Page 32 of Presence

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.

11

Another day, Another life

My eyes snap open, and reality crashes down on me like a ton of bricks. I’m on the floor of my apartment, smack in the middle of a painted pentagram. My breath is ragged, my body slick with sweat despite the chill in the air.

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