10. Cobwebs to the mind

When I open my eyes, a scream, louder than ever, tears from my throat. It's so piercing, it feels like sandpaper scraping my vocal cords. I bolt upright, drenched in sweat.

Wait. Sitting up?

Moments ago, I was curled in my living room, enveloped in darkness, with a sinister whisper in my ear. But as my vision clears and I realize where I am, I notice that I'm in the bedroom. In my bed. With sheets all over me.

It was all… a dream?

I blink rapidly, trying to shake off the confusion. The familiar gray walls of my bedroom close in on me, barely lit by the faint light seeping through the blinds.

It's definitely morning outside.

My bed, my blankets, the shadowy outlines of my furniture—it's all painfully normal. But then again, it felt that way last time, too.

My heart still hammers in my chest, the echo of my own scream lingering in my ears. How could it have been a dream? The sensations were so intense—the cold touch of the shadow, the suffocating darkness, the real fear gripping my heart. It all felt undeniably real just moments ago.

I pull my knees to my chest, hugging them tightly. My nightshirt sticks to my sweaty skin, and I shiver from both the chill and the fear clinging to my mind like cobwebs.

A sharp, twisting pain in my stomach snaps me back to reality. Hungry. That's it. I think I'm hungry.

I slide out of bed, my movements stiff and mechanical. My body feels like it's been through a marathon in my sleep. Each step towards the kitchen is a struggle, every joint protesting. Finally, when I get there, I lean heavily against the counter, the cool surface grounding me slightly.

With a deep breath, I push myself to go through the motions, ready to whip out some eggs. But when I open the fridge, disbelief crashes over me.

It's empty. Completely empty. Not even a stray bottle of water or a forgotten jar of pickles. Panic bubbles up again, mixing with the leftover fear from my dream. How did this happen? I was sure I had food. But no, the empty fridge gapes back at me. Something is very, very wrong.

Didn't I just go grocery shopping yesterday? I remember it clearly—leaving the house, determined to get my life back on track. So how can it be that, even though I'd swear on my life I bought food, my fridge is empty as if I never did?

Confusion twists into frustration. My hands shake as I slam the fridge door shut, the sound echoing too loudly in the quiet apartment. My mind races—could I have dreamed the entire day? The thought is absurd, yet what else could explain the missing food?

I lean back against the counter, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to suppress the rising tide of panic. The feeling of being watched creeps back, a whisper of paranoia I thought I'd shaken off. Each breath is a battle to steady myself, to push the fear away, one exhale at a time.

"This is nothing new for you, Claire," I murmur, my voice cracking. The words feel like a lifeline, even if they sound hollow. "You've dealt with memory lapses before. You know how messed up they are. You just have to breathe. Calm down."

But let's be real, breathing is not a magical solution to everything. It's just a temporary fix. Without another person living with me, I have no way of knowing what I've done and where I've been yesterday. I think I remember something, but that can be completely false.

What can I really do? I mean, having a camera on me 24/7 might give me some peace of mind. Yet, it can also mess with my head, especially when I watch the footage and don't recognize myself. I don't want to see that—my voice, my expressions, my whole being seeming like it's controlled by something else. That person in the recording won't feel like me, and watching it is bound to introduce a whole new level of messed up to my mind.

I don't want it. I don't want to involve Camilla either. I need to get my shit together on my own. So, I take a deep breath, in and out, wrapping my hands around myself to hug me.

"It's okay," I mutter. "It's okay. I can just go and buy everything again. What's the problem? There's literally no problem at all."

I know I'm rambling and I probably sound crazy. But when you're really at the edge, you stop caring about that. The weight of everything that brought you to this point is too much to worry about anything else.

"Actually, getting out of the house isn't such a bad idea," I continue, shrugging and biting my lower lip.

Rubbing my stomach, I head to the bedroom. There, I quickly shed my sweaty clothes and grab whatever's on top of the wardrobe pile. I pull on a simple black sweater and dark gray sweatpants.

I rush back to the kitchen, snatch up my keys and wallet, and hurry into the exit corridor without daring to look at my reflection. I can't shake the feeling that something moved in it anyway, and the sudden chills that cover my skin are so intense I have to pause in front of the door to compose myself before I can step outside.

Finally, I'm out.

But just as I'm about to lock my apartment, an icy chill washes over me, making my shoulders tremble uncontrollably. The keys slip from my grasp and clatter to the floor. I want to pick them up, I really do, but the sound they made—so eerily similar to the shrieking shadows in my dreams—leaves me frozen in place.

I stare at them keys lying on the grimy hallway tile, their metallic jingle ringing in my head until my teeth hurt. My heart pounds painfully against my ribs. I feel every thump in my temples. And then, someone touches me. Someone touches me.

I scream. I can't help it. Instantly, my mind floods with images of those shadows, clawing at me, trying to tear my skin from my bones.

"Fuck!" I shriek.

But it's just a man in a construction vest and helmet, looking as startled as I am. His thick hand hovers mid-air, after tapping my shoulder.

