113. Haunted by Him

Continued...

As dusk settled over the horizon, Rose sat curled up in the plush armchair by the window, watching the last slivers of golden light stretch lazily over the trees. It was a beautiful sight, really—soft, warm, almost inviting.

Deceptive.

Because in just a short while, this same view would shift into something else entirely.

Something darker.

Something that breathed with shadows and watched with glowing eyes.

With a measured exhale, she pushed herself up from the chair, bracing for what had now become a nightly ritual.

Moving through the house, she systematically pulled each curtain shut, blocking out the world beyond. The thick fabric fell into place with a satisfying weight, severing the connection between inside and out.

The windows were done. Now, only the glass doors remained.

Her gaze flickered toward them, their wide panes offering a direct view into the night beyond. The house had too much glass, too much exposure—she had thought that the first time she saw it, but back then, the openness had been beautiful.

Now, it was a liability.

Still, covering the doors wasn't an option. There were no curtains or blinds, and at this point, she had little interest in hammering up sheets like some paranoid shut-in.

She'd just have to be mindful.

Unfortunately, that meant avoiding a good portion of the house. The dining area and parts of the kitchen were in full view from outside, which meant sitting at the table was out of the question.

Guess I'll be eating straight from the pot on my couch, she mused.

She had adapted quickly to this new way of living—navigating her own home like it was an active battlefield, learning which corners were safe and which ones exposed her too much.

Careful not to be seen or heard when she moved around her own home kept in complete dark.

She hated it, the feeling of being haunted by him, of being watched even when she couldn't see anything out there.

But tonight, she told herself, would be another quiet night.

No open windows.

No unlocked doors.

No roses.

And if that was the case, maybe she could allow herself to relax.

A foolish hope, maybe. But it was all she had. Rose owe it to herself. 

She had finally found the time to do something she hadn't been able to for months—read. Really read. Not skimming a few pages before bed, not carrying the book around with good intentions but never cracking it open.

No, tonight, she was immersed.

And it felt so damn good.

The novel—a horror, of course—had her hooked from the first page, dragging her deeper into its world with every turn.

She had forgotten how much she loved this feeling, the exhilaration of suspense, the sharp thrill of danger that got her almost excited… all of it when it was confined to ink on a page.

Not the real danger.

The kind that stood outside in the dead of night. The kind that watched.

But she wasn't thinking about that right now.

For the first time in days, she was truly at peace.

When she finally managed to tear her eyes away from the story, she blinked at the clock on the wall. Nine o'clock.

Wow.

Hadn't it just been seven?

Amazing how a good book could turn hours into minutes. Time slipped by like a whisper, unnoticed and fleeting, carried away by words and imagination.

She stretched, her joints popping in protest after sitting in the same position for so long. She felt light. Relaxed.

That was what fiction did for her—it let her escape. Let her experience terror in a way that was controlled and to her liking, where she could close the book and walk away unscathed.

If only all horror worked that way.

Something that she had made a mistake of assuming that was the case with all her life experiences.

She had thought real fear—the kind from movies, from books—would exhilarate her just the same. 

That she could stand in the presence of the unknown and feel that same rush, that same pulse-pounding intrigue.

 sadly, she was very rudely made aware that when the horror was palpable and truly in her face, it did not make her feel what she had expected. 

she was not a thrill seeker apparently. Or at least that is not the way He had made her feel. 

he had proved her wrong.