Chapter Twelve

Mallory

Ghostface is calling me his good fucking girl and his hand is gripping my hair at the nape. My back is flush to his chest, he ’ s hard and breathing erratically as he sinks his knife into my abdomen. Pain like I ’ ve never felt burns through me, as he slowly pulls the blade from my skin, spilling my blood all over the grass. He lets go of me, eager to see what I'll do next, but I collapse. No, I ’ m falling, right out of my bed. I'm so tangled in my goddamn blankets I can ’ t brace for impact. I groan out in pain, the sharp sensations jolt through the left side of my body as I connect with the unforgiving hard wood floors of my bedroom. They cover the entirety of the main floor and while I love the dark walnut colour, they’re always cold. It ’ s funny how getting chased through the woods by a psycho won't wake me up, but the sensation of falling is enough to scare me half to death.

After I ’ ve escaped the confines of the blanket burrito, my body reminds me that I drank way too much last night, so I sprint off to my ensuite. It ’ s nothing grand, just a powder room. The walls are painted black, and I changed out all the hardware and fixtures to black as well. Everything else is white: toilet, sink, counter, the cabinetry around the sink. The tile floor in here and in the main bathroom are the same bland 12 x 12 white tile with white grout. But in that bathroom I painted the walls a deep eggplant purple. My bedroom is my favourite room in the house. The walls are a deep forest green, and paired with the dark wood floors, it gives off a calming and serene ambiance. When you add that with my black antique dresser, makeup vanity, bookshelves, and end tables, it screams vintage, gothic, cottage aesthetic. The pièce de résistance is my bed. It ’ s a black, wooden, king size, four post bed with a leather tufted headboard. It ’ s the main focal point of the room, it's truly grand. Intricately carved vines climb the posts where at the top they flow out into attaching iron adornments that connect to the adjoining rods. I could hang curtains on these bars and that would effectively enclose my bed but I opted to drape sheer black fabric over and around these bars instead. I found it for a steal of a bargain at an estate sale in the next town over. An elderly couple had both passed away in it and the daughter just wanted to be rid of it. She had the moving company she hired load it up immediately and deliver it since they were already on site packing things up for her to take. I can understand her desire to have the item gone immediately, she said even looking at the bed made her almost break down in tears. Her husband said it gave him the creeps and that it was probably haunted. To me it was romantic, one diagnosed with a terminal illness and the other refusing to live in this world without their partner. It's just another way I ’ m different. Choosing to embrace the dark and morbid in my life instead of shying away from it.

I ’ m oddly energized today. Feeling good for the first time in… I ’ m not sure how long. After having a coffee and loudly making some scrambled eggs, Victoria finally wakes up. We eat together, giggling and reminiscing about last night, and by the end of breakfast I know she didn’t see anything that happened with Ghost. There's no way she would be able to stay quiet about witnessing something like that, much less sleep through it, drunk or not. She drank way too much wine and is clearly hung over. We managed to watch the first two Scream movies before she passed out on the couch, we are both in agreement that Billy is the hottest of the slashers. It was a fun night, eating pizza and just relaxing with someone else in my own home. She did get a little wild towards her third glass of wine though, asking the ghosts to come out and screw her silly. She’s fucking hilarious.

It’s around noon when Victoria decides to leave, promising to let me know she gets home safe. It’s a long drive back to civilization when you’re tired and your head is pounding. Thankfully, the alcohol was out of my system before I fell asleep or I would be in the same situation as her. I guess adrenaline sobers you up real quick.

While showering, I make a list of all the things I need to do with my time. My shifts off never line up like this, and I am worried they messed up the scheduling somehow, but I'm not about to bring it up and spoil the next seventy-two hours of solitude.

Solitude be damned, I decide to throw on some loud music and scrub the hell out of my house. Being a cleaner in your day job really makes you lose the desire to also do it in your downtime, it's literally never ending. Sleep Token is blaring through the speakers placed around my house. This Bluetooth wireless link-up technology is genius, it makes life so much easier once it's all connected and able to be controlled from my phone. All of this is new to me, I never had a cell phone or anything nice until Dennis and Barbra disappeared.

Starting in my room, I pick up all my stray laundry and stuff it into my hamper. Making my way to the basement, I stop in the main bathroom and grab the towels, throwing them in the bin as well. Lugging this laundry basket across the house and down the stairs is a real pain in the ass. I'm always scared I'll trip and fall to my death, cracking my neck on the stairs, and no one will ever find me. Well, that ’ s not true now, my stalker probably would. What would he do? Wail in agony? A heart crushing howl that echoes through the woods as he mourns what we never got to have? Or, defile my corpse in all the obscene ways he ’ s ever fantasized about? We may never know.

