Billy’s knife sank deep into Sidney, each thrust a promise of death. She gasped for breath, her hands scrambling to push him off, but he was relentless, pinning her beneath him. The blade moved faster, his fury echoing in each twist of the handle.
I couldn’t move. I could only watch, my heart racing, knowing there was no saving her.
And then, a loud crack of gunfire echoed through the room.
Billy’s head jerked back as the bullet struck him, a flash of disbelief in his eyes. He turned toward the source, still on top of Sidney, his face twisted in confusion, but before he could react, Gale stood, a look of determination hardening her features.
The gunshot rang out again, hitting Billy square in the chest. His body went limp, and he fell to the floor with a sickening thud, leaving Sidney’s lifeless body beneath him.
Stu stared at Gale, wide-eyed, his voice trembling. “My mom and dad are gonna be so mad at me.”
And then, in one swift motion, Gale shot him too.
I stood up shakily, my legs almost giving way as I approached Billy’s body. There he was, my big brother—lying in a pool of his own blood. He had been the one to bring this all crashing down, but in that moment, I couldn’t help but feel the ache of the sibling bond. He was still my brother, even if everything else had been a lie.
Randy, who had been unconscious on the floor, stirred, groaning as he shifted and slowly propped himself up on one elbow. His voice was rough from the blood loss, but his words were clear.
“Careful. This is the part where the killer comes back.”
And just like that, Billy’s eyes flickered open. His gaze locked onto me, and in that instant, I felt the weight of everything he had done.
Before I could react, Billy lunged toward me, his hand wrapping around my neck, squeezing with all his remaining strength. I gasped for air, struggling to break free.
But then the gun went off again, the bullet piercing Billy’s skull. His grip slackened as the life drained from him, and he collapsed onto the floor, his body unmoving.
I dropped to my knees, gasping for breath, my hands trembling as I reached for my neck. Billy was finally gone.
The house was eerily silent, the chaos of the night settling into something even more terrifying—finality. My breath came in ragged gasps as I stared down at Billy’s body, his lifeless eyes still open, frozen in shock. Blood pooled beneath him, dark and thick, the metallic scent clogging my senses.
He was gone.
I wasn’t sure what I felt. Relief? Horror? Grief?
My hands shook as I reached out, hesitating before brushing my fingers against his cooling skin. He had been my brother. The person who teased me growing up, who protected me before everything turned dark. And now, he was just… gone.
Randy groaned, shifting on the floor. I turned my head, watching as he sat up, wincing.
"Jesus Christ," he muttered, pressing a hand to his side. "I feel like I got hit by a truck."
Gale was still gripping the gun, her hands shaking. She took a slow, cautious step forward, her eyes darting between Billy and Stu, as if waiting for one of them to get back up again.
"They’re dead," I whispered, my voice hoarse.
Gale didn’t lower the gun just yet.
The weight of the night settled on me. Sidney was dead. Billy was dead. Stu was dead. The house smelled like blood and sweat, the distant sound of sirens cutting through the heavy silence. Someone must have called the cops.
I felt sick.
Randy dragged himself up onto his elbows, looking around at the carnage. His eyes landed on Sidney’s body, and something inside him seemed to break.
"Shit," he whispered. "She’s really gone."
I didn’t have anything to say to that.
A lump formed in my throat as I looked at the door. Any second now, the police would come bursting in, and what the hell was I supposed to tell them? That my own brother had done this? That I had just sat here and watched him fall?
My legs felt like lead as I pushed myself up, barely staying steady.
Gale finally lowered the gun, exhaling shakily. "This is going to be the biggest story of my career," she said, though she didn’t sound excited about it. More... numb.
The sirens grew louder, flashing lights cutting through the windows.
It was over.
But somehow, it didn’t feel like it.
I felt Randy’s eyes on me, but I couldn’t look at him. Instead, I stared at Billy one last time, my stomach twisting.
And then the front door burst open, and the house was flooded with officers, their voices shouting commands, their guns raised.
Everything blurred after that.
I barely registered them shouting at me to put my hands up, barely flinched when they dragged me away from Billy’s body. The night had been an endless nightmare, and now, I was waking up to something even worse.
The aftermath.
The flashing red and blue lights bathed Stu’s house in an eerie glow as the officers swarmed in, barking orders, guns drawn. I felt rough hands grabbing me, yanking me away from Billy’s body, and I barely registered the movement. My ears were ringing, my body numb.
“Hands where we can see them!” one of them shouted.
I lifted my shaking hands, barely able to process what was happening. I wasn’t the one who had done this, but in that moment, I felt just as guilty.
Gale quickly stepped forward, hands raised. “Wait! She didn’t do anything—she’s a victim!”
The officer holding me hesitated, glancing between me and the bodies littering the floor.
“There are bodies everywhere,” another officer muttered, stepping over Stu’s lifeless form. “Jesus.”
A pair of officers bent down near Billy and Sidney, checking for pulses.
“They’re gone,” one of them confirmed.
Gone.
That word barely felt real.
A choked noise escaped from Randy, who was still on the floor, cradling his wounded shoulder. “We’re the ones who called—Billy and Stu were the killers.”
“Is anyone else alive?” an officer asked.
Randy shook his head. “Sidney… she’s—” His voice cracked, and he turned his head away, unable to finish.
I felt like I was going to be sick.
An officer radioed for paramedics, and I barely heard Gale explaining what had happened. I wasn’t listening. I couldn’t.
