Ariel woke up to the faint glow of morning light seeping through the curtains-or was it her apartment blinds? She blinked, her head heavy and her limbs leaden, the ache of restless sleep gripping her body. For a moment, she thought she was back in her bed, safe in the familiar discomfort of her apartment.
Then she remembered the motel. Or at least, she thought she did.
Her eyes darted around the room. It was the same as she recalled: the peeling wallpaper, the faint smell of mildew, and the green bedspread rumpled beneath her. Yet something about it felt... wrong. It was too quiet. The air felt stagnant, like the room itself had stopped breathing. She sat up slowly, the events of the night before crashing over her in fragments. The texts. The television. The knock at the door.
Her heart pounded as her eyes went to the door, half-expecting it to be ajar, the chain undone, the chair shoved aside. But everything was as she had left it. Locked. Secure. Safe.
Still, the unease didn't fade.
She grabbed her phone, the screen lighting up to show a series of new notifications. Missed calls. Text messages. She hesitated before opening them, her stomach twisting as though she already knew what they would say.
The first was from the same unknown number: Did you sleep well?
Her throat tightened as she scrolled to the next: You can't keep running.
Then another: You know where this ends.
Her hands trembled as she read the messages, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She wanted to delete them, to throw the phone across the room, but she couldn't bring herself to let it go. Her mind raced. The messages felt like a countdown, a series of breadcrumbs leading her somewhere she didn't want to go.
Somewhere she couldn't escape.
She moved to the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face in a futile attempt to steady herself. Her reflection stared back at her, pale and drawn, her eyes hollow with exhaustion. She gripped the edge of the sink, her knuckles white.
The mirror seemed wrong. The edges of her reflection didn't quite line up with her movements, like there was a fraction of a second where her image lagged behind. She leaned closer, her breath fogging the glass, and for a moment, she thought she saw something in the background. A shadow, just behind her shoulder.
She spun around, but the bathroom was empty. Her heart thundered in her chest as she backed against the sink, her breaths shallow and quick. She tried to convince herself it was her imagination, a trick of the light or her fraying nerves. But the doubt lingered.
She couldn't stay here. She had to move.
The drive back felt disjointed, like pieces of time were missing. One moment, she was pulling out of the motel parking lot, the next she was turning onto her street. Her hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles pale. She didn't remember the drive, didn't remember the turns or the stops. The world outside the car had blurred into an unrecognizable haze.
When she arrived at her apartment building, her stomach twisted. The sight of it felt both familiar and foreign, as though she were seeing it for the first time and the thousandth all at once. She parked in her usual spot and stared up at the windows, half-expecting to see someone looking back at her.
The building loomed over her, its brick façade darkened by the morning shadows. It seemed quieter than usual. No sounds of distant TVs, no murmurs of neighbors. Just an oppressive silence that made her skin crawl.
She climbed the stairs slowly, each step feeling heavier than the last. Her keys jangled in her hand as she approached her door. The sight of it made her stomach churn. The lock was scratched, the frame slightly warped, as though it had been forced open.
Her hands shook as she inserted the key, the metal scraping against the lock. The door creaked as it swung inward, revealing the dark, empty apartment beyond. She stepped inside, her breath catching in her throat as the familiar smell of paint and stale air enveloped her.
Everything was exactly as she had left it-or so it seemed.
Her eyes scanned the living room, searching for any sign that someone had been here. The coffee table was bare. No notes. No pens. But the silence was deafening, the weight of it pressing down on her chest.
She moved to the kitchen, her footsteps slow and deliberate. Her heart sank as she noticed the small details: the chair at the table slightly askew, the cabinet door slightly open. She didn't remember leaving it like that.
The sense of déjà vu was overwhelming. The apartment felt frozen, like it had been waiting for her return. She reached for the faucet to pour herself a glass of water, but the handle was slick with something sticky. Her hand recoiled, and her stomach lurched as she looked closer.
A red smear streaked across the metal, fresh and glistening.
Her breathing hitched. She stumbled back, her eyes darting around the room. The walls seemed to close in, the faint smell of paint growing stronger, more suffocating. Her pulse pounded in her ears as she backed into the living room.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She jumped, fumbling to pull it out, her fingers trembling as she stared at the screen.
Welcome home.
The words blurred as tears filled her eyes. She dropped the phone, the sound of it hitting the floor echoing through the apartment. Her body trembled as she sank onto the couch, her mind racing with possibilities. None of this made sense. None of it felt real.
The television flickered on suddenly, the screen glowing with static. Ariel froze, her heart pounding as the image slowly came into focus.
It was her living room.
The camera was set at an angle she couldn't place, capturing her from the corner of the room. She stared at the screen, her breath catching as she watched herself sitting on the couch, the same couch she was on now.
The image zoomed in slowly, focusing on her face. Her reflection on the screen didn't move in sync with her, lagging behind by a fraction of a second. Her heart thundered in her chest as she stared at the television, unable to look away.
Then the figure appeared.
A shadow moved in the background of the screen, just beyond her reflection. It was faint at first, barely visible, but it grew clearer as it came closer. Ariel's body froze, her muscles locking in place as her mind screamed for her to run.
The figure stopped just behind her on the screen. Its outline was sharp, its presence undeniable.
Her breath hitched as the television went dark, plunging the room into silence once more. Ariel didn't move, couldn't move. The faint sound of footsteps echoed behind her, slow and deliberate, each one drawing closer.
She closed her eyes, tears streaming down her face. She didn't want to turn around. She couldn't.
The footsteps stopped.
The silence pressed in.
And then she felt it-the faintest brush of breath against the back of her neck.
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...
