Ethan Carter sat alone in Jamie’s apartment. The air was stale, thick with the scent of dust and unopened windows, but that wasn’t what bothered him. It was the silence. The kind that crawled under your skin, making you itch in places you couldn’t reach. The kind of silence that shouldn’t exist in Jamie Holloway’s world.
This room had once been alive, filled with laughter and music. Now, it was nothing more than a graveyard of memories Ethan wasn’t ready to visit.
Jamie had always been the loud one, the one with the messy habits and the half-finished coffee cups scattered across the counter. But those cups had stayed in the same place for over a week now. The coffee stains had long dried. The music had stopped playing. Everything had stopped.
Except Ethan.
His hands twitched as he picked up one of Jamie’s old jackets, still draped across the couch as if its owner would return any minute to grab it. The denim was soft, worn from years of use, and the smell—Jamie’s cologne—clung to it like a phantom. Ethan clenched his eyes shut, pressing the fabric against his face, but it only made things worse. He could almost hear Jamie’s voice. That easy, relaxed tone. The one that always made things seem okay.
But nothing was okay.
Not since Jamie had died.
Ethan tossed the jacket aside, standing up too quickly, the wave of dizziness knocking him off balance. The room swayed for a moment, the empty space growing larger, darker. He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t do this. The reality was sinking in too fast, like the floor was swallowing him whole.
Why had he even come here?
Because part of him, the stupid part, still didn’t believe it. A car accident, they said. Quick. Sudden. No pain. It didn’t feel real, even with the funeral, the closed casket, the polite condolences from people who hadn’t even known Jamie.
He hadn’t been there when it happened. He hadn’t even been able to say goodbye.
The jacket stared up at him from where it had fallen. He stared back.
It wasn’t real. Jamie was too alive to just—be gone. He wasn’t the type of person who disappeared quietly. He would’ve laughed at the idea, shaking his head with that cocky grin of his.
And yet, the grave said otherwise.
Ethan rubbed his temples, feeling the familiar tension build behind his eyes. The headache, always there in the background, a reminder of the sleepless nights. He needed to leave, to escape before the weight of Jamie’s absence crushed him entirely.
But just as he turned toward the door, a sound stopped him cold.
A knock.
Three sharp, deliberate taps.
Ethan froze. His pulse hammered in his throat, his mind scrambling for an explanation. No one was supposed to be here. The building was practically empty; Jamie had always complained about how the place was too old, too forgotten. So, who—
The knock came again, harder this time.
Heart in his mouth, Ethan crossed the room and opened the door, expecting to see nothing. Hoping to see nothing.
But someone was there.
A figure stood in the hallway, bathed in the dim yellow light of the flickering overhead bulb. Ethan’s breath caught in his throat. It couldn’t be.
“Hey, man. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
The voice was warm, familiar.
Ethan’s knees buckled, his hand gripping the doorframe for support as he stared into the face of Jamie Holloway.
Alive.
YOU ARE READING
Borrowed Skin
Horror**"Borrowed Skin"** _"Grief does strange things to the mind, but nothing could prepare him for this."_ Ethan Carter thought he had said goodbye forever when his best friend, Jamie Holloway, died in a tragic accident. The days since have been a blu...
