Stalk(h)er
Wake Up.
CHLOE’S POV
The etching sound that lightly danced across the bedroom window was enough to send my back straight; up like a bold in pitch darkness as a cold sweat washed over my face and chest – heart trying to escape through my throat the first chance it could get. Nights lately, hadn’t been at all easy on me; the disappearance of my sister a few months back had shaken me, uprooted my sanity – and whilst I swore I wouldn’t shut my eyes until they found her, I kept remembering the words one detective reminded us, “After the first 48, its safe to assume the worst.”
As hard as it was to try and not hold my breath, I knew deep down I had to hold reason to. Along with work, study, attempting to keep any sort of social life, the occasional romantic spark still being lit and my family dramas; it was safe to say I felt as if my life was drowning. As if trying to keep my head above water when the tide was still only shallow was a real burden not only on myself, but everyone else. Swallowing hard, I clutched furiously at my chest, hoping that by a scratch or simple graze, my heart would stop racing, and my body just might entirely shut down – causing me clarity. The fluorescent numbers of the alarm clock beside my bedside table teased me with the time of 3am and I harshly rubbed at my eyes with bruised palms, yawning only gently as to not wake p the monster inside my head.
I knew the moment I began thinking, well, that’d be the end of it. My mind seemed to have this incredible ability to think of the most intricate schemes and elaborate scenarios at the most inconvenient f times. Whilst the rest of the world was dead asleep; here I was trying to think of answers to the meaning of life, if it was possible to cry underwater or why, oh why, I’d ended up like this. Tossing and turning from side to side for what felt like hours to try and get comfortable, yet really was only close to being 6 minutes, I rolled over onto my side, free arm draping around my sleeping boyfriend and nuzzled into his neck, taking in the sweet scent of cologne he’d worn this morning; again, trying to shut my eyes.
A half smile crept across my face and a mumble from my boyfriend indicating he’d felt my presence, I pulled the sheets up a little higher than I’d usually be comfortable with, having them half cover my face and let my bangs fall over my eyes as I tried as best I could to go back to sleep. Rhythmic style breathing and counting sheep, a solid triple knock sounded from the front door causing me to shoot back up again into an upright position.
“Sam, wake up!”
There was no response from him other than murmurs into the pillow he’d crashed into and a slight body movement to readjust his comfort zone. As the knocking continued, louder and louder, I wondered how on earth he hadn’t heard it. How on earth he wasn’t having the same reaction as I was.
“Samuel, wake up!”, I hissed as best I could, trying not to scream but at the same time, be loud enough to wake him from his sleep. A gentle shake, turning mildly violent as time went on; it took what felt like forever to have him roll over onto his back and open up those too exposed, tired auburn eyes which looked as if they could enjoy a few more hours sleep.
“What’s up?”, he yawned, scratching at his chest almost as how I’d earlier to my own. Not being bothered to cover his mouth, a yawn chased his words, escaping his lips and he stretched a little, taking up more space as his hands fell to the covers below his waist. The smallest of smirks crossing his face I could barely outline in the dark, his hand found mine; fingers intertwining as he’d finished.
“There’s someone at the front door”, I explained in a cowardly whisper, fingers to my lips, our hands I hid behind. Snuffling in closer to him, egging him to get p by pushing and tugging slightly at his sides, I watched Sam shut his eyes and shake his head as I heard the knocking sound again – those deep, wood powered, knuckle hits and Sam, as off with the fairies as he could be – not seeming to flinch.
“Get up and go check the door”, I half barked with a grumble, again; I kept my voice down so that no one apart from the two of us could hear me.
“Chloe, no… you’re just having a bad dream baby. Wait until the morning, I promise, it’ll be gone by then.”
“But what if it isn’t Sam?”, I complained.
“Let’s just hope so”, he reasoned, voice thick, rich and deep. Like velvet, soothing my ears.
“Sam, pleasssee?”
As if not wanting to argue with me and knowing already that he’d lost the battle; Sam set me up for a silent victory, peeling the covers off himself and throwing his feet across off the edge of the bed, kicking up an old shirt he’d occasionally, pull on if going to bed and slid into it without hassle, pushing himself up onto his feet beside the bed. A yawn with arms stretched up above his head and his abs on show tainted by the glow of the alarm clock, I watched as he rubbed his eyes, red, raw and pale in the most childlike of manners before without another word, setting for the front door.
