The Last of Us

Thirty-Five

I'm awoken in the middle of the night.

Something creeps at the edge of my mind. I blink a few times until my eyes adjust to the darkness.

I work out what has woken me up this late into the night or early so early in the morning. I have no concept of the time, and when I fumble around for my phone a few times, I'm still unable to find it.

I reach for my bedside lamp, trying to find the switch.

Something doesn't feel right. A lingering at the back of my neck raises hairs along my skin. I shiver suddenly runs the length of my body as my eyes flicker around the room as it fills with light.

A floorboard creaks outside my door. My heart begins to pound loudly in my chest. I almost call out, wondering if it's mum, but I know she would barge in if she had something to tell me. She also wouldn't be walking around with the lights off in the hallway, which I can see is the case from the gap under my door.

The floorboard creaks again, this time from further down the hallway. I pull the cover back from my bed slowly, afraid to make a sound.

I learnt to trust my gut long ago. Undoubtedly, someone is in my house—someone who is not welcome.

My first thought is Randall. He's finally come to get me. What other alternative could there be?

I whip my head back towards my bedside table to find my phone lying on the floor. I scramble for it, texting my mum to see if she's awake. If not, I don't want to stress her out just yet. She's likely to create more attention than necessary.

When a few minutes pass, and I don't receive a response, I pray that she'll stay in her room if she wakes from any sounds.

A thud from downstairs draws me back to the real issue at hand. I stand in the middle of my room like a statue. I was probably about to be killed by someone, and what was I doing?

I'd always been the type to roll my eyes at slasher films. When the victim is about to die, and they decide to open the door when it rings at midnight? Ludicrous.

Now, I suddenly feel like I'm in a horror movie and the next victim.

I want to call the police, but a stupidly stubborn part of me is still angry that they have put such lacklustre effort into the case.

I'd be screaming at the television if the next victim in the film acted like me, but I couldn't dial the number.

Another sound from downstairs, and I'm tiptoeing towards the door, reaching for the door handle.

I suddenly want to text Ben, knowing he'd likely wake up from the sound alone. He didn't seem to sleep heavily. We'd had plenty of late-night phone calls, me stressing over the case and him trying to think logically.

A deep pang hits my chest, and I sigh, closing my eyes as my hands shake around the handle. I lean my head against the door as I breathe out slowly.

I didn't want to think of the expression on his face as he'd left my room the other night right now. How I'd hurt him knowingly, but I didn't know any different. I didn't know how to love someone. I hadn't since my dad died. All I had left was my mum.

It was better he wasn't in my life anyway, with shit like this happening. It felt like I should constantly be living in fear at this point, and it wasn't fair to put that on him.

Shaking out my thoughts, I turn the handle, cringing at the whining sound it makes as I step into the hallway.

The house is too quiet now. I listen out for other sounds but don't hear anything. I wonder if I've made the whole thing up in my head.

I wouldn't put it past me to have finally gone completely crazy. It only seems fitting for it to happen.

Thud.

I freeze. Something is coming from the kitchen. I hear it a second time too. It's almost as though someone is ransacking our cupboards.

I step towards the kitchen when my phone dings in my hand.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I'd forgotten to silence it.

'Are you making a midnight snack?' My mother's text reads.

"Shit," I whisper.

She's awake, and if I don't convince her that I'm fine, she will come out and ask why I'm eating so late and how bad it is for the body.

"Yes! Starved. Sorry for the noise. I'll be quiet. Go back to sleep,' I reply.

There's no way the person would have missed the text tone. It echoed throughout the house as a car alarm sounded in an empty parking lot. I don't hear any other sounds coming from the kitchen.

I bite my bottom lip, feeling the terror sitting low in my stomach. I didn't even have anything in reach to arm myself with. I was walking into an unknown situation helplessly.

A creak in the floorboards. It doesn't come from me, either. Someone else is walking nearby quietly, aware I'm awake in the house now.

I think about the police and that any rational person would have called them by now. I must have lost too many brain cells lately to think clearly.

I pocket my phone, taking further steps to reach the kitchen. My eyes have started to adjust to the darkness, but it's still hard to tell where I'm going. Odd shadows appear at various points throughout the house. I blink a few times until the objects begin to take shape. A coat stand or the chair in the corner of our hallway. It isn't a person; I remind myself.

Until it is.

A dark shadowy figure enters the hallway just as I reach the kitchen. I blink, hoping the image will clear, but they loom over me so clearly that I know I do not imagine things.

Even though I'd known so profoundly that someone was inside my house, the whole reality didn't hit me until I was faced with the outline of their body. The moon illuminates them as it appears through the kitchen window.

"Who are you?" I demand, my voice scratchy to my ears.

It's a question I'd also groan at in any horror film, yet I stand, facing my worst nightmare.

They don't stop to have a chat with me. I'm held aggressively against the wall behind me. The figure pins me briefly as I kick at their body, digging my nails into their bare arms.

"Who the fuck are you?" I shout, forgetting that my mother is awake in her room momentarily.

I hear her door opening. The figure jumps back from me, their head turning towards the sound.

"Harlow?" my mother calls.

The figure darts off towards the front doorway in a flash. I barely get time to process their body flailing around in the dark as they wrench open the door, disappearing in the darkness.

I'm left staring at the open door for a few seconds before I hear my mother call my name again, this time more frantic.

Instead of answering her, I reach for the light switch in the kitchen. When the light explodes through the room, I blink a few times against the painful intrusion.

That's where I find the message. This time it doesn't come in the form of an email or a letter in the mail. This time it's more menacing.

Scrawled across the floor haphazardly in red paint are two words that make my breathing falter.

You're next.