There’s an old, cracked mirror in the corner with a white sheet hanging partially over it. I make sure to avoid looking at it at all costs. I love to be scared, but I still don’t have any desire to see a demon standing behind me in the mirror.

Loads of dusty boxes and totes are scattered throughout the area. It’s a fairly big room, so there’s a lot of places to look.

Stuffing my phone in my pocket, I take a deep breath, feeling like I just filled my lungs with toxic waste. And then, I head over to one of the boxes and start digging.

They’re covered in cobwebs, and I almost consider going down to the bottom floor and finding a pair of gloves. But I don’t want to stop when I’m already committed. I might convince myself not to come back up once I’m no longer sharing space with something malicious.

Ignoring the spiders scattering from the boxes, I keep digging. All I find are old clothes, shoes, trinkets, and knick-knacks.

Nothing of importance, but maybe a few of these things could be valuable.

A loud bang sounds from behind me, and this time I scream loudly. The echo of my scream rings out as I whip around and face whatever made the noise.

Nothing’s there but a dangling wooden board, hanging on by a single nail. The entirety of the attic is made up of wooden boards, most of them rotted and chewed up by mice. Where the wooden board once was is a bottomless black hole.

“You want me to stick my hand in there, don’t you?” I say dryly, glancing around to see if I spot another hint of Gigi. Still not looking in that fucking mirror, though.

Hand over my pounding heart, I carefully walk over to the still swinging wood. Grabbing my phone and turning on the flashlight once more, I shine the light inside the hole.

It’s a platform, and deep in the hole looks like two pieces of crinkled paper.

I groan aloud. “Fuck, you’re really going to make me stick my hand in there?”

Bugs don’t usually creep me out. There’s not a lot of things in this world that genuinely scare me to my core. But that doesn’t mean I enjoy sticking my hand in a bug-infested hole. Furthermore, I wouldn’t be surprised if whatever negative energy resides up here decided to fuck with me and grab my hand.

I can admit I’d probably pee a little then.

Sighing, I plunge my hand in, snatch the papers and rip my hand out, all in under a second.

I almost open my mouth and gloat but decide it’s better not to piss anything off when we’re sharing the same house.

I turn, run over to the string, click off the light and dash down the stairs like the girl from The Ring is chasing after me.

Slamming the attic door shut, I take in a deep, cleansing breath of air. It’s so much lighter down here. It feels like the entire house collapsed on me, and I just crawled out from beneath it.

I smooth out the papers, squinting my eyes to make out the neat scrawl on the first one.

I did what I was told to do. Because if I didn’t, I know I’d be next. So this is my confession. I helped him cover up her murder. I’m so sorry.

My heart quickens as I read the note over and over. Whoever wrote this, they’re speaking of Gigi's murder. They must be. Who helped him cover up the murder? Who is him?

Switching to the other note, it takes only a second to realize it’s the page ripped out of her diary. I smile triumphantly, but the smile quickly drops as I read the messy words.

I have to be quick, he said he’s on his way and I’m terrified. If I run, he’ll catch me so I’m writing this note down in hopes someone will find it. If something happens to me, John, it wa

The note ends there, not even finishing the last word. My mouth drops open in shock as I stare down at it in utter disbelief.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Gigi! You leave it off there? That’s what you wanted to show me? A note where you’re about to say who it is BUT DON’T?” I finish my rant on a loud shout, stomping my foot and flaring my arms wide.

Of course, she doesn’t answer me.

Growling dramatically, I stomp my way into the bedroom and slam the door shut.

I’m mad at her now. She better not come in here, or I’m kicking her right back out.

He’s outside again. Watching me, a bright red cherry blaring in the moonlight.

I stare back at him. The familiar tendrils of fear have me tightly in their grip. But also, the bricks are settled in my stomach, sinking lower…

I chew my lip, contemplating if I should confront him again or not. Picking up my phone and reporting him would be the logical thing to do.

But the police won’t be able to do anything. By the time they get here, he’ll be gone again.

And what good will a police report do when they come up missing like last time? With his apparent breaking and entering skills, not to mention hacking skills, he’s obviously tampering with shit. But maybe that doesn’t matter. Sheriff Walters knows I have a stalker, despite him saying they had no record of it.

Maybe that’s all the more reason to call.

He’s probably planning on murdering me right now, just like Gigi’s stalker murdered her. I’ve read over that note and combed through her diaries for the past three nights, but I haven’t seen any evidence of her stalker being the murderer yet.

But I’m sure I’m right.

Eyeing him, I pick up my phone, stand directly in front of the window, and put the phone to my ear. I haven’t even dialed the police yet; I just want to see what he’ll do.

Because evidently, there’s something wrong with me.

I’m playing with fire. The more I provoke him, the more likely he is to come after me. But I can’t stop myself. I can’t stop the sharp thrill that I get every time I push back.

It’s as addicting as it is stupid.

I can’t see his face under the deep hood, but I know he’s smiling at me. Knowing that doesn’t give me the reaction it should. I should be repulsed. I should be scared. I suppose I am scared, but what I’m really feeling is the urge to smile back.

My phone chimes in my ear. Brow plunging, I hesitantly pull the phone away from my ear and look at the incoming message.

UNKNOWN: Am I supposed to believe that you’re on the phone with the police? I think my little mouse is a liar.

Oh, no, he didn’t.

I angrily type back my message.

ME: Want to find out?

UNKNOWN: Yeah, I do, actually. I’d love to punish you later for it, too.

My thumbs freeze over the letters. The last punishment was gruesome and sickening.

ME: What, you gonna send me toes next?

UNKNOWN: Depends, are you still pretending to fuck other guys? Or would you rather yell at the ghosts in your house again?

My head snaps up and I stare into the depths of his hood. His phone is perched in his hand, waiting for my response. The lighting from his phone is set to low, the dim glow casting enough light to show me his wickedly sharp jawline and a portion of his smirking lips.

I lift my hand and flip him the bird.

Fuck you, asshole.

In response, his thumb starts moving, his smile growing wider.

UNKNOWN: I plan to.

I growl at his audacity. Like hell, he’ll fuck me.

ME: You come near me, I will stab you. I’m calling the police if you don’t leave right now.

UNKNOWN: So do it, little mouse.

I can’t tell if he’s telling me to stab him or call. I’d be happy to do both. I don’t like his insinuation that I’m the mouse and he’s the cat. That would mean he’s hunting me. The last thing I want to be is hunted.

Fuck. I hesitate. I need to call the police. I have to. But I can’t convince my fingers to move. He’s challenging me, and I hate that I’m scared to find out what he’s going to do if I do. I hate that I want to.