Your Turn to Suffer by Tim Waggoner (the ebook reader .txt) 📕

told her that she was in her apartment and that everything was normal. Probably going to have a of couple bruises tomorrow. That was a small price to pay for a little reassurance, though.

She crouched and searched with her fingers until she felt the edge of the coffee table’s surface. Keeping one hand on the table to guide her, she walked around it until her left leg bumped into the couch. She stretched out her right hand and felt the cushions. No Larry. She kept her hand on the couch as she made her way around to the floor lamp sitting next to it. She found the switch and turned on the light. She forgot to look away and bright illumination stabbed into her eyes. She squeezed them shut and turned her head away from the lamp. Her eyes watered and tears slid down her cheeks. She felt a spike of pain behind her eyes, and she feared she might be on the verge of triggering another goddamn migraine.

Don’t borrow trouble, her mother always said. It was good advice, and she told herself not to worry about her head. Either she’d get a migraine or she wouldn’t.

She opened her eyes slowly to give them a chance to adjust to the light. She had to blink several times to clear the tears from her vision, but once she’d done this, she was able to see well enough. What she didn’t see was any sign of Larry. The front door was closed and locked, and that was a relief.

Whatever had caused those thumps, she hadn’t heard any more of them since leaving her bedroom. The noises had most likely been caused by one of the building’s other residents – as she’d suspected – and it seemed they’d stopped doing whatever it was they’d been up to. She was just on edge after everything that had happened tonight, that’s all. Best to forget about the mess, go back to bed, and try to return to sleep. She had work in the morning.

She glanced at the door once again. She was tempted to engage the chain lock for an extra measure of security, small though it might be. But if she did that, Larry wouldn’t be able to get in when he finally made it home. He might figure fuck it and go sleep in his car. It wouldn’t be the first time. But there was an equally likely chance he’d pound his fist on the door and call her name until she woke and came out to let him in. She didn’t want to deal with a loud, drunk, and angry Larry tonight. She’d leave the chain off.

She turned back to the lamp, intending to turn the light off, but she changed her mind. What would it hurt to leave the light on out here for the rest of the night? Maybe she’d sleep with her nightstand lamp on, too. She hadn’t done so since she’d been a little girl, but if having a light on in her bedroom helped her get through the rest of the night, she’d do it. Hell, she’d install a fucking spotlight in her room if it would—

Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft clattering.

Her gaze was instantly drawn toward the sound, and she saw the vertical blinds over her patio door undulate slowly, stirred by a breeze.

She felt a fresh jolt of fear. A breeze meant the patio door was open. Had Larry left it like that when he’d departed for his gig? She hadn’t checked the patio door to make sure it was locked before she’d gone to bed, had she? She couldn’t remember, but she didn’t think so. If the patio door was open, that meant that someone else could be in her apartment right now. Maybe multiple someones.

She stood there, frozen, unable to decide what she should do next. She could call nine-one-one, but she’d left her phone on her nightstand, and she’d have to return to her bedroom for it. And if she did call for help, what could she say? I heard a couple thumps, and when I checked, I discovered my patio door was open. I’m scared. Can you send someone to check if the Boogeyman snuck in? She’d feel ridiculous if the police showed up, checked her entire apartment, and found nothing.

There’s no sign of an intruder, ma’am. You’re perfectly safe.

She imagined the officer saying these words with a slight sneer, as if he or she was angry with the overly nervous woman who’d wasted their time because she thought she’d heard something scary – upon awakening from a nightmare, no less. Then again, she’d be an idiot to continue investigating on her own, going into the small kitchen, stepping out onto the patio. That was the kind of dumb move people in films made, and more often than not, their stupidity resulted in their deaths. Better to be embarrassed than dead, she decided.

She started walking back toward the bedroom, moving slowly and quietly, continually gazing back at the patio door as she went. Another gust of wind stirred the blinds, this one stronger than the first, causing them to ripple and rattle more loudly than last time. The sound made her jump and she stopped walking and stared at the patio door.

That’s when she saw the first hand reach through the blinds. It was shadow-black, with long, multijointed fingers that ended in sharp, curving claws. It was the same sort of hand the shadow thing she’d glimpsed in the parking lot of FoodSaver had possessed. Was it the same creature? Had the thing somehow followed her home? She thought of the thumps she’d heard, and now she realized she knew what the sounds had been someone – or something – pounding on the glass of the patio doors from the outside. The door had been closed, and maybe the shadow creature had been trying to force it open, perhaps pounding the glass in frustration until it finally succeeded.

A second