"Are you okay, miss?" he asks, his voice full of genuine concern, his bushy eyebrows knitting together.

I gasp for breath, trying to calm my racing heart and feeling my cheeks flush with embarrassment. "I, uh… who are you?" I stammer, still on edge.

With a soft chuckle, he raises his hands in a gesture of peace and takes a step back. "Just part of the crew, fixing the elevator," he explains. "That thing's been out of order for a while, huh?"

I nod, managing a small, tense smile. "Yes, it's been a hassle. Sorry for screaming. You just startled me."

"No worries," he replies with a friendly nod. "Happens to the best of us. Just wanted to make sure you were all right. You looked a bit... out of it. You stared at your keys for at least ten minutes straight."

I chuckle nervously, brushing a stray lock of hair from my face. Ten minutes? It felt like less than one. What the hell?

"Yeah, just one of those days. Thanks for checking," I say, giving him another smile.

The construction worker nods and steps back. "Well, if you need anything, just holler. We'll be around all day fixing things up," he says.

"Will do," I manage, feeling a bit more at ease as he walks away, his footsteps echoing down the hall. Once he's gone, the corridor feels empty again, almost too quiet. I bend down to pick up my keys, this time without the shrieking sound haunting me. With the keys in hand, I lock my apartment door and head towards the building's exit.

Walking down the stairs feels easier than climbing them last time, thanks to finally getting some sleep. Despite my frayed mental state, my body feels stronger.

That's something, at least.

Once outside, the city's hustle pulls me back to reality. Cars rush by, people chatter, and the normalcy of the day tries to soothe my frayed nerves. Yet, the sense of being watched doesn't fully leave. It clings to me like a shadow that no sunlight can chase away. Not that it matters anyway—there's no sun today, just gray clouds swirling in the wind.

It's typical for late autumn here: dark, dreary, and devoid of color. The only odd thing today is the unusual humidity that makes me want to rub my nose.

The nearest grocery store isn't far, so I decide to walk. The route is familiar: one crosswalk, then a ten-minute walk, and that's it. Nothing complicated. So, when I reach the crosswalk and start waiting for the light to turn green, I take a deep breath, trying to relax my tense muscles.

The countdown for the light begins.

3…2…1.

I step forward, my gaze on the ground. Water puddles line the street.

For a moment, I switch off my thoughts and just walk. Then, I'm jolted back to reality by a blaring horn, as loud as a freight train, right next to me.

Oh, shit!

Startled, I leap back, my heart hammering as adrenaline surges through me. A car speeds by, the driver glaring at me through the window as if I'm the one in the wrong. My ears ring and my vision blurs momentarily from the rush of blood to my head.

He must have rolled down his window because I hear him yell, "What are you doing?! Blind bitch!"

Shaken, I stand at the edge of the sidewalk, watching the car disappear into traffic. My heart still races as I look back at the crosswalk lights. They're red. Not green, but red.

What the hell? I could have sworn it was green. It couldn't have changed back so quickly.

"I'm really losing it," I mutter to myself, feeling the frown tug at my dry, rough skin. It's nothing like the smoothness I felt in my dreams with Echo. There, I felt like I was thriving. Here, I'm barely surviving. If I touched my face now, I'd feel all the dents and ridges from a year of neglect and a broken spirit.

I wait for the next cycle of lights, watching intently this time to make sure I'm not seeing things. When the light finally turns green, I cross the street, my senses on high alert, half-expecting something else to go wrong. But nothing does. I reach the other side safely, though my heart continues to race a little too fast.

Some time later, I reach the store.

I grab a basket and start walking through the aisles, searching for the instant food section. The type of day I'm having calls for comfort food. I can't handle cooking. Fuck no.

"Hey there, miss?" a voice calls out from a nearby area, cutting through the background noise. My heart skips a beat at the sudden address, anxiety rushing through me. But then I turn and see an elderly woman with kind eyes and a gentle smile. Her warm expression eases my tension.

"Yes?" I reply, dropping the noodle soup I was holding into the basket and walking over to her. She's squinting at a jar of jam, holding her glasses in one hand and moving them up and down like it'll help her see better.

"Can you tell me if this is okay for diabetics?" she asks in a soft, elderly voice.

My first instinct is to say no. I've had enough unwanted things happen to me, and I'm not exactly known for being nice to strangers, so feeling uncomfortable is my first reaction. But I ignore that urge. I'm human, after all, and that means interacting with other humans. So, forcing a smile, I take the jam from her.

Diabetics have to watch out for sugars, so I check the ingredients list.

"My eyes aren't what they used to be," the old lady says as I read the label. I'm not looking at her, partly because I avoid unnecessary eye contact with strangers, and partly because I just want this over quickly.

"Um, It's made with sugar substitutes, so it should be okay, right?" I say, finally glancing up at her.

But she's gone. I'm alone.

The feeling of being watched intensifies. It seeps into my bones.

"What...?" I whisper into the empty space, feeling something inside me break. The facade I've tried to maintain all day starts to crumble. My head spins, my palms sweat, and my fingers won't respond. The jar slips from my grasp, crashing onto the tiled floor and spreading the red substance like blood.

