I need to clear my head. I’ll go to my parents’ house, like he suggested. Try and get some sleep, then figure out what my next step will be.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ASHLEY
Karla suggestsI try to get some sleep, and heads off to her own bed. I’m not sure I’ll be able to, but I agree. After creeping out to the kitchen to get a glass of water, I climb back into bed, and pull the sheets up to my chin.
I still feel unsettled. The room is too quiet, too still. There’s an odd sense of anticipation in the air, and a weird feeling of dread making my stomach churn … like I’m waiting for something to happen.
And then I hear it.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The sound is faint at first, and it takes me a second to figure out where it’s coming from.
The window …
I try to recall whether there’s a tree outside, with branches close enough to touch the glass. Because that’s all it is, right?
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I sit up, my heart picking up speed.
It’s nothing. Just branches moving in the breeze, and catching on the window.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I don’t want to move, but I need to check it out. I won’t be able to sleep if I have to listen to that all night long. Throwing back the sheets, I swing my legs over the edge of the mattress, and stand up. The tapping continues, sharper now, demanding my attention.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I cross the floor and stop in front of the window.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Are you going to look? I shouldn’t look.
I’ve seen horror movies. I know what happens. I’ve yelled at the heroine when she does something stupid. But my hand is reaching for the curtain, and I can’t stop it.
My mind is screaming at me not to do it. To go back to bed. To ignore it. I don’t want to see what’s outside, but I can’t stop myself. Ihaveto know.
I yank the curtain open.
There’s nothing there. I can’t see anything. But then, as my eyes adjust to the darkness, I see him.
The man from Whitstone. The one who grabbed me.
His face is hidden behind a ski-mask, and in his hand is a knife. My breath catches, and I take a step back, but I can’t move fast enough. He taps the knife against the window, the sound sharp and deliberate.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The glass between us feels too thin, too fragile. I try to take another step back, but my body is frozen. I can’t move. Can’t look away. He raises the knife, and with a single, violent motion, hits the window with the hilt.
The sound of the window smashing is deafening. Shards fly toward me, and I throw my hands up to shield my face. Fingers brush against my arm, and I stumble back, tripping over my feet, as he reaches for me. But I’m too slow. His arm stretches toward me, his eyes locked on mine and then the mask melts away.
My heart stops as his face comes into view. It’s not the man from Whitstone. It’sJason.
Blood streaks his face, dripping down his neck, and over his shirt. His eyes, once full of life, are now hollow and empty. The blood looks fresh, like it’s been smeared across his cheeks.