Insane - Who Are You To Judge? (Gripping Psychological Thriller)

Chapter 52 - Avery

I stare at the ceiling. I don't think I've blinked in over five minutes. I can't blink. I can't sleep. All I can do is watch the clock as it creeps closer and closer to twelve.

I check the clock. 11:47pm. Time to get up.

As I slide out of bed, I'm careful not to wake Him. He looks so peaceful. I want to kiss faint freckles on the apples of his cheeks that are barely visible in the darkness, but I know exactly where they are. All of them. I refrain. There are more pressing matters to deal with.

I tiptoe over to my wardrobe, gently open the door and slide inside. I have to jump around a bit to get my jeans on – they shrank in the wash and I don't have any others close by. Once I have them hoisted up to my waist I peek around the door and see Him still sleeping. I then throw on a baggy jumper, chuck my hair up into a bun and creep back out into the bedroom.

As I open the door I hear Him change position and I flip my head around. He stretches out his arms and coughs quietly before dozing back off.

I suppose he caught my cold.

One may underestimate the amount of skill and patience it takes to be as quiet as I am being. It is ridiculous how many things make noise.

Like taking my coat of the hook for example. You'd think that would produce little sound, but no, the buckles on the coat hit the metal and the zips chime as they swing about. Putting shoes on is even worse. When noise doesn't matter they glide on without a problem. But, when you're trying to be quiet, the shoe screeches along the floor, and then you lose balance getting them on – which you never normally do since you've been putting shoes on since you were a toddler. Then they suddenly decide not to stay on your foot as you make your first step and you cringe as they fall and the sound of the heel hitting the wooden floor echoes throughout the house.

And don't even get me started on unlocking the door. You can be in the newest house in the world with the smoothest locks that glide like melted butter, but as soon as you need to leave in secret, they become fifty-year-old doors with hinges that have rusted from the English weather constantly lashing them with rain, and a stiff lock that refuses to comply.

When I finally make it outside, my hair is blown across my eyes by the summer night winds. My vision being obscured makes me more on edge, and more nervous that someone is lurking in my trembling shadow.

With every step I quicken my pace just a little, as I am sure that the wind is whispering in my ear, telling me to watch my back.

The moon is staring down at me, laughing. He's laughing at my obvious fear of the night, baring his teeth with a smile like the Cheshire Cat. I am usually the one lurking in the shadows, but now I am the one afraid of them.

I reach the corner of Old Oak Street at 11:58pm. I look around the area frantically, but I can see nothing. There is no one in sight. I don't even hear the nocturnal animals scurrying through the bushes. Southhurst has gone radio silent.

12:01pm – still nothing. I'm getting anxious now – as if I wasn't before.

The letter said there would be a present waiting for me here, but I can't find anything. Perhaps they were merely trying to get me rattled. Maybe they wanted me out of the house.

As the thought crosses my mind, my heart begins to gallop. It makes so much sense, and I've fallen for their tricks. I'm playing right into their hands.

I am about to begin sprinting home, fearing what I may find, when suddenly I'm startled by the grass on the corner of the street. There is something moving in it.