by Amy Cross
Before I can cry out again, the man lets go of my throat and lets me slump down onto my knees. I instinctively try to push my intestines back inside, but my hands are shaking violently and I'm already starting to lose my vision. I try over and over, with increasing desperation, but I can feel my guts slipping between my fingers as more and more sections slough out.
I'm whimpering more loudly than ever, and a moment later I feel something tap against the side of my face.
Looking up, I see that the man has reached down and has started nudging my left cheek with his hand. Too horrified to know what I should do next, I look right up at him and find myself staring straight at the tip of the knife.
“What...” I gasp.
Rain is crashing down.
“Why... Who are...”
Struggling to keep my head up, I wait for him to say something.
Anything.
“Please,” I whisper, “what -”
Before I can finish, he rams the knife into my left eye. I see a brief, blinding flash of white light, before the blade scratches against the back of my eye socket and cracks through to my brain. I scream and -
Extract from chat log
Monday February 11th 2013
From AardvarkQueen310293:
It's been 2 days. Are you ever going to reply. What's going on?
AQ x
Chapter Sixteen
Today
Rain is falling harder than ever now, hissing loudly against the pavement and running small rivers down the dark street and into the gutter nearby.
I'm on my knees, leaning forward with my forehead against the ground. I haven't moved in several minutes, ever since I fell down after the knife sliced out of my left eye. There's no pain, no discomfort even, but I'm too scared to move a muscle. I think – I think – the man is gone, but I'm worried he might reappear at any moment if I dare move.
At the same time, I can't stop whimpering as tears run from my eyes.
I can't stay here forever.
Not like this.
I'm soaked through, and I'm shaking, and I'm so close to home.
Finally I tell myself that I have no choice, that I have to get away from here. Slowly, I reach to my right pocket and pull the key out, so that I'm all ready when I reach the door. I keep reliving the sensation of the knife cutting into my belly, and into my throat and my eye and between my legs and so many other places. For a few seconds I feel paralyzed by the memory, but suddenly I surprise myself by getting to my feet and then stumbling back until I bump against the wall.
I instinctively raise my hands in case anyone tries to attack me, but when I look both ways along the street I see no sign of the man. I'm certain that he must be close, though, so I turn and hurry toward the next corner, desperately hoping to reach the cottage before I'm attacked again.
At the same time, I reach down and check my belly for any wounds, and I find that I haven't suffered so much as even one tiny scratch. I know what happened was real, though, so I don't dare stop as I reach the corner and head through to the next, even darker street. I can barely see where I'm going, but finally I get to the right house and I unlock the door as fast as I can manage.
I keep looking around, in case the man returns, and then I push the door open and step into the house. Shoving the door shut again, so hard that it rattles in the frame, I lean back and take a deep breath. I made it, I actually made it, and a wave of relief washes over me as I start sobbing again. I check my belly and my crotch, and then my throat and my eyes, but there's no damage anywhere. My hands are shaking and I feel as if I'm losing my mind, but finally I manage to convince myself that I seem to be okay.
I don't know how, but I'm fine.
Well, not fine, because I keep reliving the attacks over and over, but at least I don't seem to have been actually cut open.
I take another deep breath, and then I reach out for the light switch.
“Who the hell are you?” a woman's voice asks.
Startled, I hit the switch and then turn to see that there's a woman sitting at the living room table. I back away, but then I realize that I've seen the woman before.
It's Caroline, the woman Paula told me about.
Sure enough, she's got a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the table.
“Who are you?” she stammers, grabbing her bag and reaching inside, and then pulling out a small plastic gun that I think might be some kind of taser. “What are you doing here?”
“I live here!” I blurt out.
She gets to her feet and aims the weapon at me.
“I don't think so!” she says firmly, although she's drunkenly slurring her words a little. “This is a rental property and it's supposed to be empty now! Where did you get the key!”
“This is my parents' house,” I tell her, holding the keys up for her to see. “They were supposed to let you know that I'd be staying for a couple of weeks!”
“But -”
This seems to shut her up for a moment, and she stares at the key as it dangers from my hand.
“My parents own this house,” I continue, “but they're in Abu Dhabi for a few weeks. I didn't want to go, but they let me stay here. You were supposed to block it off on the website, so that nobody would try to rent it!”
I wait, but she seems genuinely shocked.
“So you shouldn't be here!” I add, trying not to let her see that I'm panicking. “I know this isn't the first time you've been here, either! You came in the other night and sat around drinking, except I was too scared to confront you! When my parents find out that you've been -”
“Woah!” she says suddenly, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “Hold on there. Let's just take a step back here, okay?” She pauses, still eyeing me with a hint of suspicion. “Obviously there's been a huge mistake here,” she continues finally. “There's nothing in our system to say that this property is occupied.”
“Well, it is!”
