The temperature in the room drops even further, and I feel the icy cold seep into my bones. I watch, horrified, as Liliana’s grin widens, her jagged teeth catching the flickering light. Her eyes, dark and hollow, bore into mine with a terrifying intensity. She straightens, her movements still disjointed, and starts to creep toward me, her feet sliding through the puddle of urine.
Her bony, translucent hand stretches out, fingers splayed, each nail long and claw-like. She inches closer, her hand reaching for my face, her voice a chilling whisper. “You know pain… like I did,” she breathes, her breath a cold fog in the air between us.
I’m frozen, unable to move, my heart jackhammering in my chest, my breath coming in shallow gasps. The room around me spins, the walls closing in as her fingers get closer, inches from my skin. Her eyes burn with a dark fire, and just as I feel the icy touch of her nails graze my cheek, I start to scream.
Chapter
Nine
My eyes shoot open at exactly 4:13 P.M. I don’t know what woke me, but I’m groggy, my limbs stiff and heavy, and my mouth dry as if it’s stuffed with dead leaves. I can taste my own foul breath, and it’s disgusting.
I’m still in my room, it was all a bad dream. Probably from the gummies.
I walk barefoot to the bathroom, not remembering ever taking my boots off. I hover in the doorway, noticing that someone has taken my toiletries and spread them out along the edge of the tub, each item spaced about two inches from each other. Meticulously.
There’s something deeply unsettling about waking up to find someone was in your room while you slept—someone whose sole purpose was to frighten you. And I’m paying for this? I’m not sure I want to stay another night.
I quickly brush my teeth then walk around the room looking for my phone. The last thing I remember was freaking out that Siri was talking to no one when I was overcome with drowsiness. I tried to throw it on the couch when I had that awful dream—that’s the last time I remember seeing it. As I walk around the room searching, I look out of the window andsee the great expanse of the garden, the day still dreary and mute of color. Moving along the stone edging are three black cats, walking slowly across the ledge. One following another, following another. As I move closer to the window, all three of them suddenly look up at me, pitch-black scruffy faces, almost glowing yellow eyes.
I turn away quickly.
That’s not something you can train cats to do. And don’t cats hate the rain?
A wave of panic hits me, the urge to leave nearly overwhelming. My phone vibrates somewhere in the room.
My stomach flips nervously, and I quicken my search, tossing clothes around, checking between the couch cushions and under the bed.
The phone vibrates again, clearer this time—it’s coming from the bathroom.
I rush inside, my socks slipping on the tiles. The phone sits on the edge of the sink—did I bring it in here without realizing? But something about that feels wrong. None of this feels right.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice all the items that were lined up along the tub have been put away neatly back into my small clear toiletry bag.
I grab my phone and unlock the screen to see several missed calls—all from Hayes. I back out of the bathroom, my heart racing.Whoever was in my room while I slept is still here now?
“Hello?” I call out, voice trembling.
Slowly, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, one by one.
The temperature in the room shifts abruptly, as if someone flipped a switch from fall to the dead of winter. My skin prickles with goosebumps, and I automatically rub my arms to ward off the sudden chill, but it doesn’t help.
I keep backing away until a faint scratching sound comes from the closet. I freeze. My eyes dart to the slightly ajar closet door. It's the same sound I've heard before—nails on wood. The exact sound I heard last night. My heart races as I consider my options. Maybe if I catch whoever is inside—if I see a real person or even a sound machine—I’ll feel better. Safer.
I inch toward the closet, my heart pounding in my throat. Each step feels like an eternity, the scratching growing louder in my ears. My hand trembles as I reach for the doorknob, fingers brushing the cold metal.
Before I can fully grasp it, the door slams shut with such force that it sends me stumbling back in shock. The sound reverberates through the room, shaking me to my core. Panic surges through me, adrenaline flooding my veins. I scramble to put on my boots, hopping frantically as I try to pull them on, my mind spinning.
“Fuck this,” I mutter to the closet door as I bolt out of the room. My footsteps echo down the long, empty hallway, my breath coming in ragged gasps. A dozen different excuses run through my mind—reasons I can give my friends for why I need to leave. An emergency at my apartment, a fire, or maybe a sudden burst appendix. But everything I think of would only make them worry, make them leave with me. Well, not Jonathan and Marissa. Those two fuckers would stay.
I round a corner and there’s a whoosh of heat and Axe body spray as I slam head first into Lyle, who grunts as he steadies himself. He’s carrying a massive bag, big enough to stuff a body in. I freeze, staring at him wide-eyed, my heart thundering in my ears.
“Whoa, hey, uh Grace…oh, no, sorry, it’s Tori, right?” He’s wearing a T-shirt that says, “Spread cheeks, not hate.”
“Grace is my middle name,” I blurt. It's a lie, and I don’t even know why I say it.
Lyle frowns, his eyes darting between my face and the bag he's holding. "Oh, well, that's cool. Grace is a pretty name." He shifts the bag on his shoulder, and I can't help but imagine what could be inside. My mind races with possibilities, each more gruesome than the last.
"Thanks," I mutter, edging around him. "I was just heading out to...to find my friends." I strain for a smile, hoping it doesn't look as fake as it feels.
