Page 11 of Carnival Monster

8

AURORA

Piercing blue eyes cut through the darkness, almost as if they are glowing. When the figure moves out of the shadows, I realize he’s covered in blood and holding a knife. The sight startles me awake?—

I pant frantically, realizing immediately that my skin is slick with sweat. That dream was fucked-up. My stomach rolls as I recall the sick images my mind conjured in my sleep. The masked man from he carnival murdered people, covered himself in blood, and then chased me. And yet, as I wake, I can feel the lingering heat between my thighs from the fantasy.

It’s official. I need to see a shrink because these thoughts and fantasies are getting too messed up. Pulling myself out of bed, that same sensation of being watched creeps over me. Going about my morning routine, I try to ignore it, but it’s no use. The feeling makes my skin crawl.

When I step out onto the sidewalk, it intensifies. I glance around, searching for someone following me, but the streets are empty. My heart races as I walk to the grocery store.

At work, I struggle to focus. My hands tremble as I ring up customers. I’m losing my grip on reality.

Am I going insane? Is this what it feels like to lose your mind?

I try to push the thoughts away, but they keep creeping back in, like tendrils of darkness wrapping around my brain.

When lunch break finally rolls around, I sit in the break room, my leg bouncing nervously as I wait for Charlotte to arrive. I’ve never been happier to see anyone than when she finally walks in, a bag of burritos from our favorite place in hand.

“Hey, girl!” Charlotte greets me with a smile, plopping down on the chair across from me. “I got your usual - extra guac, no sour cream.”

“Thanks,” I say, taking the burrito from her. “You’re a lifesaver.”

We eat silently for a few minutes, but I can feel the words bubbling inside me, desperate to escape. Finally, I can’t hold them back any longer.

“I think someone’s watching me!” I blurt out.

Charlotte’s eyes widen, and she leans in closer. “What do you mean?”

“Ever since the carnival, I’ve felt someone following me. Watching me. I can’t shake it.”

Charlotte frowns, her brow furrowing in concern. “That’s creepy as hell. Have you seen anyone suspicious?”

I shake my head. “No, but I can feel it. It’s like this constant presence lurking just out of sight.”

Charlotte takes a bite of her burrito, chewing thoughtfully. “You know,” she says, a glint in her eye, “if it was that masked guy who grabbed you in the haunted house, it might not be so bad.”

I feel my cheeks flush at the memory of his powerful arms wrapping around me, the heat of his breath on my neck, and the dreams my fucked-up mind has had since our encounter. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m just saying,” she shrugs. “He was pretty hot, in a mysterious masked man kind of way.”

“Even if it is him, which I doubt it is, it’s still creepy. I don’t want some random guy stalking me.”

Or do I? I’m so messed up that the idea of some muscular, blue-eyed, tattooed, and masked psycho stalking me turns me on, even if I wouldn’t voice it out loud.

Charlotte’s expression turns serious. “You’re right, I’m sorry. This is serious. Have you thought about going to the police?”

I shake my head. “And tell them what? I have a feeling someone’s watching me, but absolutely zero evidence? They’ll think I’m crazy.”

“Well, maybe we can do some investigating of our own,” Charlotte suggests, a glint of excitement in her eyes. “We could try to catch this creep in the act.”

I bite my lip, considering the idea. It’s tempting. “I don’t know. What if whoever is doing it is dangerous?”

Charlotte leans back in her chair. “We’ll be careful. We won’t do anything stupid. But we can’t sit back and let this stalker control your life.”

Charlotte has a flare for the dramatic considering this feeling only started yesterday morning. So, it’s hardly like the stalker is controlling my life, but I nod in agreement. “We should do something.”

Even as I agree with her plan, I’ve got a nagging doubt. What if I’m just losing it? What if there is no stalker, and this is all a product of my fucked-up brain?

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