I’m in my room, on my bed. Night time.

I look around, frowning. It seems…weird in here. Off. But…how? My nightlight’s on. The curtains are open. I’m in my pyjamas. So why…?

But then I realise: there’s someone standing in the corner. Watching me with burning red eyes.

My body freezes, grey eyes wide and fixed on the shadowy figure. I can’t move, can’t speak…can only sit there, waiting.

Oh, God, I’m going to die, aren’t I?

The figure shifts, shadows sliding aside. It’s perfectly silent as it approaches, although its red eyes don’t move from my face. Tears prickle in mine, fear having closed up my throat.

Pitch black skin, pitch black skin, glowing red eyes…male. He stops in front of me, razor sharp teeth revealed in a grin. My breath hitches as a hand touches my cheek, long, claw-like nails brushing the skin.

“Jamie.”

My blood freezes, body stiffening. His voice is like icy nails, dragging through my skin and exposing every nerve.

My fear only rises.

“Jamie…” he whispers again, grin widening. Sadistic.

My throat loosens enough to let out a whimper. I manage a yelp when his hand suddenly slides into my hair, tightening and yanking back my head. He leans forward, biting into my lip until I can taste blood, then shoves me on my back, claws dragging down my sides.

I wake up screaming.

---

My shaky hands bring the mug of hot chocolate to my lips, grey eyes fixed on the late night news. All of the lights are on, a thick quilt acting like a shield.

I can’t go back to my room.

Sinking deeper into the cushions, my eyes briefly squeeze shut. I can still feel his hands…his claws digging into my skin. Teeth…

Oh, God.

Just…just a dream. It was just a dream. He wasn’t real, he wasn’t there. Nothing happened. Nothing.

More hot chocolate slides down my throat, heating my belly. I want to sleep, but I’m too scared. I don’t want him to come back. To…to touch me again.

Nausea curls in my stomach, forces bile up my throat.

I have to stop thinking about it. Just a dream. Just a dream.

One last gulp and the now empty mug is set aside on the table, my cold hand quickly returning into the safety of the quilt. The weather flows across the TV screen, telling me it’s going to snow this week. Toques and scarves and mittens and boots. Bundle up against the winter so you don’t freeze to death.

I need a new toque.

My eyes drift to the clock, my face falling. Still a few hours until dawn. Hours of dark.

And, God, I’m so tired…

Maybe…maybe just a few minutes…I mean, it’s well-lit. The TV’s on…there won’t be any more nightmares, right? And…and it was just a dream…and dreams can’t hurt me.

Just…just a bit of sleep.

My glasses find their way beside my mug, room falling into an indiscernible blur. I cuddle further under the quilt, eyes slamming shut. I can’t stand leaving my eyes open without my glasses. Near blindness isn’t something I handle well.

Slowly, my mind stops buzzing and my breath slows. This is okay. I feel…calm.

Sighing deeply, my body relaxes.

---

Oh, God.

Hands. There…are hands on me.

My body stiffens, a whimper escaping me. He…he’s found me. He…he…what is he going to do with me?

Nonono, I…I won’t…I won’t let him hurt me!

I start thrashing, screaming. My hands curl into fists, beating against solid flesh until fingers wrap tightly around my wrists, pinning my hands beside my head. My eyes fly open, only seeing a blurry shape above me.

“Jamie! Jamie, calm down!”

I pant, body shaking.

“Don’t hurt me,” I beg, tears building in my eyes.

One hand leaves my wrist, and a moment later, my glasses are slipped onto my face. I blink, Chris coming into focus above me.

My body sags with relief, body trembling from the adrenaline.

“C-Chris…”

Apparently deciding I’m not about to attack him again, he sits next to me, releasing my arm.

“Jesus, Jamie, what happened?”

I swallow, eyes flicking around. Still in my living room. All of the lights are still on. The TV is now running some talk show.

My gaze refocuses on Chris.

“I…I had a bad dream.” My voice is hoarse and scratchy.

He frowns, eyes searching my face.