I could hear and make out each footstep as they happened; one after another travelling down the stairs, across the tiles in the kitchen and onto the floorboards in the hall, which creaked on the way to the living room, the room that housed the front door. Which with a demure turn of a key and twist of a lock, opened out into the dark, great unknown. My breathing hitched and counting backwards from 30, it wasn’t long before Sam had made it back; holding something in-between his fingers, not talking. He was never really one for words or early rises.
“What you got?”, I asked softly, hands out to take the print he was holding out to me before he climbed into bed.
“You owe me”, he cursed heavily beneath his breath.
“I don’t owe you anything.”
Reaching over to turn on my bedside lamp and blinking to adjust my eyes to the new light, I traced my fingertips carefully over the pictures torn edges that Sam had just delivered. The print which seemed to be of two young girls, torn from something larger; the ink bleeding, being washed away by endless rain. Thunder tore through the night sky outside; only adding to the sinking suspicious feeling at the pit of my stomach that someone or something was watching me. The soft sounds of pitter patter against the tin roof above my head created a haunted echo symphony which would have fit in amongst a John Waters movie soundtrack, and dropping the photo scrap under the lamp, hoping it dry by morning for a better look, I felt a tug at my wrist and a groan of despair informing me Sam had had enough of my antics and just wanted to continue with his sleep.
His eyes scrunched tightly as if not wanting the light to disturb them, he rolled from his half fetal position to face me.
“It’s after 3 babe…”
“Okay Sam, just a second.”
Turning off the lamp and wriggling down beneath the covers from where I’d earlier woken I felt a soft, sloppy wet trail of kisses hunt up my neck, across my jaw and the trail turning cold just before I could get in the mood for any romantic sentiment. Inhaling deeply and rolling my head to one side on the pillow so that we were facing one another, I sighed and apologized for my behaviour.
“Sorry babe.”
“It’s alright beautiful, go to sleep.”
“Sam, I swear, I heard something.”
“Clo, it’s all in your head.”
Perhaps he was right; perhaps it was all in my head. Turning back so that my neck was straight, back flat against the bed and sides pinned down by my boyfriend who was determined to have me stop squirming so that we could both get some shut eye, I took a final look at the ceiling in the darkness and closed my eyes.
A splash of something cold, dropping to hit my face.
Right eye peaked open just enough to look up…
.. it wasn’t long before the screaming started.
The etching sound that lightly danced across the bedroom window was enough to send my back straight; up like a bold in pitch darkness as a cold sweat washed over my face and chest – heart trying to escape through my throat the first chance it could get. Nights lately, hadn’t been at all easy on me; the disappearance of my sister a few months back had shaken me, uprooted my sanity – and whilst I swore I wouldn’t shut my eyes until they found her, I kept remembering the words one detective reminded us, “After the first 48, its safe to assume the worst.”
As hard as it was to try and not hold my breath, I knew deep down I had to hold reason to. Along with work, study, attempting to keep any sort of social life, the occasional romantic spark still being lit and my family dramas; it was safe to say I felt as if my life was drowning. As if trying to keep my head above water when the tide was still only shallow was a real burden not only on myself, but everyone else. Swallowing hard, I clutched furiously at my chest, hoping that by a scratch or simple graze, my heart would stop racing, and my body just might entirely shut down – causing me clarity. The fluorescent numbers of the alarm clock beside my bedside table teased me with the time of 3am and I harshly rubbed at my eyes with bruised palms, yawning only gently as to not wake p the monster inside my head.
I knew the moment I began thinking, well, that’d be the end of it. My mind seemed to have this incredible ability to think of the most intricate schemes and elaborate scenarios at the most inconvenient f times. Whilst the rest of the world was dead asleep; here I was trying to think of answers to the meaning of life, if it was possible to cry underwater or why, oh why, I’d ended up like this. Tossing and turning from side to side for what felt like hours to try and get comfortable, yet really was only close to being 6 minutes, I rolled over onto my side, free arm draping around my sleeping boyfriend and nuzzled into his neck, taking in the sweet scent of cologne he’d worn this morning; again, trying to shut my eyes.
A half smile crept across my face and a mumble from my boyfriend indicating he’d felt my presence, I pulled the sheets up a little higher than I’d usually be comfortable with, having them half cover my face and let my bangs fall over my eyes as I tried as best I could to go back to sleep. Rhythmic style breathing and counting sheep, a solid triple knock sounded from the front door causing me to shoot back up again into an upright position.
“Sam, wake up!”
There was no response from him other than murmurs into the pillow he’d crashed into and a slight body movement to readjust his comfort zone. As the knocking continued, louder and louder, I wondered how on earth he hadn’t heard it. How on earth he wasn’t having the same reaction as I was.
