Ariel leaned against the kitchen counter, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea. The soft hum of the fridge filled the silence, broken occasionally by the distant creak of the apartment building settling into the night. It had been months since she'd moved in, and yet the place still felt more like a shell than a home. Boxes had been unpacked, furniture arranged, but the warmth of belonging refused to settle.
She told herself it was better this way, quiet and uncomplicated. After Matthew, simplicity was the goal. No shared keys, no disputes over whose turn it was to clean the bathroom, no arguments about texts left unanswered. Just her, alone, with no one to disappoint or be disappointed by. She could live like this. She was sure of it.
Still, there were nights like this one when the solitude pressed in too closely, and she found herself watching the shadows shift across the walls, her thoughts crawling back to places she didn't want to visit.
She sighed, setting her mug down on the counter. A quiet night. A boring night. She should've been grateful. Yet something about the stillness felt wrong.
Her eyes flicked to the window over the sink. The blinds were open, letting in the glow of the streetlamp outside. A shiver crawled up her spine as she noticed how dark the street beyond was, how easy it would be for someone to stand just beyond the circle of light, invisible, and watch.
She tugged the blinds shut, swallowing the lump that had inexplicably risen in her throat. It was just her imagination. It always was.
Ariel turned to the living room, her gaze falling on the coffee table where her phone sat. She frowned. Hadn't she left it on the counter? She thought back, replaying the last hour. She was sure she'd been scrolling through it while waiting for the kettle to boil, her usual routine. But maybe she was wrong. Maybe she'd grabbed it on her way to the couch without thinking.
She reached for it, flipping the screen to life. No notifications. Her stomach tightened in a way she couldn't explain. Something felt...off. She hated how paranoid she'd become lately, jumping at small things like misplaced keys or flickering lights. But it was just that, paranoia. She had to believe that.
Sliding her thumb across the screen, she scrolled through her recent calls. The last one was from three days ago, when she'd ordered takeout. She hadn't called anyone since.
Yet the sense of being watched lingered.
"Get a grip," she muttered to herself. "It's just you here. You're safe."
Her therapist had warned her about this, about letting her thoughts spiral. Ariel was trying. She was.
Later that evening, Ariel curled up on the couch, a blanket draped over her legs and her laptop balanced on her knees. The blue light of the screen glowed in the dim room, casting shadows that flickered like restless ghosts. She was halfway through an episode of some mindless sitcom when she heard it, a faint sound, like paper rustling. She froze, the laugh track on the screen suddenly feeling too loud, too artificial.
The sound came again, this time louder. Ariel muted the laptop, her pulse quickening as silence fell over the room. She sat there, holding her breath, straining to hear. Nothing.
It's nothing, she told herself. The wind. A neighbor. A raccoon, maybe.
But the unease didn't fade.
She set the laptop aside and crept to the door, peering through the peephole into the dimly lit hallway beyond. Empty. The same stained carpet and peeling wallpaper as always. Her hand hesitated on the deadbolt before she turned away. What was she expecting to see? Someone standing there with a bouquet of flowers and a knife? She shook her head, feeling foolish.
Her gaze wandered back to the living room, where she'd left her laptop and blanket. A thin rectangle of light stretched across the floor from the kitchen. Ariel stared at it for a moment before her brow furrowed. She'd turned off the kitchen light, hadn't she?
Her heart pounded as she stepped closer. Sure enough, the bulb above the sink cast its harsh glow across the counter. She flicked it off, her fingers trembling slightly on the switch. A circuit issue, she told herself. Maybe she hadn't flicked it hard enough the first time.
But her stomach churned as her eyes scanned the room. Something about it felt wrong. The cushions on the couch looked slightly out of place, like someone had been sitting there. She leaned closer. On the coffee table, her mug sat empty, its handle pointed the wrong way.
Hadn't she finished that tea hours ago?
Her breath hitched as she looked around, searching for any other signs. The door was locked. The windows, too. She was alone. She had to be.
"Stop it," she whispered to herself. "Just stop."
By the time she went to bed, Ariel had convinced herself it was nothing, a mix of paranoia and the unfamiliar noises of a new apartment. But even as she lay in the dark, her body cocooned in blankets, sleep refused to come.
Every creak of the building made her tense. Every gust of wind against the window made her heart race. She turned onto her side, staring at the faint glow of the digital clock on her nightstand.
2:13 a.m.
Her eyelids were heavy, but her mind wouldn't rest. She reached for her phone, intending to scroll mindlessly until exhaustion took over, but her hand met the empty surface of the nightstand.
Her phone wasn't there.
She sat up, her heart in her throat. She was sure she'd left it charging before bed. She remembered plugging it in, remembered the soft chime confirming the connection. But now the cable lay slack on the table, empty.
Ariel swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet hitting the cool floor. She searched the room, her breaths coming faster. It had to be here. It always was. But no matter where she looked, the phone was gone.
And then she saw it.
Sitting neatly on the kitchen counter, its screen dark, was her phone.
She stared at it, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. She hadn't been to the kitchen since turning off the light. She knew she hadn't.
Ariel took a slow step forward, then another, her breaths shallow. The room felt impossibly quiet, the air heavy with something unspoken. When she reached the phone, her hand hovered over it for a moment before she snatched it up, her fingers trembling.
The screen flickered on. No missed calls. No texts.
Just her reflection staring back at her in the black glass.
YOU ARE READING
You Were Always There
Horror"You Were Always There" is a psychological thriller about Ariel, a young woman haunted by strange events in her apartment. Convinced she's being stalked-possibly by her ex-she struggles to separate reality from paranoia as the truth becomes darker a...
