I’m still not sure what the book will be called, so right now I just have the literal wordUntitledas the working title. “Not yet. I have a list of contenders, though.”
“Okay, starting it now. Love you, bye.” Nora ends the call, but her rush to start reading everything I’ve written so far perks me up. I was about to crawl into bed when she called, but now I feel like crawling into bed with my laptop.
I don’t know why, but whenever I know someone is reading one of my works in progress, I feel like I have to start from the beginning and read it like I’m them, not knowing where the book is heading, looking at it with a fresh pair of eyes. I especially love doing this when I know Nora is reading, because she sends me live updates over text as she reads.
This is probably my favorite part of writing. The peer support.
My least favorite part is the dread I feel knowing she may very well come back and tell me the manuscript isn’t working. That I still don’t know how to write a love triangle, even though I’m risking so much by playing a part in one.
I plop down onto my bed with my laptop and open it as I adjust the pillows. I’ve had my phone on Do Not Disturb since being on my date earlier, so I’m surprised at the number of messages that begin popping up on my laptop as soon as it wakes.
It’s Mari. U didn’t text by 11.
Petra, it’s 11:03.
It’s 11:06 are u dead?
11:09 now I’m getting worried
Ok I’m coming to u
Nvmd. Just saw you drive by. Guess ur alive.
Unless he’s wearing your skin and driving your car
I can’t believe I forgot to message her. I called Nora as soon as I walked in the door and forgot all about Mari. I immediately respond and let her know I’m safe in bed, and then I put my computer on Do Not Disturb so I can hopefully get some work done while still running off the creative fumes of my conversation with Nora.
I fell asleep in bed with my laptop open. It happens a lot. I’ll wake up in the middle of the night with the familiar weight on my chest, satisfied to know that I worked until I couldn’t write another word.
I can feel its cold edge pressing into my ribs when I attempt to roll over, so I push it away, hearing it slide across the blanket to the other side of the bed. The screen light flickers for a second before I reach over and close it, and then the room goes dark.
Toodark.
I open my eyes wider, suddenly nervous to move. I don’t know why. I don’t think anything woke me, and I don’t hear any unfamiliar noises.
That’s the problem, though. It almost feels more than quiet—it feels like there’s a huge absence of noise. I don’t hear the ceiling fan. I don’t feel the air circulating. I don’t hear the hum of the air conditioner.
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to convince myself to fall back asleep.Just go back to sleep.
But something is off. I can’t place it at first, but there’s an eerie stillness in the air. The house issoquiet, like the world outside has gone mute.Too dark.My heart begins to race.Too silent.An instinctual alarm is going off in my chest.Too alone.I blink a few times, trying to shake off the drowsiness, but the unease only intensifies.
I open my eyes fully, and my gaze is immediately drawn to the bedroom door. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s the feeling that I’m not alone, that something is waiting.
And then I see it.
A shadow.
It’s filling the doorway—dark and unmoving, blending into the blackness of the room but still distinguishable in its shape. The silhouette of a person. I can’t make out any details, but it’s there, and it’s watching me. A cold wave of terror crashes over me, weighing down on my chest like a vise grip.
This can’t be real.
For a moment, I’m paralyzed, unable to move, barely able to breathe. My body freezes in fear, my muscles locked tight as I stare at the figure in the doorway. I want to scream, but it’s like one of those nightmares where you try to call for help, but no sound comes out.
My throat feels tight, my voice trapped somewhere deep inside me.
I reach for my phone instinctively, my fingers fumbling on the bedspread, desperate to find it in the darkness. My heart is pounding so hard it feels like it’s going to explode out of my chest. I can’t think. I can’t focus on anything except the shadow, which is nowmoving.
The figure lunges forward, and in that split second, my body finally reacts. A jagged scream rips from my throat as I scramble to the otherside of the bed. My legs tangle in the sheets as I try to pull away, to escape.
