Lynn love

Chapter 9

Lynn's Thoughts: The day ended faster than I expected—but not in a good way. It passed in that strange, hollow blur where nothing technically happens, yet everything feels wrong. I sat in his office most of the time, buried in endless paperwork, staring at the same contracts and names that never seemed to settle in my mind. I was bored—restless—but underneath that was something worse. A kind of tension that pulsed just beneath the surface, like a warning hum in my bones. I brought him his coffee throughout the day. He didn't say much. Just nodded when I placed it on his desk. He likes it black—pitch black. No sugar. No cream. Just bitter, steaming darkness. The smell lingered in the air like burnt wood or blood. I kept telling myself it was just a job. Just another powerful man with strange habits. But then I remembered the voices. The way his "friends" passed through. Too quiet. Too knowing. No words felt like it was wrapped in something poisonous—something meant to sound harmless, but wasn't. I began to wonder: were those whispers real? Or was my mind playing tricks on me? Imagining things that couldn't possibly be true? But deep down, I knew. I wasn't imagining it. Something about them made my skin crawl—made my stomach twist the way it does when you realize you're being watched. Not casually. Not with curiosity. But studied. Measured. From inside the office, Alex's voice drifted through the half-open door—calm, distant, and cold. "You can rest now. The day's over." He didn't look at me when he said it. I didn't reply. I simply stepped away, making sure to close the door behind me. I turned the lock with a quiet click—more for my own peace of mind than anything else. It was a small, hollow gesture in a place where doors felt like paper and locks were a formality. The hall was dim, the light faded into deep shadows along the edges, like the dark was creeping in from every corner. As I walked toward my room, the silence felt thick, too still—like the house was holding its breath. Halfway there, I paused. Something was wrong. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and an invisible weight settled between my shoulder blades. I didn't see anything—but I felt it. Like eyes on me. Not curious. Not kind. Just watching. Waiting. I glanced at the time on my phone. 10:13 p.m. Too late for anyone to still be wandering the halls. Too late for whatever it was that wasn't human to still be lurking out here. I made it to my room, closed the door, and locked it behind me. Safe—at least, physically. But that presence didn't disappear. It stayed with me like a film on my skin. I changed clothes, trying to convince myself that everything was fine. That it was just nerves. That exhaustion was making shadows stretch longer than they should. I lay down. Tried to sleep. But then the noise started. At first, it was faint—like nails lightly dragging across the wall behind my bed. Scratch... scratch... deliberate and slow. Not frantic. Not accidental. It grew louder with every pass. Scrrrraaaaatch. The kind of sound that crawled under your skin and made your breath catch. I held still, staring at the ceiling, heart pounding. The scratching didn't stop. It intensified. I couldn't take it anymore. I got up, crossed the room, and opened the window. I needed air. I needed something to explain what I was hearing. The night outside was still. But the sound didn't stop. And that's when I realized—it wasn't coming from outside. It was coming from inside the walls. ⸻ I leaned out the window, squinting into the darkness. Nothing. Just the still stretch of night, empty and unmoving. No wind. No sound. Not even the usual buzz of distant city life. It was too quiet—unnaturally so. The air pressed in around me, thick and unmoving, as if the world had stopped breathing. Then everything went black. Something—someone—struck me. Hard. I didn't see it. Didn't hear it coming. Just a flash of pressure, sharp pain at the back of my skull, and then... nothing. I don't know how long I was out. But when I opened my eyes, the cold hit me first. I was lying on damp earth. The smell of moss, decaying leaves, and something metallic—blood?—filled my lungs. The ground beneath me was uneven, littered with twigs and rotting roots. Above, the trees stretched like skeletal hands into the night, blotting out the moon with their tangled branches. My head throbbed violently as I sat up, vision swimming, breath ragged. I touched the back of my scalp—wet. Sticky. I winced. Blood. Panic started to crawl up my throat. Where was I? I turned slowly, trying to make sense of my surroundings. The forest didn't look familiar. It felt old. Wrong. Like it had been waiting for someone to wander in. Like it wanted me there. And then I heard it. A voice. Smooth, low, too close. "Oh... finally. You're awake." I froze. My blood ran cold. "Who's there?" I called out, voice cracking with fear and confusion. "Show yourself!" Silence. Then, again—closer this time, almost behind me. "I was starting to think you wouldn't wake up at all." The tone was calm, almost amused. But there was something else behind it—something hungry. I spun around, but I couldn't see anyone. Just shadows dancing between the trees. The forest seemed to shift with every breath I took, branches creaking softly like they were leaning in to listen. This wasn't just a kidnapping. This was a hunt. And I'd just woken up in the middle of it. ⸻