132. Crumbled to Dust

Continued...

Finally, the lock clicked open, and she all but threw herself inside, slamming the door behind her and pressing her back against it.

Her chest heaved, and she fought to regulate her breathing.

Safe. I'm inside. He can't get in.

The house was dark, swallowing her whole with its silence.

Rose shuddered.

I need to start leaving the lights on before I go out. This ambiance is not at all welcoming.

Flicking on the nearest switch, she bathed the entryway in warm light, exhaling shakily.

One thing done. Now for the next task: one completely normal thing for a teenager to do after coming back from college; put the curtains on before the stalker shows up.

She moved through the house, systematically closing every curtain, every possible vantage point he might have to look in.

The living room windows were the last ones. She hesitated, staring out into the abyss of her backyard, searching the edges of the tree line.

No movement.

The trees stood still, their branches motionless under the night sky and no lurking figure haunting the darkness itself.

So, where is he?

The uncertainty gnawed at her, an unease curling around her gut.

She didn't know if she should be relieved that he didn't show up yet or worried that his absence from her backyard could also mean he was somewhere else somewhere far more dangerous. Hopefully not anywhere Rose was.

Her fingers gripped the curtain tighter before she finally pulled it shut, casting the room into safe seclusion.

The moment the last curtain was drawn, she turned off the lights and made her way upstairs.

She needed a shower, a long soothing one was well over due, specially when she didn't have time to take one this morning.

And after last night's events haunting her throughout the day, Rose felt like she was filthy, like the effect of his gaze roaming over her naked body was still clinging to her skin which she needed to wash off before she is able to relax. 

Or whatever feeble attempt at resting she calls 'relaxing' these days.

By the time she stepped out of the bathroom, warm steam curling in the air around her, she felt lighter, as if she had scrubbed away more than just the grime of the day.

Wrapped in all but a small towel, she padded across her room, pulling open her closet to grab something comfortable to sleep in.

Then she heard it.

A slow, agonizing creak.

The sound of her window… opening.

Rose froze. She has surely locked it. Now it's opening so easily on the push of a wind as if it was left ajar.

Looks like the paranormal is back.

A gust of cool air whispered against her damp skin making her shiver from cold and something else. She whips around, her heart slamming into her ribs.

Surely the window stood wide open, the curtains fluttering gently in the breeze.

Rose against her best judgement walks to the window not knowing what she expected to see but when she got there, Rose flinched at the sight before her.

There, waiting for her, perched delicately on the windowsill— was a red rose.

Her breath hitched, a cold terror slithering up her spine.

How?

Her hands trembled as she stepped forward, staring at the flower like it would reach out and strangle her.

She watched it like it was a ghost. No, the ghost was the one who left it there for her and the one who opened the window, but she thought she was safe and he couldn't come near the window?

Like ripping the band aid she snatched it up from the window sill, her fingers curling around the stem before she turned sharply and stormed toward the trash can.

Lifting the lid, she tossed the fresh rose inside and slammed it shut, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.

That is where it belongs, like the rest of them.

However, as Rose moved away, something gnawed at her mind. It was something that felt odd... it seemed wrong wrong.

Her gaze once again move to the trash can sitting in the corner of her room. Her gut twisted in anticipation as she hesitantly lifted the lid again, peering inside.

Her breath caught in her throat.

There, sitting at the bottom— laid another rose.

The very first one.

The one she had thrown away weeks ago.

Her skin turned cold and crawled with confusion as she reached in and picked it out, her fingers barely grazing the soft petals.

It looked as fresh as the day she had first found it, its deep red hue untouched by time.

As she studied the rose in her fingers, it's color began to change.

Before her very eyes, the vibrant red darkened, the petals curling inward, shrinking, withering, until the entire flower shriveled into blackened decay.

It was as if she was witnessing a time lapse of it's desiccation within seconds.

The stem cracked, dry and brittle, with a sudden shock Rose threw the rose on the ground and as it fell the rose crumbled into dust, disintegrating before it ever hit the floor.

Rose staggered back, horror gripping her like ice as the feel of ominous blanketed around her thickly.