“Samuel, wake up!”, I hissed as best I could, trying not to scream but at the same time, be loud enough to wake him from his sleep. A gentle shake, turning mildly violent as time went on; it took what felt like forever to have him roll over onto his back and open up those too exposed, tired auburn eyes which looked as if they could enjoy a few more hours sleep.
“What’s up?”, he yawned, scratching at his chest almost as how I’d earlier to my own. Not being bothered to cover his mouth, a yawn chased his words, escaping his lips and he stretched a little, taking up more space as his hands fell to the covers below his waist. The smallest of smirks crossing his face I could barely outline in the dark, his hand found mine; fingers intertwining as he’d finished.
“There’s someone at the front door”, I explained in a cowardly whisper, fingers to my lips, our hands I hid behind. Snuffling in closer to him, egging him to get p by pushing and tugging slightly at his sides, I watched Sam shut his eyes and shake his head as I heard the knocking sound again – those deep, wood powered, knuckle hits and Sam, as off with the fairies as he could be – not seeming to flinch.
“Get up and go check the door”, I half barked with a grumble, again; I kept my voice down so that no one apart from the two of us could hear me.
“Chloe, no… you’re just having a bad dream baby. Wait until the morning, I promise, it’ll be gone by then.”
“But what if it isn’t Sam?”, I complained.
“Let’s just hope so”, he reasoned, voice thick, rich and deep. Like velvet, soothing my ears.
“Sam, pleasssee?”
As if not wanting to argue with me and knowing already that he’d lost the battle; Sam set me up for a silent victory, peeling the covers off himself and throwing his feet across off the edge of the bed, kicking up an old shirt he’d occasionally, pull on if going to bed and slid into it without hassle, pushing himself up onto his feet beside the bed. A yawn with arms stretched up above his head and his abs on show tainted by the glow of the alarm clock, I watched as he rubbed his eyes, red, raw and pale in the most childlike of manners before without another word, setting for the front door.
I could hear and make out each footstep as they happened; one after another travelling down the stairs, across the tiles in the kitchen and onto the floorboards in the hall, which creaked on the way to the living room, the room that housed the front door. Which with a demure turn of a key and twist of a lock, opened out into the dark, great unknown. My breathing hitched and counting backwards from 30, it wasn’t long before Sam had made it back; holding something in-between his fingers, not talking. He was never really one for words or early rises.
“What you got?”, I asked softly, hands out to take the print he was holding out to me before he climbed into bed.
“You owe me”, he cursed heavily beneath his breath.
“I don’t owe you anything.”
Reaching over to turn on my bedside lamp and blinking to adjust my eyes to the new light, I traced my fingertips carefully over the pictures torn edges that Sam had just delivered. The print which seemed to be of two young girls, torn from something larger; the ink bleeding, being washed away by endless rain. Thunder tore through the night sky outside; only adding to the sinking suspicious feeling at the pit of my stomach that someone or something was watching me. The soft sounds of pitter patter against the tin roof above my head created a haunted echo symphony which would have fit in amongst a John Waters movie soundtrack, and dropping the photo scrap under the lamp, hoping it dry by morning for a better look, I felt a tug at my wrist and a groan of despair informing me Sam had had enough of my antics and just wanted to continue with his sleep.
His eyes scrunched tightly as if not wanting the light to disturb them, he rolled from his half fetal position to face me.
“It’s after 3 babe…”
“Okay Sam, just a second.”
Turning off the lamp and wriggling down beneath the covers from where I’d earlier woken I felt a soft, sloppy wet trail of kisses hunt up my neck, across my jaw and the trail turning cold just before I could get in the mood for any romantic sentiment. Inhaling deeply and rolling my head to one side on the pillow so that we were facing one another, I sighed and apologized for my behaviour.
“Sorry babe.”
“It’s alright beautiful, go to sleep.”
“Sam, I swear, I heard something.”
“Clo, it’s all in your head.”
Perhaps he was right; perhaps it was all in my head. Turning back so that my neck was straight, back flat against the bed and sides pinned down by my boyfriend who was determined to have me stop squirming so that we could both get some shut eye, I took a final look at the ceiling in the darkness and closed my eyes.
A splash of something cold, dropping to hit my face.
Right eye peaked open just enough to look up…
.. it wasn’t long before the screaming started.
Notes
A friend and I were a while ago working on the perfect idea... then this happened. Let us know what you think xx
OH MY GOD THIS IS AMAZING
pleaseeee update as soon as you can :)
12/31/14