I was staring at Billy.
Even in death, his expression was frozen in something unreadable. There was no redemption in the end, no last-minute apology. Just the same rage, the same obsession, the same darkness that had consumed him from the start.
My brother was gone, and I didn’t know how to feel about it.
“Miss, are you hurt?” A paramedic knelt beside me, scanning me for injuries.
I shook my head automatically, but my body ached all over. My hands were covered in blood—not mine, but Billy’s, Sidney’s, Stu’s.
“We need to check you out,” the paramedic insisted.
I barely had the energy to resist.
I let them lead me out of the house, stepping over broken glass and bloodstains, past officers and flashing cameras from reporters who had already arrived on the scene.
The moment the cold night air hit me, I felt like I could finally breathe again.
But that breath was laced with grief.
It was over.
And yet, I knew nothing would ever be the same again.
He kissed my forehead before pulling back, his hands sliding away reluctantly, like letting go meant breaking a promise.
“You wanna grab breakfast? Or coffee? You look like you need about a gallon of it.”
My instinct was to say yes — to cling to the noise, the people, the daylight. Anything that didn’t look like my dorm room. But my throat felt like it was closing up. The thought of sitting still, pretending everything was fine, made my skin crawl.
“I just—need to get my stuff from the room,” I said instead. “Then maybe.”
He nodded, but the crease between his brows didn’t ease. “Okay. I’ll walk you back.”
I started to protest — but the word no caught somewhere in my chest and never made it out. The truth was, I didn’t want to go back there alone. Not after what I’d seen.
So I nodded.
We cut across the quad, sunlight finally spilling over the red brick buildings. It should’ve felt warm, safe — but it didn’t. The light looked thin, washed out. Like even the sun didn’t want to linger here.
Randy was talking — something about film theory, his professor’s obsession with symbolism — but his voice felt far away. Every few seconds, I looked over my shoulder. Nothing but students rushing past, a couple of bikes clattering over pavement, the faint hum of the campus radio somewhere nearby.
Normal.
Totally normal.
Except it wasn’t.
When we reached my dorm, I hesitated at the door. My hand hovered over the handle, the metal cold against my fingertips.
“You sure you wanna go in?” Randy asked quietly.
I nodded again. “It’s fine.”
It wasn’t.
The key stuck in the lock for half a second before turning, like the door didn’t want to open. The air inside was colder than I remembered. Still. Like the room had been holding its breath too.
I stepped inside, every sound amplified — the soft creak of the hinge, the thud of my bag hitting the floor, Randy’s footsteps just behind me.
Nothing looked different. The blinds drawn, the lamp buzzing faintly.
But the smell—
The faintest trace of something that didn’t belong.
Cologne.
Not Randy’s.
Something sharp. Heavy. The kind that lingered after someone walked out of a room.
Randy noticed it too. “You leave a window open?”
“No.” My voice cracked on the word.
He frowned, stepping toward the bed. “Hey—”
And then he stopped.
So did I.
Because there, lying neatly on top of my pillow again, was another Polaroid.
Same angle. Same lighting.
Except this time—
I wasn’t asleep.
I was sitting up.
Staring straight at the camera.
Eyes wide open.
And I didn’t remember that picture being taken.
My breath hitched, the sound too loud in the stillness.
Randy picked up the photo, turning it toward the light. “What the hell—”
I snatched it from him before he could finish. My fingers shook as I flipped it over.
Something was written on the back in that same jagged handwriting.
“You look better when you’re awake.”
Randy froze, his usual quick-fire sarcasm gone.
His mouth opened, closed, then opened again — but nothing came out.
He looked at me, really looked, like he was finally seeing what I’d been feeling all along. The tremor in my hands. The dark circles under my eyes. The way I kept glancing over my shoulder like the walls might move.
“Okay,” he said finally, voice low, serious. “Tell me what the hell’s going on.”
I shook my head, gripping the photo so tight the edge cut into my palm. “I don’t know. I swear I don’t know. He was here last night. He was in here, Randy.”
His eyes flicked to the door, to the locked window, then back to me. “What do you mean, ‘in here’?”
“I mean he took this while I was sleeping!” My voice cracked. I didn’t care. “He’s been in here more than once. He leaves notes. Photos. He—he took my bracelet.”
Randy’s jaw clenched. “The one your dad gave you?”
I nodded.
He swore under his breath, pacing once before turning back to me. “You should’ve told me sooner.”
I laughed — sharp, hollow. “Yeah? And what was I supposed to say, Randy? That someone’s breaking into my room to watch me sleep? That they slide notes under my door in the middle of the night? You would’ve thought I was losing it!”
“I wouldn’t,” he said, quieter this time. “Not about this.”
The air between us felt heavier now.
He crossed the room, checking the window first. Locked. Then the closet. Empty.
He even dropped to his knees and checked under the bed.
Nothing.
When he stood again, he looked rattled. “You’re moving in with me. I’m not asking.”
“Randy—”
“I mean it.” His voice left no room for argument. “You’re not staying here another night. Whoever this freak is, he’s not getting anywhere near you again.”
I wanted to argue, to tell him I wasn’t running, that I wasn’t going to let some faceless psycho control me.
But when I looked around the room — my room — I couldn’t bring myself to lie.
Because I couldn’t stay here.
Not after that photo.
Not after knowing how close he’d been.
“Okay,” I whispered.