“That seemed like more than just a bad dream.”

I swallow, shifting until I’m sitting up, quilt still wrapped around me protectively.

“I’m okay now.” My brow furrows in confusion. “How did you get in here?”

Chris’ mouth twists. “Leon leant me his spare key. I got worried after you didn’t show up to work. You always call if you’re sick or something, so…I thought something had happened to you.”

I stare at the clock in horror.

“Oh, God, I am so sorry…I…my alarm usually wakes me up, but…I fell asleep on the couch.”

He shrugs, smile forced and lopsided. “It’s okay. Happens to all of us.” He’s still studying my face. “Seriously, Jay, you don’t look good. It’s okay if you need to take a couple days off.”

I shake my head, shoving my hair back. “I’m okay. I’m sorry I didn’t call…it won’t happen again.”

Chris sighs, frustrated. “It’s not cuz of that. I’m…worried about you. You’ve been acting weird for awhile. Really jumpy. It’s like…you’re seein’ ghosts or something.”

The laugh is harsh, unexpected. Fuck. I bet it is ghosts. How perfect would that be? Being stalked by ghosts.

But last I heard, ghosts couldn’t touch you.

“I’m just stressed,” I insist, scratching my cheek, choosing to ignore how my hands are still shaking. “I’ve…decided to try getting a show.” I actually haven’t decided that at all, but I know it’ll distract Chris.

His eyes widen, face brightening. “You are? That’s awesome. Do you got your portfolio ready?”

I shake my head, tugging at a loose thread on the quilt. “Not yet. That’s why I’m stressed…trying to finish putting it together.”

Well. Sort of true. I am trying to get my portfolio together.

Chris grins brightly. “Well, if I can help at all, just tell me.”

I smile back, heart pounding. “Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

He nods, still looking excited. It feels odd that someone else is more interested in my nonexistent career than I am.

Still. The fact that it’s Chris makes me really happy.

Clearing my throat, I push aside the quilt.

“Right. Well, I…need a shower. Um. If…if you want to head back to work, that’s okay. I’ll be there soon.”

Chris looks amused. “Relax, I took the rest of the day off. I also convinced Will to let you take a sick day. Not that it took a lot of convincing.”

Perks of having a boss who likes you.

I look at the other man guiltily, eyes sliding over his athletic form sprawled on my couch.

“You…really didn’t have to do that.”

His shoulders rise in a shrug, muscles rippling as he rises to his feet.

“It’s okay.” He shoves the dark curls off his forehead, grinning at me. “You want something to eat?”

“I…I can’t let you do that,” I reply, hands twisting in my pyjama shirt. “You…you don’t need to stay.”

Chris waves me off, eyes rolling. “Dude, it’s just lunch. I think I can handle that.”

I look down, face flushed. Oh, God, Chris…cooking for me. “O-okay. Thanks.” My hands reach up, adjusting my glasses nervously.

“Jamie…” His voice has lost its shine, dulling with concern. “What happened?”

I lower my hands, confused. “Huh?”

His eyes are fixed on my torso, a finger stretched out, pointing at my side. I follow that finger and realise...

That whole stretch of fabric is stained with dry blood.

I stop breathing.

“Jamie? Jay, what happened?”

Slowly, my fingers curl around the hem of my shirt, dragging it up. Four deep scratches on either side of my torso, two on my belly.

My feet pound across the floor, barely bringing me to the kitchen in time as my stomach expels its contents in the silver sink. I vaguely notice footsteps following me before a warm hand settles on my back, another holding back my hair.

My stomach heaves again, acid burning my throat. I cough, whimpering. Oh…oh God…it…it was real…it was real. He…he’s real.

More acid splatters the sink as my back bows. Chris rubs my back, making soothing noises. Shakily, my hand turns on the tap, water cleaning away the evidence of my terror. I lean forward, rinsing out my mouth, spitting. My whole body trembles, knees weak. I vaguely notice tears trickling down my cheeks.

