try to convince myselfit’s just some creep who found my number. It doesn’t mean he’s actually here.
But the feeling of being watched won’t go away.
I curl up on the floor, back against the wall, and pull my knees to my chest. The minutes drag by, one after another, and I don’t move, don’t dare make a sound. The phone remains silent. Maybe he’s done for the night. Maybe I won.
I must have dozed off at some point because I jerk awake to the sound of metal scraping. I blink, disoriented, realising it’s just the pipes groaning again. My whole body aches from being curled up on the hard floor.
The sun is rising, weak light creeping through the blinds. I drag myself to my feet, every muscle stiff and protesting. My phone’s still in my hand, but there are no new messages. Maybe he’s moved on.
I tell myself that lie over and over as I force myself to get dressed, slipping into another oversized hoodie and jeans. I need to get out of here. Clear my head.
Coffee. I need coffee. Maybe Sam will meet me at the shop again. I shove my phone into my pocket, ignoring the paranoia whispering that he might be out there waiting.
When I open the door, something skitters across the floor. I freeze, looking down.
A spider—small, black, legs twitching as it crawls toward the crack under my door. I watch it disappear, my heart thudding against my ribs.
An icy chill settles over me as I glance down, noticing something else just inside the doorway. A single glossy black glove.
My breath catches, and I nudge it with my boot, too scared to pick it up. It’s real. It’s solid. And it wasn’t there last night.
