Page 14 of Presence

I spin around and head back into the living room, flipping on all the lights in my apartment. Then, I quickly draw the curtains closed on every window. The less I’m aware it’s night outside, the better.

Night makes me feel watched more than ever.

I take a few deep breaths, trying to center myself. The bright lights in the apartment help to some degree. It feels safer, more normal, even though the fear still lurks in the shadows of my mind.

Except… the light starts flickering right above me.

This... this isn’t normal. I can feel it, right down to my bones. And I swear, it’s not just my fear trying to play tricks on my mind.

My breath catches in my throat as I stare at it, frozen. The logical part of my mind screams that it’s just a faulty bulb, but after everything that’s happened, I can’t shake the feeling that it’s more than that.

Am I hallucinating again? Is that what it is?

I take a hesitant step forward, my eyes glued to the flickering light. Every instinct screams at me to run, to hide, but I stand firm. This is my home, my sanctuary, and I refuse to be scared in it.

The light flickers faster, like a strobe, casting wild shadows around the room. A chill runs down my spine, and for a moment, I’m back in that dream, feeling watched, hunted by something unseen.

“Stop it,” I whisper to the room, to myself, to whatever might be listening. “Just stop it!”

I can’t handle this. I press my palms against my eyes, trying to shut out everything. I need to calm down. If it’s just a hallucination, it will fade if I just breathe.

“Deep breaths, in and out,” I murmur. “Nothing bad is happening. I’m alone. Nobody’s here. Nobody’s watching me.”

I’m safe. I’m calm. I’m not hurt in any way.

After what feels like an eternity, I lower my hands and open my eyes. The light is steady now.

“Fuck,” I curse, releasing a shaky breath. “It really wasn’t real.”

But even though I tell myself that, it doesn’t ease the awful feeling in my gut. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. Sooner or later, another panic attack will come, and I might not be able to calm myself next time.

That’s when I break. Clenching my hands into fists, I step into the pentagram circle on the floor.

“Okay,” I say aloud, though there’s no one to hear me. “If you’re there, if you’re real... I need you tonight.”

I don’t even know who I’m talking to, but the thought of another night filled with terror and panic pushes me past my usual skepticism. If a chance at peace of mind comes with me acting delusional in my own apartment, then it’s not really a high price to pay.

I sit in the middle of the pentagram, the candles from last night still in place. My hands rest on my knees, and I close my eyes, taking another deep breath. If believes in this, if she thinks it worked... then maybe, just maybe, there’s something to it.

“Guardian spirit,” I begin, my voice wavering but determined. “If you’re there, if what did really worked, I need your help again. Please, keep the fear away. Keep the nightmares away. Just... watch over me, okay?”

I sit there in complete silence, hoping for a sign. When I finally open my eyes, expecting to see someone or something, there’s nothing. Just my brightly lit apartment around me.

But something inside me shifts. It’s like I’m on autopilot. I get up, step out of the pentagram, and head straight to my bedroom. In the darkness of the one room where I haven’t turned on the lights, I collapse onto the bed, my back hitting the sheets. I could swear there’s something moving in the corner between my open door and the wall. Something dark and menacing, definitely watching me.

But I can’t look it in the eye because my eyelids shut on their own.

And then… I see him again. Ahh, Echo. That was his name.

5

The Protector

“I have to say, I’m proud of you,” a male voice murmurs as I open my eyes. The first thing I see is a vast, clear blue sky stretching endlessly above with no clouds in sight. The air carries the sweet scent of cotton candy, evoking a distant childhood memory I can’t quite place.

Then, I feel the grass beneath me. Running my hand through the green carpet, I feel each blade gently prickling me—not hard enough to hurt, but not soft enough to feel like a cushion. It feels freshly cut.

It’s only when I realize I’m lying on the grass that I try to sit up, moving my elbow to push myself up. But as I attempt to lift myself, I realize I can’t. Something is holding me down.

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