Randy’s shoulders eased a fraction. He brushed a hand through his hair and let out a breath. “Good. Pack what you need. We’ll figure the rest out later.”
He moved to grab my bag, but the moment he bent down—
Something crackled under his shoe.
We both froze.
He lifted his foot.
Another Polaroid.
This one face-down.
He slowly crouched, picked it up, and flipped it over.
It wasn’t me this time.
It was us.
From just seconds ago.
Me standing in the middle of the room, Randy at my side, his arm half-extended toward me.
The angle was from the doorway.
Taken from inside.
Randy’s face went white. “That’s—”
“Impossible,” I whispered.
But the fresh chemical smell of Polaroid film hung faintly in the air, sharp and undeniable.
And from somewhere down the hall—
A soft, familiar laugh echoed.
Low. Mocking.
Male.
Randy dropped the photo, moving toward the door, but I caught his wrist.
“Don’t,” I breathed. “That’s what he wants.”
He looked back at me, torn between instinct and logic, fear and fury.
Outside, the laughter faded, replaced by silence.
But the damage was already done.
He was here.
He’d been watching.
And now he knew we knew.
Randy slowly backed away from the door, every muscle tense. “Get your stuff,” he said. “We’re leaving. Now.”
The room felt smaller. Like the walls were folding in, pressing against my skin, trying to keep me here.
I didn’t even realize I’d grabbed the landline until the coiled cord brushed my wrist. My fingers hovered over the keypad, but who was I supposed to call? Campus security? They’d take an hour to get here—if they believed me at all.
And the police? God, no. The last thing I needed was for them to dig into my name. My blood. My family.
Billy Loomis.
It was still poison in this town. In every headline. Every hushed whisper on campus when they thought I wasn’t listening. Her brother was the killer. The killer.
If I called the cops, that’s all they’d see.
Not a victim.
A Loomis.
I slammed the phone back into the cradle before the dial tone could betray me.
The note burned in my hand, the words seared into the back of my eyelids every time I blinked. I just wanted to see you dream.
My stomach turned. What kind of person writes that? What kind of person wants that?
I staggered to the dresser and yanked the drawer open, pulling out the first thing I could find—a pair of scissors. Pathetic, maybe, but it was sharp. Cold in my hand. A false sense of safety.
The silence pressed harder. I swear I could hear my own blood moving, rushing too fast, too loud. I strained to catch something else—a breath that wasn’t mine. A shift of weight in the floorboards. Anything.
Nothing.
And then—
The phone rang.
I jumped so hard the scissors clattered to the floor.
One ring. Two. Three.
I just stared at it, my throat closing. Every instinct screamed don’t answer it.
Four.
Five.
The machine clicked, my own voice spilling into the room, cheerful and oblivious:
“Hey, it’s me. Leave a message.”
The beep sliced through me like a blade.
And then—his voice.
Calm. Slow. Almost tender.
| “You looked beautiful last night.”
My knees gave out. I sank to the floor, shaking so hard I could barely breathe.
| “You don’t know how long I watched you… how hard it was not to touch you.”
I slapped my hand over my mouth, biting down on a sob until I tasted blood.
| “Next time, baby… maybe I won’t be so good.”
The line clicked dead.
The silence after was worse than the voice.
I crawled forward on trembling hands, snatched the phone, and ripped the cord out of the wall so hard it nearly took the socket with it.
But it didn’t matter.
He was already here once.
And now he knew I was awake.
My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I stared at the ripped cord dangling from the phone like it could somehow undo what I just heard.
But it didn’t matter. The line was dead.
Just like Billy.
I pressed my back against the wall, dragging the scissors closer until the metal bit into my palm. Pathetic defense. He’d laugh if he saw me clutching them like a child with a toy.
He’s been here.
Not just tonight—before. Watching. Waiting.
The photo burned behind my eyes—the tilt of my head, the curve of my arm under the blanket. Peaceful. Vulnerable. I didn’t even remember sleeping like that. Which meant he’d been close enough to see details. Close enough to breathe the same air.
My stomach turned to ice when the memory slammed into me. Two days ago.
His voice through the doorway, smooth and lazy, like we were friends. Like we had something normal between us.
“You know I’ve got a key, right?”
I’d laughed then—because what else was I supposed to do? Pretend I wasn’t terrified? Pretend my pulse didn’t stutter every time he looked at me too long?
He told me to run. Chased me down the hall like it was a game. And then he just… stopped. Smiling like a cat that didn’t feel like killing the mouse—yet.
And now this.
This wasn’t a joke.
I fumbled on my desk for something—anything—until my fingers found a crumpled Post-it and a pen. My hand shook so hard the letters slanted downhill as I scrawled the words:
“Change the lock. Tomorrow.”
I slapped it against the lamp where I couldn’t ignore it. Like that would save me. Like a piece of yellow paper would keep him out.
The room felt smaller. The corners darker. My skin prickled with the certainty that he was still out there, maybe even pressed against the door, listening. Smiling.
Another sound cracked through the silence.
Tap.
Soft. Against the glass.
My head snapped toward the window.
The curtains swayed from the heat kicking on, nothing else. Still—my breath locked in my throat as I edged forward, scissors raised like they meant something.
I yanked the curtain back.
Empty.
Just the quad below, washed pale under the yellow glow of the security light.
I let out a shaky laugh that died in my throat when my eyes caught the glass.
Something smeared across the pane.
Not dirt. Not rain.
A word.