“I can see that.” She grabs her bottle of whiskey and shoves it into her bag, as if she doesn't want to let me see. “We can figure all of this out. I was doing a night-sweep to check on some of the empty cottages in this part of town.”
“And having a drink at the same time?” I ask.
“That was...”
Her voice trails off, and for a moment she seems frozen.
“I'm sorry,” she continues finally. “Really, I am. I'm a...”
Again, she seems to not know what to say.
“I'm a terrible person,” she says after a few more seconds. “There, I admitted it. The game's up. I am a truly terrible person and I have no excuses whatsoever. I have no right to be here in this house, but I came here anyway and I sat here drinking alone. It's not the first time I've done it either, as you seem to already know, so I guess the gig's up. You have every right to call your parents and have them throw the book at me.”
“I -”
Before I can finish, I realize that she's not as old as I'd realized. Paula described her as middle-aged, but in fact she doesn't look so much older than me. She does, however, dress older, like a twenty-something who's trying to look at least forty. With the light on, I can also see that she looks very tired, with rings under her eyes and sloped shoulders. She also looks nervous as hell.
“In my defense,” she continues, “I...”
She sighs.
“No, there's no defense,” she adds. “Look at me, I'm just some pathetic idiot who drinks alone in empty houses because she's too ashamed to go home to her husband. I've got to admit, that makes me seem pretty sad.”
“Everyone's got their thing,” I reply, although I'm not even sure what I mean by that. “Um...”
“If you get your parents to call me whenever it's convenient,” she continues, taking her coat from the back of the chair and then coming over to the door, “I can explain that none of this was your fault. I'll take all the blame.”
I step out of the way, but she stops at the door and turns to me. For a moment, she looks me
up and down as if she's worried.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“I'm fine.”
“You don't look it.”
“I just... I had a rough night.”
After all, how could I even begin to explain?
I wait for her to leave, but she seems frozen in place as if she's on the verge of saying something but can't quite get the words out. I don't know what's wrong, although I'm still feeling breathless and confused, and I really just want to be left alone.
“I'm a truly awful person,” she says suddenly, as if from nowhere. “I meant what I said earlier. You might look at me and think I'm just dull or boring, but the truth is that I'm a monster. Not in a big, scary way. I don't kill people or anything like that. I just chip away at the lives of people I claim to love. My husband, my children... I have no way of defending myself, and I'm sick of trying. I'm sorry, I know you don't care, but I just wanted to confess to someone. Maybe it helps that I barely know who you are and...”
Her voice trails off.
Too shocked to know how to react, I simply stare at her.
“Yeah, so anyway...” she mutters, before opening the door. She mumbles something else under her breath as she steps out into the rain, and then she turns to me yet again. Rain is really pouring down now, but she doesn't seem to mind getting wet. “It's okay to admit that kind of thing, you know,” she continues. “You have to admit it, if you ever want to change. To grow. To become better. It's okay to admit that you've been lousy, but don't wallow in it. Push yourself forward. Become better.”
She pauses again, and then she offers a faint smile.
“There endeth the lesson,” she says with a sigh. “Sorry. Tell your parents to call me. Sorry again for disturbing you. Good night.”
With that, she walks away, although I don't immediately open the door. I wait, in case she returns, but then after half a minute or so I realize that the maniac might come back. Suddenly filled with panic, I slam the door shut and then wait, and then I step back and turn the light off.
I can hear rain crashing down outside, but apart from that there's complete silence.
Wait.
I should warn that poor woman.
I didn't think, but there's a psycho in the streets and he might hack her down.
Rushing forward, I open the door and step back out into the rain. To my relief, however, I spot the lights of a car coming along the street, and I watch as Caroline drives past. She glances at me and offers a faint smile, and then she's gone and I realize she's safe. I wait until her car has gone around the corner and then I step back inside. I swing the door shut and then I make my way across the darkened living room.
“I told you she was pathetic.”
Startled, I turn and see Paula standing in the kitchen, silhouetted against the back door.
Extract from chat log
Tuesday February 12th 2013
From AardvarkQueen310293:
What's going on? Are you not replying to my messages now? I thought we'd settled this, I thought we'd agreed to talk more, and now I'm just sending these messages into the void and getting nothing back. I'm starting to worry that maybe something happened to you, but deep down I kind of think that I know the real reason you've gone all silent on me.
It's because I suggested meeting, isn't it?
I knew I was going out on a limb, but fuck it at least I tried. Do you know what the world would be like if people didn't try? I opened my fucking heart there, just for a moment, and I think I at least deserve a response. If you don't want to meet up, that's fine, but can't you at least do the decent thing and let me know? Break off our friendship properly, with an explanation, instead of taking the cowardly way out and just ignoring me.
Is this the kind of person you are? I guess I'm a bad judge of character after all.
