Slowly, I peel back my lids, expecting to see the empty expanse of dark trees that fill my yard. Instead, I’m met with two red glowing eyes. The Devil is staring back at me.
For a moment, I’m frozen in disbelief. He can’t be here. Not now.
The lilies I just destroyed weren’t here this morning.
Panic and fear grip my insides as I realize he’s been in my home. And now he’s back. And I’m all alone.
My feet move before my brain can process what’s happening. I spring across my kitchen, throwing myself against the glass door that leads to the backyard. He’s there just as swiftly, looking back at me from the other side. I’ve never realized before how large he is, but as I stand this close, his dark form looms over me through the glass. His hand goes for the handle, but I’m quicker. I slam down the lock. The knob turns back and forth as he attempts to get in but the lock doesn’t give. He angrily pulls on the door, trying to get it to budge as I take a step back. I can’t see his face, only the glowing red mask, but I can feel his anger radiating off of him.
It’s clear what he’s here for—me.
My bones shake with terror as I watch him stop and take a step back. He reaches into his pocket, slowly pulling something out. The sharp steel of a blade glints in the moonlight. What’s he going to do? Will he break the window? Will he kill me? I should run, hide, call the cops; but instead, I sit, glued to the spot as Iwatch him remove his left glove. He brings the sharp tip to his palm, drawing it along the skin. What the hell? I swear all breath leaves my lungs as he brings his bloody palm up to the glass. I stare in horror as he swabs the scarlet substance up, around, and down; then up, around, and down again.
A heart. He’s drawn a heart in blood on my window.
A single tear slips from the corner of my eye as I stare at his bloody marks. He cocks his head slightly, assessing me. Then he runs.
Shit. The front door.
I spin on my heel and take off across the kitchen. My heart pounds in my chest. No, no, no. I didn’t lock the door. He can walk right in, take me, slice me up, and make me bleed. I need to get to the door first. My feet fly across the floor. I step over pillows and pages flung wildly during my meltdown. Only a few more feet. I can do it. I’m going to make it.
And then I misstep. I don’t even see the glass. It slices through the bottom of my foot with ease, sliding into the flesh and searing my nerves. A shriek leaves my lips as blinding sharp pain rips through my foot and up my leg. Fuck. It hurts so badly.
Footsteps thunder outside. He’s coming. I need to get the door.
With tears and snot running down my face, I hobble toward the door. Each step is agony but I force myself forward. Once I’m close enough, I fling myself against the wood. With every ounce of strength I have left, I flip the deadbolt. I sink to my ass, falling back onto the floor, right as a pounding begins on the door. He continues banging his fists, grunting and growling like an angry animal. A choked sob leaves my lips and I cover my mouth with my hands to muffle the sound.
“Allison,” the Devil behind the door taunts. “Open up and let me in.”
My breathing is ragged and rough, but I keep my hands overmy mouth to muffle the noise, praying he can’t hear me through the thick wooden door.
“You’re mine, Allison.” His tone is tauntingly sweet. “Always have been, and always will be. And the sooner you stop playing pretend, the sooner things can be how they’re meant to be.”
His words prick at something in my mind, as if I’ve heard them before in a dream. But I stay silent. I don’t even dare to reach down and peel the jagged glass from the flesh of my foot.
“I’m leaving now, Sleeping Beauty,” he calls through the door. “But I’ll be back as soon as you fall asleep.”
I hear his footsteps receding, but I don’t dare move or make a sound. I sit for an agonizingly long time—waiting, listening, sobbing. Once I’m certain he’s gone, I release my hands and let the sob I’ve been holding in fall from my lips. Spit and tears and snot stream down my face. Reaching down, I gingerly pinch the sharp shard sticking out of my foot. The pain is immediate. I can’t do this slowly. Taking a steadying breath, I grab the glass and pull. The agony is instant—sharp pain pulsing through my foot. Warm blood seeps from the wound as I remove the glass and toss it across the room. Fresh tears steal my cheeks. I need help.
Crawling to my bag which I left next to the coat closet, I fish around until I feel my phone. I stare for a moment at the illuminated home screen. I could—should—call the cops. Yet, as I bring my phone up to my ear, it’s not dispatch I need to hear.
It only takes two rings for them to pick up. “Hey, Ali, it’s a bit late for a booty call, don’t you think?”
Gabriel’s calm and deep voice immediately soothes me. He sounds awake enough and I’m grateful that I didn’t wake him.
“Gabriel,” I choke out, my voice raw from screaming and crying.
“Ali…” His tone shifts drastically. He sounds alarmed. “Are you alright? What’s going on?”
“Gabriel,” I repeat. “Please, I need you.”
“Okay,” he says and it sounds like he’s moving around now. “I’m grabbing my keys. Tell me where you are.”
“Home,” I whimper. “I’m at home. Please—” My plea dies on my lips as a sob racks through me.
“Ali, listen to me.” His tone is firm and authoritative. It grounds me enough to allow me to hear him. “Stay put. Do not open the door for anyone but me.”
I nod. He can’t see me, though. “I understand. Please hurry.”