One finger dragged through the fog my breath left earlier:
“AWAKE?”
I stumbled back so fast I hit the dresser, the scissors slipping from my hand and clattering against the wood.
My chest heaved. My brain screamed at me to run, to get out, but my legs wouldn’t move.
Because if he could do that without me hearing a thing—
If he could touch the glass while I was standing just feet away—
The door.
My eyes darted to it, cold horror crawling up my spine.
The key.
He told me he had a key.
And now I wasn’t sure if the lock had even clicked.
The room was too quiet.
I stared at the door, every muscle in my body locked tight. My ears strained for anything—the shuffle of feet, a whisper of breath, the rattle of the handle. Nothing.
But that didn’t mean he wasn’t there.
I forced myself to move, one step, then another, the carpet swallowing my footsteps. My fingers brushed the dresser, the cool wood grounding me for a split second before slipping away.
The scissors lay on the floor where I dropped them. I crouched down, grabbed them, and held them like a lifeline.
Another step. My throat burned with each shallow breath.
The door loomed ahead. The thin strip of light from the hallway cut across the floor, fractured by the uneven edge of the doorframe. Too bright. Too exposed.
I crouched low, watching for shadows under the crack. Nothing.
Finally, I reached out with my free hand, my fingertips barely grazing the cold metal knob.
Locked. Please be locked.
I turned it slowly.
It moved.
Not much, just a twitch, but enough to send my stomach plunging.
The lock wasn’t thrown.
I slapped my palm against it, twisting the tiny dial until it clicked into place. The sound was deafening in the silence.
My back hit the door and I slid down to the floor, scissors clenched so tight the handle dug into my palm. My pulse roared in my ears.
I tried to tell myself I was safe now. That a simple lock could stop someone like him.
But then I remembered his voice, calm and smug, echoing through the doorway two nights ago:
“You know I’ve got a key, right?”
A fresh wave of panic surged through me, prickling along my skin. I scrambled back from the door, dragging myself toward the bed like that extra two feet of space would save me.
My eyes darted to the window again. The word was still there, a pale streak in the glass: AWAKE?
My stomach turned. He’d been close enough to write that while I was in the room. While I thought I was alone.
Something snapped inside me. I wasn’t going to sit here and wait for him to come through the door.
I crawled toward the phone out of habit, even though I knew the cord was shredded. My fingers brushed the broken wire, cold and useless.
No 911. No Randy. No one.
Just me.
And him.
The thought barely formed when the knob rattled.
Once.
Slow.
Deliberate.
I froze, every breath locked in my chest.
The metal clicked again, a whisper of movement like someone testing how much give the lock had.
Then his voice, soft through the door, almost playful:
"Not asleep yet, huh?"
I clapped a hand over my mouth, choking on a scream.
The handle turned harder this time, pressing against the lock with a dull thud. Not forcing, not yet—just reminding me how useless that little piece of metal really was.
"Come on, sweetheart." His tone was light, teasing, like this was all some game he knew he’d win. "You don’t have to be scared."
I pressed myself against the bed frame, scissors trembling in my fist.
Another push on the door. Harder this time. The wood shuddered against the frame, and I felt it in my bones.
"You’re making this harder than it has to be."
My vision blurred with tears, hot and sharp, but I didn’t make a sound. Couldn’t.
The pressure eased. The knob stilled.
Silence stretched, thick and suffocating.
And then—
A soft knock. Three taps.
"Sweet dreams."
His footsteps faded down the hall, unhurried, like he knew I wasn’t going anywhere.
When the quiet finally settled, I collapsed against the floor, scissors slipping from my hand with a hollow clatter.
But I didn’t move. I couldn’t.
Because no matter how far away his footsteps sounded, I knew the truth:
I sat in the back of Dewey's jeep just staring at my shaking hands. The image of Casey is seared into my brain. The scream her mother let out when her parents got home just seconds before I found Casey replays over and over. I felt cold and numb. Tears silently rolled down my cheeks. They had made a call to my father, who didn't answer. But Billy did when they called the house.
I jumped when someone touched my shoulder. “Whoa, it's just me.” I looked up to see Billy standing there beside the open door. “You alright?” He asked. I just looked at him and slid out of the back seat of Dewey's jeep. “Come on. Dad should be coming home soon, he called before I left the house.” He walked me to his car, opened the passenger side door, and waited for me to get in before shutting it, and walking over to the driver's side.”
When we got home dad was there waiting in the living room. When he saw me he stood up and walked over to me, holding out his arms. It was a rare thing to see from him. But I went over and wrapped my arms around his waist and cried into his chest, getting his button up shirt wet. “How about you go up to bed. You can stay home tomorrow if you want to, okay?” I nodded my head and pulled away. I walked to the stairs and started to climb them. When I was at the top I heard dad saying something to Billy.
“I want you to keep an eye on your sister. You go to Stu's house, she goes. You go out with Sidney, she goes with you. Do I make myself clear?”
I assumed Billy reluctantly agreed. I didn't hear him Though because I walked to my room before he answered our father. I stood at my bedroom door and waited for him to come upstairs. When he got to the landing I made myself known. “You don't have to do that. I don't need babysat or anything. I'll be fine.” He looked over at me, he clenched his jaw before relaxing his face and sighing. “Go to bed, yn.” He walked to his room and slammed the door shut.
The next morning I just stayed in bed after shutting my alarm off. I couldn't sleep last night. Everytime I would close my eyes, I saw Casey hanging from the tree by her own intestines. I laid in bed staring up at the ceiling, tears slid down my face as I silently cried.
