A.SPECKHART | Book One

SCARE TACTICS 7.2

Pride. Mine had gone by the wayside. I couldn't put on a brave face when I couldn't shake the memory of those dark eyes glaring at me from beneath that black hood and the ominous presence of the blue hatchback everywhere I went. I was rattled and couldn't convince myself to leave my flat unless the haven of my bed became unsafe. Nowhere else was safe, not when I was alone. 

At night, I'd lay awake, watching the door. Even though I had a decent lock installed, I still hung a pop can stocked with pennies from the handle as an extra precaution. If anyone tried to enter, I'd hear them. 

On Tuesday, I had lectures but called in sick. I had a free study schedule on Wednesday, so I stayed home. When Thursday came, I was hit with a dilemma. I didn't want to worry Lindsay and Theresa and raise unnecessary questions, but I also didn't know if I had the nerve to go about 'business as usual' and go out. Fortunately, the perfect opportunity arose when Theresa texted. 

'STILL GOT UR CAKE TIN. DROP IT OFF B4 GOING OUT? X'

With Theresa as my chaperone, I got to the Omen safely, free of any run-ins with my new nemesis. The music was a welcome release: a distraction and respite from my week of torment. I spent an hour or more dancing away my anxiety that I almost forgot I would have to be on alert as soon as I stepped outside.

At the bar, Karl served me. It had become a habit to notice Cole, even though I hadn't spoken to him in ages. It bothered me that I could barely remember how his voice sounded. If we'd been on good terms, could I have asked him to take me home?

"See you tomorrow, babe," Theresa bid me goodbye and kissed my cheek as she packed a drunk Lindsay into the back of a taxi. "I'll call you in the morning."

Hot from dancing, I took a moment to cool off in the mild night air before setting off home with my jacket hung over my shoulders. When I looked down the street, left and right, I was relieved to find the blue hatchback was nowhere in sight. With a hopeful smile, I took a deep breath of smoky urban air and sighed, thankful that the walk home would be uneventful and a nice change of pace. At least it was cheaper. 

It wasn't long before the darkness's spell of peacefulness was banished by harsh light. I was only four hundred yards from my block of flats when I heard a car engine revving up behind me. Two sets of roars—vrum-vrum, vrum-vrum—echoed between the buildings, amplifying the terrifying sound. The time had come when I was alone. The street was dead. It was just me and the car. Its angry snarl was a threat, a challenge, an instruction to run. 

Instinctively, I looked over my shoulder. That's when the driver flicked on their headlights, and two glaring yellow beams blinded me. The orbs of the lights got bigger. They were getting closer! The engine roared into life. The car sped down the tarmac—driving straight at me—to run me down whether I was on the pavement or not! 

At the last moment, it swerved from its collision course and zoomed away, horn beeping erratically and swerving all over the empty road. Somewhere amid the assault, I had stepped backwards and lost my footing. That was how I found myself in a pile on the road with a bloody knee and grazed palms. My bum smarted from my awkward landing. I quickly clambered to my feet in time to see the car off. The number plate, the colour of the bumper; as if I didn't already know, it was none other than the blue hatchback. 

Traumatised, I ran as fast as I could to the safety of my flat. With shaky hands, I fumbled with the front door keys, but the minute the door was locked behind me, I collapsed, consumed by a fit of hysterical crying. My tears felt cold against my flushed cheeks; my lungs burned as I panted uncontrollably, unable to calm down—the panic attack that ensued was like no other. There was no calm even after it passed. Somehow, I had to get a grip and muddle through, but the pop can would remain on my door handle for the foreseeable future. The new scare tactic my stalker had used was successful.