I stare at the mess, my mouth agape, a silent scream building in my throat.

No, please… Not again. I can't handle this. No, no, no, no.

But it's happening. I lift my head and look around, feeling eyes on me. I am being watched—I can feel it. Someone, something, is watching me, peeling back my layers, examining my heart as it beats. It sees me naked. It wants me broken. I can taste its satisfaction in the air as my lower lip begins to tremble.

But that's not the worst part. As I turn, looking for the source, I see nothing. On my first spin, no one is nearby. On the next, strangers begin to appear, one by one, staring at me and the broken jar at my feet. More join them.

With each new onlooker, my breathing becomes more labored; I feel like I'm suffocating. Time slows down. I turn in place, heaving breaths as I scan the unfamiliar faces.

And when I think that things can't get any worse, the onlookers' faces start stretching into the slowest, ugliest smiles I have ever seen. One by one, their skin tightens unnaturally, their eyes dead inside.

"What?!" I scream, panic overwhelming me. I thought I was losing it before, but now I'm completely shattered. "What do you want from me?!"

No one replies. They just keep staring at me, with smiles that only nightmares are painted from.

My knees give out, and I hit the floor, glass digging into my skin. Pain and panic blend together, making my fear even sharper. I can barely breathe, every breath feels like a stab to my chest. I want to run, to get away, but my body just won't move.

I let out a high, shriveling sound—a scream that tears at my throat.

"Stop looking at me!" I shout, digging my fingers into my scalp and tugging at my hair. "Stop watching me!"

But they don't stop. Instead, they start coming towards me. Something snaps inside me. It pushes me past my breaking point and flips a switch in my body. I get up, my legs shaking, heart pounding in my ears. I feel like I've been through a war—every muscle aches, every joint is stiff—but I almost don't feel it. All I know is I need to run. I can't stay in this godforsaken store any longer.

These people… they want to hurt me.

My feet crash through the blood-red jam and shattered glass as I storm towards the exit. The jingle of glass against the cold tiles is excruciating. It makes my teeth ache again.

But wait... As I run, I catch another sound. Laughter, sick and maniacal, echoes around me. At first, it's just one person in the crowd. Then, it spreads like a disease, infecting all the grinning, mannequin-like figures. The laughter rings all around me as I sprint, squinting and covering my ears.

What the hell is happening to me?

Just a few feet from the automatic doors to the outside, a tiny spark of hope flares up in my chest amidst all the fear and anguish. This isn't a dream. Here, I have the power to fight back against whatever's coming after me, right? I'm not powerless.

But there's no way I can fight off this many of them. As I get close to the automatic doors, ready to trigger them, the empty people rush to cut me off. Their movements are fast, faster than I'd expect. It's like watching a nightmare come to life, each figure blurring into a ghostly shape as they block my escape.

Panic grips my throat as I skid to a stop, almost tumbling into their midst. I pivot, heart pounding like crazy, looking for any other way out. There's an employee entrance next to the deli, marked with a "No Admittance" sign. I bolt for it, shoving through a swinging door and nearly crashing into a stack of empty crates.

Behind me, the laughter grows louder. It doesn't let go, making it hard to think, hard to breathe. I don't look back. I can't. I know if I do, I might freeze again, overwhelmed by the sight of those distorted faces.

The back hallways of the grocery store are dim, lit only by flickering fluorescent lights that cast long shadows on the floor. It's a maze back here, boxes and equipment everywhere. I turn corners randomly, driven to find somewhere safe to hide until I can figure out what to do.

But the mannequin people are always on my heels. When I reach a dead end and curse my luck, they're right behind me.

Stumbling backward, I feel my heart drumming for help in my chest as they come at me. I can see them clearly now. Their eyebrows are angled unnaturally, drool drips from their lips, and some are smiling so sharply that their lips split open, dotting their skin with blood.

"Oh, fuck…" I whisper. I'm going to die here.

Why is this happening? Why me? The questions circle my mind like vultures, but there are no answers, only more fear, more confusion. Is this a punishment for leaving my mother? Some sick payback for breaking my promise?

There's a saying: it can always get worse. I really hope that wouldn't be true for me, but it is. It really is, and I hate it. Thick, slimy limbs extend from the wall behind me and hold me in place, wrapping around my midsection, slithering over my neck and shoulders, tangling in my hair. I'm so terrified that even a scream dies in my throat. I'm going to die here, too.

I'll become nothing, just a broken, tortured soul in the black abyss that sucks me in. I'll turn into a memory. I'll be that troubled girl people occasionally saw, with big dark circles under her eyes and always looking down. That's what I'll turn into—a few words shared between friends: "Do you remember her? I heard she died."

I close my eyes, I hear bells ringing. I think it's my time. The creepy people are so close I can feel their breaths on my skin. And then, right when they're about to end me, I hear a voice in my head.

"Wake up, Claire!" it shouts. Echo… "WAKE. UP."

Remember how I said that this is not a dream and I have some power here?

Well… joke's on me. This was a fucking dream too.