Borrowed Skin

Chapter 6: Tangled Webs

Ethan woke up to the faint sound of buzzing in his ears. His head felt heavy, like he hadn’t slept in days, and his limbs were sluggish as he forced himself to sit up. The light creeping through the blinds stung his eyes, and for a moment, he was disoriented, unsure of where he was.

Then it hit him.

The door. The fingers.

Jamie.

A cold sweat broke out over Ethan’s skin as the memories of last night came rushing back. He glanced toward the door of his apartment, half-expecting to see those same pale fingers wriggling under the crack, but the room was still. Too still.

He reached for his phone, but it was dead. Of course. He fumbled for the charger, plugging it in with shaking hands. As it powered up, a creeping sense of dread filled him, the same sense of wrongness that had followed him since Jamie’s return.

He checked his messages. Nothing from Jamie. Nothing from anyone. For a brief moment, Ethan felt a flicker of relief. Maybe he’d imagined it all. Maybe the exhaustion and stress were finally getting to him, making him see things that weren’t there.

But then he saw it.

A single message, timestamped at 3:33 AM.

**“Soon, Ethan.”**

Ethan’s stomach turned, bile rising in his throat. His hands shook as he stared at the screen, the simple words digging into his mind like claws. He could almost hear Jamie’s voice saying them, that strange calmness, that eerie detachment.

He dropped the phone like it had burned him.

He had to get out of here.

Grabbing his jacket, Ethan stumbled out of the apartment, his pulse pounding in his ears. He didn’t know where he was going, only that he couldn’t stay. Not with the suffocating sense that Jamie—or whatever had taken his place—was watching him, waiting for him to crack.

As he hurried down the stairs, he fumbled with his phone again, scrolling through his contacts. He needed to talk to someone—*anyone*—who might understand. His thumb hovered over **Marissa’s** name once more. They hadn’t spoken since before the funeral, but if there was anyone who might still care about what was happening, it was her.

Ethan hesitated for a moment, then pressed call.

The line rang. Once. Twice.

Then, finally, she picked up.

“Hello?” Marissa’s voice sounded groggy, like she’d just woken up. “Ethan?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” His voice cracked, and he realized how desperate he sounded, but he didn’t care. “I—I need to talk to you. It’s about Jamie.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Ethan could almost hear the shift in her tone, the way her breath hitched slightly. “Jamie?” she echoed, her voice guarded. “Ethan, I thought—”

“I know,” he cut her off, already sensing the disbelief. “I know how it sounds, but just… hear me out. I’ve seen him. He’s back. But something’s wrong, Marissa. It’s not him. Not anymore.”

There was silence on the other end, long enough that Ethan thought she might have hung up. He could feel the weight of his own words hanging between them, waiting to be met with skepticism, or worse—pity.

But then Marissa sighed. “Ethan… where are you? I’ll come meet you.”

Ethan blinked, momentarily stunned. He hadn’t expected her to believe him. Not even a little.

“I—I’m near the café, on Fourth,” he stammered. “Can you be here soon?”

“I’ll be there in twenty,” she said, her tone suddenly sharp, focused. “Stay put.”

As soon as the call ended, Ethan felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe talking to Marissa would help. Maybe she would see what he saw, or at least give him some perspective that wasn’t clouded by paranoia and fear.

Twenty minutes felt like an eternity as Ethan paced the sidewalk, his mind racing. The city moved around him, cars passing by, people going about their business, oblivious to the nightmare that had taken root in his life. He felt like a ghost, disconnected from the world around him, trapped in his own spiraling thoughts.

He glanced down the street, scanning for Marissa’s familiar figure. His breath hitched when he saw her, jogging toward him, her face drawn with concern.

“Ethan.” She reached him quickly, eyes scanning his face. “You look terrible.”

“Thanks,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “You have no idea.”

She sighed, folding her arms across her chest. “Alright, tell me what’s going on. The last time I saw Jamie was at the—”

“I know. I thought it was over. But it’s not.” Ethan’s words tumbled out in a rush, each one carrying a piece of the nightmare he had been living. He told her about Jamie’s reappearance, the strange scars, the changes in his behavior. He told her about the phone calls, the way Jamie’s voice had twisted, becoming something unfamiliar. Something *wrong*.

And the fingers. Those pale, cold fingers slipping under his door.

By the time he finished, Marissa’s face had gone pale, her lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t speak right away, and Ethan braced himself for disbelief, for her to tell him he was losing it.

But instead, she let out a shaky breath. “You’re not crazy.”

Ethan blinked. “What?”

“I’ve been hearing things,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Ever since the accident. I’ve seen things, too. I didn’t want to believe it, but… you’re not alone, Ethan. Something’s wrong.”

Ethan’s pulse quickened. “What do you mean?”

Marissa swallowed, her eyes flicking nervously around them, as if afraid someone—or *something*—was listening. “Jamie wasn’t the only one acting strange before the accident,” she said. “There were rumors—people in the hospital said things. Weird things. Some said they saw him walking the halls *after* the crash. I thought they were just grieving, seeing what they wanted to see. But maybe…”

She trailed off, her voice trembling. “Maybe they weren’t wrong.”

Ethan’s heart pounded in his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think it was real,” she said, her eyes haunted. “I thought I was losing it. But now…”

Before she could finish, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She fished it out, glancing at the screen. Ethan watched as her face drained of color.

“It’s him,” she whispered.

Ethan’s blood ran cold. “Jamie?”

Marissa nodded, her hand trembling as she held up the phone. On the screen, a single message was displayed.

**“I’m closer than you think.”**

The words felt like a punch to Ethan’s gut. His mind raced as he looked around, searching for any sign of Jamie—or whatever had taken his place. But the streets were empty, save for a few passersby who paid them no mind.

“We need to leave,” Marissa said, her voice low and urgent. “Now.”

Ethan didn’t need to be told twice. Together, they hurried away from the café, their footsteps quickening as they made their way through the crowded city streets. Every shadow seemed to move, every passerby felt like a threat. Jamie—or *The Weaver*—could be anywhere.

And as they walked, Ethan couldn’t shake the feeling that it was watching them.

Always watching.