6. Aurora

6

My heart is pounding as my eyes fly open. Vivid images of piercing blue eyes that bore into my soul linger. Breathing deeply, I shake off the creepy feeling I've woken up to.

Glancing at my alarm clock, I jump out of bed. It should have gone off by now as my shift at the grocery store starts in half an hour. Heading into the bathroom, I splash cool water on my face. But as I go about my morning routine, I can't escape the sensation of being watched, which is ridiculous—I'm in my third-floor apartment with the curtains drawn, for fuck's sake.

It's a prickling awareness that raises goosebumps on my skin. Looking over my shoulder while brushing my teeth, I half expect to see those intense blue eyes staring at me.

I push the unsettling thoughts aside and get dressed before grabbing breakfast. But even as I step out into the bright morning sunlight, the feeling persists.

On my walk to work, I scan the people I pass, searching for any sign of the man from the carnival. But he's nowhere to be seen.

I glance over my shoulder for the hundredth time, my heart racing as I scan the street. The sensation of being watched is overwhelming, but no matter how hard I look, I can't spot anyone suspicious.

Am I losing my mind?

I quicken my pace, my shoes clicking against the sidewalk as I hurry toward the grocery store. Relief floods through me as I push open the door and step inside. The familiar sights and sounds of the store envelop me like a comfort blanket.

"Aurora! You're here late." Dan's friendly voice cuts through my thoughts, and I turn to see him approaching with a warm smile. "Do I need to discipline you?"

"Hey, Dan," I manage a weak grin in return. "I'm sorry, I overslept. Damn alarm clock didn't go off." Dan is my best friend but also my boss as he's the manager at the grocery store.

He frowns, his eyes searching my face. "You okay? You look a little spooked."

I hesitate for a moment, wondering if I should tell him about the feeling I've had since I woke. But I don't want to sound crazy, so I shake my head and force a more convincing smile.

"I'm fine, just didn't sleep well last night. Too excited from the carnival, I guess."

Dan chuckles, nodding in understanding. "I know what you mean. It was a wild night. Charlotte couldn't stop talking about it on the way home."

I latch onto the change in subject. "She's probably already planned our Halloween outfits for Halloween night," I joke, stepping beside him as I head toward the break room to put my lunch in the fridge.

"Knowing her, she's going to have the three of us go as Peter Pan, Wendy, and Tinkerbell," Dan grins, holding the door open for me.

"If that's the case, I call dibs on Wendy."

As we settle into our usual pre-shift routine, Dan's chatter helps ease some tension. But even as I laugh and joke with him, I can't shake the feeling that something is off.

It's like a shadow lurks just beyond the edge of my vision, watching. And despite the warmth and familiarity of the store, I can't help but feel like it's only a matter of time before that shadow swallows me whole.

The hours drag on forever, each passing minute feeling like an eternity. I go through the motions of my shift, stocking shelves and helping customers, but my mind is elsewhere. That nagging sensation of being watched never leaves me.

I jump at every unexpected sound, my heart races at the slightest movement in my peripheral vision.

Come on Aurora, you're being ridiculous. Pull yourself together.

Despite trying to reason with myself, the feeling persists no matter how hard I try to rationalize it.

My nerves are frayed when my shift ends. I clock out as quickly as possible, barely taking the time to say goodbye to my coworkers before I rush out the door.

The walk home is a blur, my feet carrying me forward on autopilot as my mind races with paranoid thoughts. Every shadow seems to hold a threat, every passerby a potential stalker. I clutch my keys tightly, ready to use them as a weapon if needed.

When I finally reach my apartment building, I breathe a sigh of relief. The familiar sight of the worn brick facade is welcoming. I hurry inside the building, taking the stairs two at a time in my haste to get to the safety of my apartment.

Once inside, I lock the door behind me and lean against it, my eyes closing momentarily. There's no denying it. I'm losing the plot.

The familiarness of home helps ease some of the tension, and the silence of my apartment is welcoming from the constant hum of paranoia that's been following me.

Moving through my space, I draw the curtains tightly shut and double-check the locks on my windows. The rational part of my brain knows that no one can see me here, that I'm safe within these walls. But the irrational part, the part that's been on high alert since this morning, isn't so easily convinced.

As I collapse onto my couch, my head in my hands, I can't help but wonder if I'm going insane. If this feeling doesn't disappear soon, I might have to seek professional help. The idea of opening up to a stranger is sickening, but I know this feeling isn't normal.

For now, though, I can only try to relax and hope the morning relieves me from this unrelenting sense of being watched.