There was a knock on my door before it was opened. “You going to school or not? Billy asked. I shrugged my shoulders, “I don't know.”
“Well, figure it out. I don't want to be waiting on your ass and be fucking late.”
“Get out.”
“What? I'm sorry, I didn't hear you.”
I sat up and glared at him, “I said, get out! Get out. Get out. Get out!” I picked up a pillow from my bed and threw it at him.
“Don't get fucking loud with me!” He yelled, throwing the pillow back at me.
“You are such an asshole! My beat friend was fucking murdered and fucking hung in a three by her own guts, Billy! So fucking excuse me I'm not all bright and sunshiny!”
There were footsteps pounding down the hallway and entering my room. “What the hell is all the screaming about?” dad asked angrily. Neither I nor Billy said anything. Billy scoffed, “Whatever.” He pushed past dad and stomped down the stairs. seconds later the front door slammed shut. Dad stood there, eyes closed, and took a deep breath. “Are you staying home today?” He asked gently.
“No, I'll go to school, I have a rest today.”
I didn't want to go, to be honest, but I also didn't want to stay home alone. They don't know who killed Casey and Steve, the killer could still be out there. What if he comes for me or any of my other friends? It's all too suspicious. It'll almost be a year since Sidney's mother was murdered. What if Cotton Weary was actually innocent like Gale Weathers claims he is? I don't like Gale, and don't want to agree with her, but I need to think of all possibilities.
“I'll call the school and let them know you have permission to leave whenever you want if it's too much for you.” He walked out of my room, closing the door behind him.
I let out a shaky sigh and forced myself to get out of bed and shower. When I was finished getting ready for school I went downstairs to see Billy sitting at the kitchen table eating a bowl of cereal. He had a scowl on his face. He's been a lot more moody since mom left.
He barely talked to dad and always snapped at me for no reason. Sidney also hasn't been as open with him like she was before get mothers murder. She's better with him, let him hold her hand, kiss her, hug her. But it's very clear he's like any teenage hormonal boy.
“I'll take myself to school, so you don't have to wait on me.”
He didn't say anything, just stood up, put his bowl in the sink, and walked out the door. I heard his camaro rev up and pull out of the driveway.
I made a couple pieces of toast and headed out to my car. It was better if I took myself to school, that way if I did want to leave early, I could without needing someone to take me home.
When I got to school the place was crawling with news reporters. I didn't even want to get out of my car. I was so focused on the reporters I didn't notice the person at my driver's side window. I nearly jumped out of my skin when they knocked on the window.
Randy stood outside waving. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my pounding heart. I grabbed my bag off the passenger seat and opened the door. “Hey, I heard what happened. Are you sure you want to be here today?” He asked, taking my bag from me, which in itself was odd.
“Yeah, I have a test.…I also don't want to be alone.”
“I would have skipped and came over to stay with you. You know I'm also a call away.”
I gave him a small smile, “Thanks, Randy, you're…uh…you're a good friend. But I'm fine. Just have to try and make it past the sea of reports without being bombarded with questions.”
“Don't worry, I'll make sure they don't get too close. Plus, Dewey is here, so he'll make sure they stay back.”
“I can take my bag, Randy, or walk me into school, I'm sure you have somewhere else you'd rather be.”
He shook his head l, “I'm where I want to be. Unless you want me to leave you alone.”
I shook my head frantically, “No! I mean, I didn't mean it in a bad way or anything. I just figured you'd rather be with the others or be at film club…”
“You're cute when you ramble.”
I felt my face get hot, my cheeks no doubtedly turning a shade of pink or red. There is no way he is being serious right now. “You ready?” We had stopped walking before we got close to the mob of reporters and their cameramen trailing close behind.
I took a deep breath and nodded my head. Randy wrapped his arm around my shoulder and walked me to the front doors of the school. I tried keeping my head down, tried to make myself as small as possible; invisible.
Of course as soon as one sniffed me out the rest came running. Cameras and microphones were shoved in my face. My name was being yelled in all directions, questions flying at me as they crowded around us. Luckily Dewey was able to push through and get us out of there.
My heart was pounding in my ears. The world around me seemed to blur and slow down. Voices sounded far away. It was a mistake coming to school. I shouldn't have left the house. “I want to go home. This was a mistake.”
I stared at the box on the floor like it might grow teeth.
The bracelet glinted in the dim lamplight, silver charm shaped like a tiny heart catching the glow before spinning slowly to a stop. I remembered the day I got it — my sixteenth birthday. My dad had saved for months. It had a single charm back then. Now there were eight.
Eight memories.
Eight pieces of my life.
And he had it.
He had it the whole time.
I backed away until the backs of my knees hit the bed. Then I sank down, the mattress creaking under me, the air thick and stale like it hadn’t moved in hours. My mouth was dry. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to cry.
I wanted to throw the box across the room and watch it shatter into a thousand tiny pieces.
But I didn’t.
Because I knew that’s exactly what he wanted.
Fear. Power. Control.
He wasn’t just watching.
He was playing.
And I was the game.
My eyes darted to the window. Still cracked open from earlier, just enough to let the air in. Or someone’s eyes.
I shoved it shut. Locked it. Pulled the blinds down and backed away, heart hammering against my ribs like it was trying to get out.
The campus was dark outside. Still. Too still. Like it was holding its breath with me.