Placing the hamper on top of the dryer, I open the washing machine and turn it on. While pouring in more than the recommended amount of detergent, I smile. I always had to use as little as possible before, to make it last as long as I could. It ’ s the little things I notice now, what once gave me anxiety now means nothing. Working two jobs with only myself to support has been life changing. I'm still too scared to make the decision to only have one job. What if something breaks and I need the extra money? It ’ s also nice to have more than I need so I can continue to renovate the house.

I start tossing in all my clothes, because what ’ s the point of sorting when everything you own is dark coloured or black? My mind starts to drift and I wonder what to do with my time off. What ’ s Ghost up to? What did he do with the man from last night? Who is he in his day to day life?

I ’ ve been thinking of turning one of the upstairs bedrooms into a library for quite a while now. My books are quickly overtaking my room and there ’ s no more space for another bookshelf. I have left over purple paint from when I redid the main bathroom. It ’ s decided, that is what I ’ ll do with my days off. I ’ m excited, today is turning out to be great already. Closing the lid to the washer, I turn to exit the room and my gaze falls on a pile of underwear and things on a table by the door. I had been meaning to wash them by hand so the lace doesn ’ t get ruined by the aggressive washing machine. Grabbing a handful of them has me pausing. Why is it crunchy? What the hell? Picking up individual items, I hesitate. What is this white, crusty stuff speckled all over my undergarments? Some of it is in clumps, sticking all my panties together like glue. Did I spill something? Whatever the hell it is, the washing machine will take care of it. Scooping up my stuff, I turn back to the machine, open the lid, and start pulling apart my stuck together bundle of delicates. There is a moist black pair and it's covered in this stuff, and it smells off. I know what it looks like, but it ’ s impossible. It ’ s not cum. My stalker did not get in here and beat his meat into my dirty panties. I refuse to believe it. Shoving the rest of the nasty stuff into the washer and slamming the lid, I turn and march back upstairs.

Graves

Oh, she ’ s fuming. Ha! My smile is so big my cheeks hurt. My abs are aching from laughing so hard. The anticipation I felt after watching her lug the hamper downstairs was euphoric. Would she notice the evidence of my depraved moment of weakness? Judging by the way she stormed upstairs, smoke shooting from her ears, she knows what I did. Will she make the connection that her saviour and nightmare are one in the same? She needs all of me to feel alive, to mend her broken soul.

She lets out this cathartic scream and it ’ s music to my ears. Yes my love, feel everything I give you. She knows I was in her house now and it ’ s fucking with her head. Why didn ’ t I hurt her? When was I in there and for how long? I can almost hear the questions firing through her mind right now. Good. The more unsettled she is the more aware she will become. No more falling into her own mind and disassociating for unhealthy amounts of time. That will slowly begin to stop. The wheels in her brain are already turning as she works through this. She will put it all together soon enough, she doesn ’ t know what love is but I ’ ll show her. I ’ ll dig myself so deep inside her heart, she ’ ll never be rid of me.

I was able to get home shortly after 8 am. I crashed into sleep immediately after setting an alarm for noon. I can’t miss too much time with my little siren. I put the effort into us having this time off to be together, I won’t waste it. It feels like it’s been so long since I was able to just watch her without her knowing. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve loved engaging with her. There is just something different about seeing her do things no one else gets to see. She’s captivating.

Watching her read is my favourite. The scrunch in her face when she reads something she doesn’t like. Her running commentary to an empty room when she’s fully immersed in a story. Her little gasps and feet kicks when something romantic happens. The way her face flushes and thighs crush together when she is reading something borderline pornographic. I’ve taken note of every book I’ve seen her read and read them too. My little siren has a freaky side full of double dicked demons and monsters with tentacles. But no matter the character, they all only have eyes for their woman. She seems to like them possessive and protective which gives me a fighting chance. I wonder if they write romance books about stalkers… A quick internet search confirms they do. Excellent. There’s even a Ghostface specific one. I order it and a few others I haven’t seen her read. Delivery isn’t for three days, damn small town problems.

I’m so fully consumed by her, lost in our own little bubble away from everyone and everything, I almost miss my phone ringing incessantly. It stops and then immediately starts again. What could possibly be this important? They better not fuck up my time with my girl. A battle rages inside of me of whether to ignore the call again or answer. What if something happened to my uncle? I’m annoyed beyond reason as I smash the green answer button and raise the phone to my ear.

“Officer Graves,” I quietly roar into the mouthpiece.