Okay, fine. I won't bother you again. I won't send you any more messages. If you deign to get back in touch, I'll read what you say and I'll consider a response, but a lot will depend on precisely what you say. I should warn you, I'm seriously offended right now and I honestly don't think there's anything you could say that'll make me feel better. You can try, but I'd be surprised if you succeed. Then again, stranger things have happened.
If this is goodbye, then goodbye. The ball's in your court now. I'll respect your decision.
AQ
Chapter Seventeen
Today
“He attacked me!” I sob, collapsing into Paula's arms as my knees buckle. “It was awful! He attacked me over and over, he cut me up and stabbed me and I don't know what happened but somehow I ended up back here!”
“Wait, he attacked you? For real?”
She holds me up for a moment, before using a leg to pull a chair closer and then gently lowering me down. Dropping onto her knees, she starts checking me for injuries, and I can see the panic in her eyes.
“Where?” she asks frantically. “Where did he get you?”
“Everywhere,” I whimper, touching my belly and then my throat. “He gutted me like a fish!”
“What do you mean?”
“I felt it!” I hiss, unable to control myself as tears stream down my face. “I know it sounds insane, but I felt his knife going right into me!”
“May -”
“I felt it!” I yell.
“Okay, okay. Calm down.”
“Don't tell me to calm down!” I shout. “A madman chased after me in the street and attacked me! He stabbed me!”
“Right. Sure.” She pauses, and now she looks confused. “But the thing is, May... I can't find any injuries.”
“They're gone,” I tell her.
“I'm sorry?”
“I know it sounds nuts,” I continue, “but they're all gone. I don't know how, but each time he attacked me he ended up vanishing and then I was okay again. Then I'd run a little further, and he'd attack me again. I don't know how many times it happened, but it was like a nightmare that wouldn't end. It wasn't a nightmare, though. It was totally real and I can still feel it.”
“I believe you,” she replies.
“I can still feel the blade,” I whimper, breaking into a fresh wave of sobs. “I know I sound crazy, but I felt the knife going into me! I felt myself bleeding to death!”
She pulls me close and hugs me, holding me tight. I know she must think I'm insane, and I should probably just admit that I must have imagined the whole thing, but it still all feels so completely real. A hallucination wouldn't have hurt so much, and I'm starting to think I wasn't dreaming.
“How is it possible?” I sob. “How could he have attacked me over and over, but I'm still okay?”
“I don't know,” Paula replies, still holding me tight. “I have no idea, but I promise you one thing. We're going to find out.”
“What if he's a...”
My voice trails off for a moment, and then Paula pulls back and meets my gaze.
“What?” she asks. “What if he's a what?”
“What if he's a ghost?” I reply.
“May...”
“I mean it!” I hiss. “I don't know what happened, but he was there! And then he wasn't! And somehow he hurt me, but it's all gone! So what if he's a ghost? I didn't even believe in them until tonight, but it's the only thing that makes sense!”
“Ghosts don't exist,” she tells me.
“Neither do murderers who cut you up and then vanish!” I shout. “It still happened!”
“I know it did,” she says calmly. “I'm not doubting you, okay? I promise. I just can't figure out what happened to you tonight, but we're going to get to the bottom of it. You and me. Together. As a team.”
***
“This house is freezing!” Paula gasps, shivering as she climbs into bed and gets under the duvet. She's stripped to her underwear and hung her clothes up to dry, but she's right that the house is cold. “We're going to die of pneumonia! They're going to find two corpses when your parents get back!”
“It'll get warmer,” I reply
, although I'm shivering too. I had to take most of my clothes off as well, peeling them away from my soaked skin, and right now I don't think I'll ever get warm again. “There's no -”
Suddenly I hear a faint bumping sound in the distance, briefly rising above the sound of rain crashing down outside.
I turn and look across the pitch-black bedrooms, toward the open door, but now the bumping sound has gone.
“Don't worry,” Paula says, her teeth chattering loudly. “I checked both the doors. Three times each.”
“But -”
“I checked!” she says firmly. “No-one's getting through those things.”
“You did,” I point out, and my teeth are chattering too.
“Yeah, but I'm smart,” she replies. “I don't mean to sound big-headed, but me getting through a locked door doesn't necessarily mean the door itself has a problem. As a matter of fact, the back door downstairs was one of the tougher ones I've ever had to navigate. I nearly, nearly gave up. I'm glad I didn't, though.”
She falls silent for a moment, although I can still feel her teeth chattering.
“Sorry,” she says finally, “do you mind if I steal some heat?”
Without waiting for an answer, she hunches closer. I flinch as soon as I feel her ice-cold breasts pressing against my equally ice-cold side, but I don't say anything. I tell myself that it doesn't mean anything, that I'm over-thinking things, and then I tell myself the same again as she places a cold hand on the side of my belly. Her fingers are in the exact same spot where I swear I first felt the knife going in earlier.
I wait, but she's still shivering and now I can feel her breath on the side of my neck.
“I think I'm gonna need about five duvets to feel warm,” she says finally.