An arm tightens around my waist, pulling me back from the sink. I allow myself to be guided to the kitchen table, chair catching my limp body. Chris sits next to me, close enough for our knees to touch. I stare blankly at the polished surface of the table.

“Jay, what’s going on?”

All of my limbs are shaking, small, drawn out distressed sounds leaking from my throat.

“I…I don’t know,” I whisper. My fingers clench into the fabric of my pants. “I don’t know.”

Chris shifts a bit closer. “Jamie, just tell me how you got those scratches.”

“It…it was just a dream,” I insist, voice edging on hysteria. “Just…just a dream.”

The other man stares at me, eyebrows lowered in confusion. “You’re…not making any sense. A dream? What was a dream?”

“The…the scratches!” I wail, my trembling becoming more violent. “It…it wasn’t real!”

Hands find my head, gripping the sides. Chris forces me to look at his face, thumbs pressing gently into my cheeks. “Jamie, you gotta calm down. Just…explain what happened.”

I swallow. He’ll never believe me. “I…I must’ve done this by accident. Scratched myself.” I clear my throat, hands clenching together. “Y-y’know when you get itchy and you scratch yourself without really paying attention and you end up bleeding?” I laugh, fake and light. “M-must’ve been that.”

“Then why did you panic and throw up?” asks Chris, mouth thin, obviously not believing me.

“I…I don’t like blood,” I whisper, stomach clenching. That’s true. I really don’t like blood.

Finally, after staring at me for awhile longer, Chris sighs, sitting back. “Okay. Fine. You don’t have to tell me.”

“But I’m not—”

“I know you’re lying. You’re a terrible liar.”

I swallow, guilt wracking me. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, standing up. “Whatever. What do you want to eat?”

I’ve…never heard Chris talking like this before to me.

“Are you mad?” I ask, voice soft, small like a child’s.

He shakes his head, back to me as he searches through my fridge and cabinets. “I’ll make sandwiches.”

I look at the floor, ashamed. Disappointment. That’s what that is. Disappointment in me. Because I didn’t tell him the truth?

“I…it’s not that I don’t trust you,” I mumble, fingers twisting together. “I just don’t want you to think I’m crazy.”

Chris sighs, slicing a fresh loaf of bread. “You don’t have to tell me anything. We’re just coworkers.”

That stings. That stings a lot.

“I…I was hoping we were…friends,” I whisper, throat tight. Even if he doesn’t like me…romantically, he still likes me as a friend, right?

He glances over his shoulder, pausing momentarily in the sandwich-making. “Do you trust me?”

Mutely, I nod. He nods back, thoughtfully. “Then you should know I won’t think you’re crazy. I’m just worried, y’know? I mean, you’ve got blood on you and…you just keep freaking out. That’s…pretty fucked up.”

“I know.” I swallow, repeating, “I know.” Slowly, I take a deep breath. I…if I tell him, maybe…maybe I’ll feel better. Maybe he won’t think I’m crazy.

“I keep…seeing things. When I’m alone…and it’s dark. A…at the bar, things just keep moving on their own. Tables, chairs, stools…and…and last night, I…I dreamt someone…was in my room. And, he…he did this.” I gesture vaguely at my sides. God, this is hard. “I really don’t know what to do.” My voice chokes and I fall into silence.

I hear footsteps, and a moment later, Chris crouches next to me.

“It’s okay. I don’t think you’re crazy.”

I look at him hopefully. “You don’t?”

He shakes his head, offering me a small smile. “There’s obviously something going on. Just don’t know what.”

Nodding, I look down. “Yeah.”

He pats my shoulder, standing up. “C’mon, I’ll make you the most awesome sandwich ever.”

I can’t help but laugh at that. “Okay.”

I watch him move around the kitchen, transfixed. God, he’s hot…

A few minutes later, he returns to the table, sliding a sandwich in front of me while sitting down with his own. We eat in silence for a bit (and yes, it is a bloody fantastic sandwich), before Chris looks up, face serious.

“Thanks. Y’know…for telling me.”

I offer him a small smile, looking down. “Yeah.”

I just hope these things stop happening soon.