Borrowed Skin

Chapter 5: Fraying Threads

Ethan’s hands trembled as he locked the door behind him, the click of the deadbolt sending a wave of relief through his body. He leaned against the door, taking a deep breath, but the tightness in his chest didn’t ease. His mind was racing, spinning with thoughts that he couldn’t hold onto for long enough to make sense of.

*I’m just messing with you.*

Jamie’s words replayed in his head, over and over, the way he had laughed afterward, as if the entire situation was a joke. But Ethan wasn’t laughing. His heart hadn’t stopped pounding since the phone call, and now, as he stood in his dimly lit apartment, the silence felt suffocating.

He needed to do something—*anything*—to figure this out.

With shaky hands, Ethan reached for his phone, scrolling through his contacts. His finger hovered over **Marissa**, an old friend of his and Jamie’s. They hadn’t talked much since Jamie’s death, but if anyone would understand, it would be her.

But how could he explain what was happening? That his best friend, who should be *dead*, had come back to life? And not just that—he wasn’t the same. He was *something else*.

His thumb hovered over her name, but he couldn’t bring himself to press it.

Before he could second-guess himself any further, a soft knock echoed through the apartment, shattering the fragile silence.

Ethan froze, his breath catching in his throat. For a moment, he didn’t move, hoping—praying—that he had imagined it.

The knock came again, louder this time.

Ethan’s chest tightened. He didn’t have to look through the peephole to know who it was. His skin prickled with a sense of dread that had been creeping up on him for days now.

“Ethan, you there?” Jamie’s voice called through the door, cheerful and casual, like they were just two friends meeting up for a beer.

But that voice—the same one he had grown up with, the one that used to make everything feel safe—now sent a shiver down Ethan’s spine. He swallowed, his throat dry, trying to calm the pounding in his chest.

“Ethan?” Jamie called again, this time with a hint of concern. “You okay, man? You sounded weird on the phone earlier.”

Ethan stepped away from the door, his heart thudding in his ears. He needed to think, to figure out what to say, but the panic was building inside him, a storm that he couldn’t control.

“Yeah,” Ethan finally croaked, his voice hoarse. “Just give me a minute.”

There was a long pause on the other side of the door. Ethan could almost feel Jamie’s presence there, looming. Waiting.

He backed away slowly, his mind spinning. He couldn’t let Jamie in. Not after what he’d found, not after the feeling he got during their last conversation.

“Ethan,” Jamie said softly, almost too softly. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

Ethan’s stomach churned, a wave of nausea washing over him. The words sounded… *off*. Like Jamie wasn’t just talking about tonight. Like he knew—he knew exactly what Ethan had been thinking, what he had been researching.

The phone call. The stitches. The skin twitching beneath his scalp.

Ethan could feel his hands sweating, his pulse quickening with the creeping realization that Jamie was no longer pretending to be the same person. He was letting Ethan know, piece by piece, that the mask was slipping.

“I’m just tired,” Ethan lied, trying to keep his voice steady. “Can we meet up tomorrow? I just need to crash for a bit.”

Another long pause. The silence was deafening.

Then Jamie’s voice came again, colder this time. “I don’t think you’re tired, Ethan. I think you’re scared.”

Ethan’s blood ran cold. His back hit the far wall of his apartment as if he were trying to put as much distance between himself and the door as possible. How could Jamie know that? How could he—

The knocking started again, harder this time, more insistent. Jamie’s voice was still calm, but there was an edge to it now, a razor-sharp undercurrent that set Ethan’s teeth on edge.

“I can help you, you know. If something’s bothering you.”

Ethan’s heart pounded in his chest as he tried to think of what to do. His hand hovered over his phone again. Maybe he should call someone, anyone—Marissa, the police, *anyone*—but who would believe him? What could he even say?

*My dead best friend is at my door and I think he’s been taken over by something else?*

Jamie knocked again, this time more forcefully. “Ethan, open the door. We need to talk.”

Ethan flinched at the command in Jamie’s voice. It wasn’t a request. It was an order.

For a long, tense moment, neither of them moved. The air between them was thick, a pressure building as the seconds ticked by. Ethan could feel it now—the weight of Jamie’s presence on the other side of the door, the unnaturalness of it all.

Then, something shifted. A soft creaking sound, followed by a faint tapping noise. Ethan’s eyes widened as he glanced toward the edge of the door.

Through the thin gap at the bottom, he saw a shadow. Something moving. *Tapping*.

Ethan’s breath caught in his throat as he realized what he was seeing.

Fingers. Jamie’s fingers, slipping under the crack of the door, reaching inside. Slowly, deliberately, as if testing how far they could go.

Ethan backed away, his mind spinning in panic. This wasn’t Jamie. It couldn’t be.

The fingers twitched and curled, searching.

“You can’t hide forever,” Jamie’s voice said, muffled but eerily calm. “You need me.”

The desperation inside Ethan finally broke free. Without thinking, he lunged for the door, slamming his foot down on the fingers. A sickening crack echoed through the apartment, but Jamie didn’t scream. He didn’t even flinch.

Instead, the fingers simply retracted, sliding out from under the door as if nothing had happened.

Ethan stumbled back, his chest heaving as he stared at the door, waiting. His mind raced, trying to comprehend what he had just seen—what he had just *done*.

For a long moment, there was nothing but silence. The quiet stretched on, suffocating in its intensity.

Then Jamie spoke again, his voice low and almost… amused.

“That wasn’t very nice, Ethan.”

Ethan’s heart nearly stopped. He backed further into the apartment, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The room felt smaller now, closing in on him, as if the walls themselves were collapsing under the weight of his fear.

“I’ll give you some space,” Jamie continued, his voice still eerily calm. “But you and I… we’re going to talk soon. Very soon.”

The sound of footsteps retreated down the hallway, fading into the distance. But Ethan didn’t move. He stood there, frozen, staring at the door as if it might burst open at any second.

The moment stretched on, but Jamie didn’t come back.

Ethan’s knees buckled, and he sank to the floor, his head spinning with too many thoughts, too many questions.

What was that thing? And how much longer could he keep running from it?