I turned the note over in my hand again.
You drop things when you’re not paying attention.
But don’t worry — I’m always watching.
It was taunting. Intimate. Personal.
And I hated that it worked.
I didn’t sleep.
I couldn’t.
Every shadow became a silhouette. Every creak became a footstep. I left the light on, curled up in the farthest corner of my bed, knees hugged to my chest, the desk chair still shoved under the doorknob like it would do anything if he really wanted to come in.
Because that’s the thing I couldn’t stop thinking about —
If he wanted to hurt me tonight… he could’ve.
But he didn’t.
He wanted me scared.
He wanted me wondering when.
Because the not knowing —
That was worse.
It was nearly dawn when I heard it.
Rustling.
Just outside the door.
My blood went ice cold.
I crept toward it, silent, barefoot, heart a ticking time bomb.
No knocks this time.
Just the sound of something being slid under the door.
I waited. Counted to thirty. Then to sixty.
Nothing.
No footsteps. No retreating echo. Just silence.
I inched forward and picked it up.
Another photo.
This time it was me.
Just me.
In my room.
Sleeping.
Except — I hadn't slept. Not once.
My body locked up.
Because it wasn’t from tonight.
It was from a week ago.
Same pajama shirt. Same blanket. Same scar on my ankle from when I tripped on the curb.
A week ago.
He’d been inside.
He’d watched me sleep.
I stumbled back, bile rising in my throat, lungs tight with the pressure of a scream I couldn’t release.
I looked around the room like I might spot him in the shadows. Behind the closet door. Under the bed.
But I was alone.
I was always alone.
Except when I wasn’t.
And now I knew for certain:
He wasn’t just outside anymore.
He was in.
He had been.
And I didn’t know when he’d come back.
Only that he would.
My fingers trembled as I stared down at the Polaroid.
It wasn’t from earlier.
It wasn’t the kiss. It wasn’t Randy.
It was me.
Sleeping.
The photo was grainy, shadowed around the edges — but clear enough. Too clear. I was curled on my side, facing the window, hair draped over the pillow like a dark halo. The blanket was twisted around my legs, one shoulder exposed. My mouth slightly open. Completely unaware.
Completely vulnerable.
The worst part?
It wasn’t taken from outside.
There were no curtains in the frame. No glass. No distance.
It had been taken from inside the room. Just a few feet away from where I slept. A perfect angle from the edge of the mattress.
My bed.
My room.
My sanctuary.
And he had been here.
I didn’t realize I was backing up until the wall stopped me. My spine hit cold plaster and I slid down slowly, knees folding in, the photo still clutched in my hand.
I stared at it again, hoping I was wrong — hoping I could find some detail that proved it wasn’t recent. But I recognized the t-shirt I’d worn last night. The one I tossed in the hamper this morning. The glass of water on my nightstand. The book I’d left open beside it.
He’d been here last night.
Standing right where I was sitting now.
The air felt thinner, tighter. Like the walls were closing in. Like I was still being watched.
I didn’t move. Couldn’t. My eyes scanned the corners of the room like they might give me something — a clue, a sign — anything to make this feel less real.
But everything looked untouched.
Perfect.
Just like I’d left it.
Except it wasn’t.
Because someone had been here.
Someone had stood over me.
Watched me breathe.
Watched me dream.
And I’d slept through it all like a fool.
My stomach twisted.
Was this the first time?
How many nights had he done this?
And then—
Another knock.
Soft. Precise.
The kind of knock that wasn’t looking for attention. The kind that knew you were already listening.
I froze.
No footsteps. No voice on the other side. Just silence. Waiting.
Then something slid under the door with a faint hiss of paper against wood.
I didn’t move for a long moment.
Not until the quiet stretched too long. Not until it started to feel heavier than the noise.
I crawled toward the door, my legs unsteady, and picked up the folded piece of paper.
Same notebook paper. Same messy, slanted handwriting that sliced through me like glass.
My throat tightened as I read.
“Don’t worry, baby.
I didn’t touch you.
I just wanted to see you dream.”
That was worse.
So much worse.
Because it wasn’t about hurting me — not yet.
It was about access. Intimacy.
Permission without consent.
He wanted me to know he could get in — that I didn’t even stir when he did.
That he had all the control.
And I had none.
I looked up. Slowly. Toward the window. The closet. The crack under the bed.
Because now I wasn’t sure if he was ever really gone.
Casey Becker was set up for a movie night with her boyfriend Steve Orth. She set two VHS tapes on the kitchen counter, Halloween and Nightmare On Elm Street, before making her way into the living room. She turned on the lamp that sat atop the tv stand, then padded over to the sliding glass doors to make sure they were locked and the back patio light was off. When she turned to head back into the kitchen to make popcorn, the phone rang.
Early That Same Day
Yn
After I woke up and got ready for school I went downstairs to the kitchen. Stu was already here, which is kind of abnormal. He's usually always late if he decides to come over in the morning to pick us up. He and Billy are again sitting at the table, breakfast sandwiches from the local cafe in front of them. They were talking about something and haven't seen me yet, so I backed up a little and listened.
“It's tonight. When her parents leave for their dinner party tonight we will be sitting down the road. As soon as they're tail lights aren't visible anymore, that's when we get out of the car and head to the house. Leave the car where it's at so we can get out of there before her parents get back.”
