Page 30 of Presence

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.

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