Page 18 of Monsters of Desire and Nightmares of Passion

Powder focuses his eyes on the same spot and occasionally hisses. I look up. There’s nothing, just the wall in the same shade of green I painted it some time ago, with the weird golden sticker I used to make it look more cheerful.

It's already five in the afternoon, time to get up, grab something to eat, and maybe wash my hair. The last is open to debate. My jeans lay on the chair in the corner of the room. Being frugal, I try to have as few things as possible. I’m still busy paying off those hospital bills. Man, it would have been so nice to have a family to help, and someone to explain how I landed in that predicament in the first place.

My estimated age is twenty-five. I don’t know exactly. When they found me, more dead than alive in a back alley with my body half-frozen and split wrists, the doctors said I was probably eighteen or nineteen. Time passes.

Pulling on my jeans and grabbing a sweater plus my old, mousy jacket, I walk out of my apartment. The phone beeps and makes noises. I dismiss everything from Pegg or Dr. Martin. Or Joshua. He insisted I call him in his last text. Men. He used the new murder case to get closer to me.

I make my way to the nearest supermarket. My fridge is so empty. And poor Powder needs cat food. I like the supermarket. It’s filled with people, music, and light. It makes me feel normal and not like the girl who’s afraid to go to sleep because there are monsters in her brain that don’t chew her toes off but want to fuck her bad.

Images from my last dream appear in front of my inner eye, making me swallow hard. Am I a perv? Do I need those kinky games to get off? Or is it something my subconscious is trying to tell me that I won’t accept?

I’ll probably never get a satisfying answer to those questions, so I push my cart, walk the isles, and buy a few things that are discounted. I buy everything on sale or that’s a store brand, except the cat food. There’s a particular Cat Royal brand Powder likes and my Earl Grey tea. The rest doesn’t matter. Like my thrifted furniture and my second-hand clothes, I’m not picky. I don’t need much.

With each new aisle I pass, I feel someone is watching me. I’m becoming as paranoid as Powder. I can’t stop myself from stopping and looking over my shoulder. No one is there. It must be a side effect of two weeks of night shifts.

Tonight is my last night before I get four days off. Since it’s cold and rainy out, that means one thing and one thing alone. I’ll get to read at least four awesome books, maybe more.

With that in mind, I take the phone out of my pocket, wanting to check my Kindle to see if something new appeared. I have several books on pre-order. As I press my thumb to unlock the screen, a new alert fills it.

A new victim of the nurse killer has been found. The picture shows a young woman wearing scrubs laying in the back alley of the hospital I work at.

Breathing suddenly becomes increasingly difficult.

I feel as if everyone is watching me, that they all want to harm me.

No, no. Take a deep breath and calm down. It’s important to try and focus on what’s real. My therapy sessions have given me several tools to learn how to deal with panic.

What caused it? Well, the fact I looked at my phone and saw a woman who worked in the same place as I do, who was close to me in age and appearance, and who was found dead. She probably worked the night shift, as I did, and someone found her only now.

My heart pounds. My hands shake and my entire body starts to shiver. My throat locks, making it so hard to breathe. I try to swallow and push down the lump building inside my throat.

I must breathe.

I must get out of here, but I can’t just run out of this place.

A mirror is located on top of the aisle. My face is ashen and pale and I’m shaking. Next to me was Draw. In some weird corner of my mind, I want him there.

“Don’t leave me,” I whisper to him.

His deep, red eyes glow. His face looks human. At a second glance, it’s clear his face is not fully right but just a mask.

“Show yourself.”

Black tendrils wrap around my body and, weirdly, I’m scared. I want him close to me, keeping me safe.

He nodded. I blink and he’s gone.

Pushing my cart, I head for the self-checkout and think about my relationship with Draw. I call it a relationship since he has been showing up in my dreams for more than five years.

What was my first memory, the one that made me scream? It was when I woke up at the hospital with my body restrained, the normal procedure for suicide attempt victims. I know that now. When I woke up, the room was empty and the three monsters stood there in the corner, watching me.

Or were they watching over me?

Was it possible I got it all wrong?

Draw walked to the edge of my bed and told me that it’s okay, that they’re real and here for me, and they’ll never leave me. In my feverish mind, that sounded like a threat. Was it possible, just slightly, that it was not a threat? That maybe they were friends?

I push the thought away as soon as it forms itself inside my mind. No, this is not possible. Dark creatures with sharp teeth and glowing red eyes are not real. They’re not real.

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