Page 65 of Shadowed With Fear

“I’ll text you when the pizza guy is near.” And he hangs up.

My feet drag me up the stairs to my room, exhaustion is finally starting to creep into my bones.

One quick shower, change of clothes into my favorite pjs, and an ice-cold Dr. Pepper later I have the greatest of all blanket forts constructed on the couch and Psycho playing softly on the TV.

It’s the kind of evening that just erases all of your problems, ya know?

The only thing that could make this even slightly better would be getting to talk to Mr. Tall, Masked, and Stalky.

I snort to myself. He’d probably kill me for saying that about him. His attitude is a lot like Grayson’s I have enticed. He likes it when I get shit talky and give him hell. I think he likes fighting. Which, if I’m honest, I kind of like it too.

The movie is the perfect kind of vibe for the night. It’s not super creepy, and the calm pace is just right for a peaceful evening.

My mom and I used to watch a lot of Hitchcock movies when I was a kid. When my dad worked out of town, and Brahm was out doing fuck knows what with his dipshit entourage, it was just me and her.

A black and white horror movie, a tub of chocolate ice cream, and the snuggliest blankets in the house wrapped around us. It made everything better.

My soft spot for horror definitely comes from her. She was such a fearless woman, and I like to think that I make her proud by being as courageous and unafraid as she was, but I know I’m nothing compared to her.

She was so strong, so beautiful. Her heart was bigger than anyone else’s I have ever known.

And on these particular rough kind of days, this has become my routine. It might be a bit naive, but I swear it’s like I can feel her sitting here beside me, fingers running through my curls, complaining about needing a trim with the brightest smile on her face.

Pulling the blanket up higher on my chest, I burrow deeper into the cushions, transfixed on the screen as Marion Crane books it out of town.

From above me, I hear a slight creak of the wooden floor upstairs settling, like a weight has been placed on it.

My head turns in the direction of the stairs as I listen. Pausing the movie, I sit still, listening. A faint ringing echoes through the silence of the house, and that’s when I hear it.

A step. Another creak. A groan of the wood bowing beneath a heavy body.

A smile plays at the corners of my lips, but I take a deep breath schooling my expression.

My phone rings, and I shake my head.

“You know, you don’t really have to hide from me anymore. You know I’m alone so why are you being all sneaky,” I deadpan.

Shadow breathes heavily on the line, the connection is rough, crackling through the earpiece. “Dahlia—” he says panicked, cutting out.

“You could just come down here and talk to— “

“There’s someone inside the house!” He shouts.

I laugh humorlessly. “Yeah, I know. I’m talking to them right now. So come on down and— “

“Goddamn it, Dahlia. Stop being a bitch for two seconds and fucking listen to me! There’s someone in the fucking house. And it’s not me.”

My heart stops. My stomach churns and instantly the icy cold chill in my blood has returned. It’s so much worse than it ever was before.

“Get somewhere. NOW!”

I jump from the couch, feet wrapped around my blanket, and stumble through the hall just as the footsteps begin their way down the stairs. I pause, eyes searching frantically around the darkness of the stairs.

One breath.

Two breaths.

Three.