Stu took a bit from his sandwich and nodded. I walked in after Billy was done talking, making them turn to look at me. “Good morning, idiots. Stu, I'm surprised you're here an hour before we need to be at school instead of five minutes before.” Billy was glaring at me for interrupting them. “How long have you been standing?” He asked.
“What? I literally just walked in, Billy. Don't worry, I didn't hear your plans to fondle each other later.” Billy's jaw clenched, hands balled into fists as he shot daggers at me. “Calm down. I didn't hear whatever you were talking about. Even if I did, I wouldn't give a shit.” I grabbed a bowl, the cereal, and milk, sat them on the counter and made a bowl of cereal. Then I went over and sat at the table with Stu and Billy. The both of them looked nervous; suspicious even, but I didn't push or ask what they were up to.
After I was done eating I put my bowl in the sink and headed back upstairs to finish getting ready for school. When I came back down they were gone. “Seriously? They just left me here?! What assholes.” I grabbed my keys, locked the door behind me, and walked down the front steps. “Hey!” I jumped, spun, he swung my fist. A hand grabbed my wrist before my fist connected with their face. “Whoa! Hey, it's just me.”
“Jesus, Randy! What the hell?” I hit him in the shoulder, pushing him back a step. “Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. Just thought I could take you to school.” I raised my eyebrows, “Oh.” I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, making me look down at the ground so Randy wouldn't see. “Um…yeah, okay.”
Casey Beckers
Casey wishes she never answered the phone. She should have asked yn to stay with her instead of Steve. Steve was late and now she was making sure every door and window was locked. The creep on the phone was watching her but she couldn't see where else was.
After she made sure the front door was locked she backed up, heart pounding, hands shaking. She looked around her to make sure nobody was sneaking up on her. She jumped when someone knocked on the door. “Who's there?” She asked, her voice trembling with fear. “I'm calling the police!”
When she went to pick up the phone, it rang…again for the tenth time, or at least that's what it felt like. Every time she would hang up on the person messing with her they would just call back. She hesitantly answered the phone, knowing they would only keep calling. “What do you want from me?” She cried into the phone. “Don't you know you're never supposed to ask who's there?” The distorted voice asked.
“What do you want?!” Casey screamed. “To see your insides on the outside!” The voice growled on the other end. Casey cried out and hung the phone up again. She stepped down into the living room, rushing to the patio door and making sure it was locked.
She jumped when the phone rang in her hand. She reluctantly answered it without having to ask who it was. “Before you might want to look outside before you hang up again.” She slowly walked back to the patio door and flicked the light on. She cried out, unlocked the door, and started to open it.
“I wouldn't do that.”
She locked the door again, crying at the sight in front of her. Her boyfriend Steve was in one of the patio chairs with his arms and legs duct tape to it, with a piece over his mouth. Things didn't go so well after that. The shit fuck on the other end wanted to play some game. He asked questions about horror movies. She got the first ones correct. But he tricked her with the last one.
That one question got her boyfriend killed. When she looked outside again, Steve was now sitting in the chair dead. His insides on the outside. Her stomach churned at the sit, his screams for her would forever be stuck in her head. The nightmare only got worse when a chair came crashing through the glass doors. A scream bubbled up in her throat and she ran to the kitchen.
The Jiffy Pop on the stove was smoking now. She grabbed a knife from the knife block on the counter and headed out the door in the kitchen. When she looked inside she could see the killer In some kind of black clock and a mask walking into the smoky kitchen. She tried to keep the tears at bay, ducking down to get past the windows, but she stopped to look inside one more time.
That was a mistake when the killer popped up and punched through the glass and grabbed a hold of her. She took the phone still in her hand and smashed it into his face and took off across the patio, past Steve's lifeless body. She needed to get to the front yard so she could get to the driveway. Her parents should be returning home soon.
As she rounded the side of the house, thinking she was safe and clear, the killer jumped through the side window and tackled her and wrapped their hands around her throat and squeezed, cutting off her air supply. She was able to get away and keep running to round the corner to the front yard. Headlights were seen getting closer and closer. But she never made it to them, instead arms wrapped her and a knife was plunged into her chest.
Yn
I had decided instead of sitting at home with my nose in a book I would go over to Casey's. We haven't talked all that much anymore, not since she and Stu broke up last year. I wanted to try and rekindle that friendship and forget about everything that happened. She was my best friend; the person I told everything to and I need to talk to her about the feelings I have for Randy.
When I finally made it to the house I parked in front of the garage off to the side behind her car and got out. When I made it to the front door I could see it was open slightly. “Casey?” I pushed the door open more and stepped inside. The house was filled with smoke. “Casey!” I ran inside to see the mess in the living room. One of the patio chairs was surrounded by glass and wooden pieces from the patio door. “Casey! Casey, are you here?!” I went into the kitchen to see something on the stove was on fire.
“Casey!”
I took the thing of Jiffy Pop off the stove and put it in the sink, turning the water on to put the flames out. Then I headed for the stairs, calling out her name but got no response. I ran back downstairs, going into the living and came to a stop when I saw something horrific. Steve Orth was duct tape to a chair with his insides spilling out of him. “Oh, my god! Oh my god!”
I turned around and ran back to the front door, running outside. “Cas…” A scream ripped through me at the site in front of me. My best friend was hanging in the free out front, strung up by her own intestines.
When I woke up to the sun shining through the window. I felt a presence behind me and looked down to see an arm wrapped around my waist. I turned my head to see Randy sleeping behind me. I carefully picked his arm up and slowly slipped out of the bed and tiptoed out of the room. When I walked downstairs and into the kitchen I heard Casey talking to someone but couldn't hear the other person responding. It wasn't until I looked around the corner that I saw her on the phone in the kitchen.
“I can't just leave, Steve. I'll see you when we come home tomorrow.” There was a long pause before she started speaking again. “I'm going to break up with him. But I can't do it right now while on this weekend trip.” Another pause, “I love you too.” My eyebrows shot up at those words that just came out of her mouth. So Casey was cheating on Stu. My best friend was cheating on my brother's best friend. How great. I stepped out from where I was hiding and cleared my throat.
Casey jumped and spun around. “Hey, mom, I have to go. Well, be home tomorrow sometime. Love you.” I raised my brows as she hung up. “Hey, yn. That was just my mom.” I held my hand up to stop her from talking. “You're cheating on Stu with Steve? As in, like Steve Orth?” Her mouth dropped open, and she stumbled over her words. “Please don't tell Stu! I was going to break up with him after this trip.”
“You better or I'll be forced to say something to him myself. Stu might be a little dumb sometimes, but he's still a good guy, and he does not deserve that shit. If you didn't want to be with him then you should have broken up with him.” She let out a sigh and looked down. “I know. I'm sorry, I'll tell him after this weekend.”
“Tell who what?” Stu came into the kitchen. He walked up behind Casey and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. “Nothing. It's not important just girl talk,” she said. He hummed and kissed the side of her head. “What's for breakfast?” He asked, going to the fridge. A few minutes later everyone else was walking down the stairs and into the kitchen as well.
The rest of the weekend went pretty smooth. We went swimming in the lake during the afternoon when it was warm out. Sat out by the fire at night, telling stories, and roasting marshmallows. We watched horror movies even though Sidney wasn't that big of a fan of them. Randy was in charge of bringing movies and of course most of them had Jamie Lee Curtis in them. It sucked when we had to pack the cars up and go home after making sure the cabin was cleaned up and all the doors and windows were locked.
The next day at school I saw Casey walking down the hall with Steve Orth, his arm slung around her shoulders. She had his Leatherman jacket on, the sleeves bunched up, and the bottom hanging past her waist. I shook my head and turned to open my locker. “Did you know?” I jumped at the sudden voice and turned to look to my left. Stu stood there, looking down the hall the way Casey went. “What?”
“Casey and Steve! Did you know she was cheating on me?” His blue eyes snapped to me, pain and anger flashing in them. “No. I mean, I heard her on the phone on Saturday. I told her she had to tell you. But hey, you can ask Tatum out now.” That put a smile on his face and he leaned against the lockers. “You're right. Now, what's going on with you and Meeks?” He asked, raising an eyebrow with a smirk growing on his stupid face. “What? No…nothings going on.”
He let out a laugh, “Oh, please, I see the way he looks at you. How you get nervous around him.” I scoffed and cast my attention back to my task of grabbing my books for the next class. “He doesn't look at me in any way.” Stu laughs again and Shakes his head. “He looks at you like he's undressing you. Definitely thinking about all the things he wants to do with you. Billy even sees it. He's Threatened Randy already because of it.”
I shook my head, closing my locker, and turning to face him. “That's ridiculous, Stu. He doesn't see me like that,” I said. “He kissed you! He definitely likes you.” He's not wrong, Randy did kiss me. But that doesn't mean he likes me. He could just be doing all this to try and get in my pants. I've seen him look at other girls. How he would rack his eyes over their bodies. They don't give him a chance though. They only see him as the film geek. The guy who knows everything about movies, especially horror movies.
“Whatever, Stu, I need to get to my next class.” I slammed my locker closed and walked to my next class. Of course, the whole class I couldn't focus. I was too busy overthinking about everything. The kiss. Randy asking me out on a date. Waking up next to him this weekend. Did he really like me? I'm a year younger than my brother and his friends. They're all juniors. I'm only a sophomore. I'm only sixteen, not old enough to date anyone in the eyes of my brother. I don't know if dad would even notice.
After school I went straight home, did my homework, and spent the rest of the time in my room until I got hungry. When I went downstairs Billy and Stu were at the kitchen table. They were talking about something but stopped when I walked into the room. “What're you two up to?” I asked, opening the fridge. “Nothing. Nothing that concerns you anyway,” Billy says. I rolled my eyes and pulled a soda out of the fridge, sat it on the counter, and grabbed a glass from the cabinet.
“Okay, sorry for interrupting you two finally admitting you're gay for each other.” I poured the soda into the glass and walked to pick up the phone on the counter to order something to be delivered. “Shut the fuck up! Go back to your room and stick your nose back in a book.” I opened the drawer in front of me and pulled takeout menus out.
“So defensive. What the hell do you lovers want? Chinese, pizza, burgers…” I look at them to see a red face Billy clenching his jaw and giving me a death glare. Stu was sitting there trying not to laugh at how defensive and pissy Billy got. “Burgers and fries It is. Did you ask Tatum out yet, Stu?” I asked, picking up the phone to dial the restaurant's number. “Have you admitted that Randy wants to bend you over and fuck you senseless?”
My eyes fly up to look at him, heat rising up my neck to my cheeks. “Shut the fuck up, Stu!” Billy and I say in unison. What an asshole. But to be honest I can't help but imagine such a scenario happening. Maybe being chased through the dark house only to be caught and at his mercy.
