He drags his hand over his face, contemplating whether to tellme or not. After a moment of hesitation, he opens the bathroom door wider before grabbing a note from the nightstand. My fingers tremble as I take the paper from him. It’s eerily familiar to the one we saw just last night, with the same uneven handwriting across the page, smeared with red. A ghost-like shiver crawls over my spine.
‘Naya,’ the note reads, the name repeated over and over, the next messier than the others.
“H-how?” I stare at him with eyes full of vulnerability and distress. “Daxton booked the room under other names, right?”
Grey looks at me and nods, his body tense and shoulders drawn tight with apprehension.
“Where did you find it?”
He stays silent, making his way over to the backpack sitting on the edge of the bed, hurriedly stuffing it with the things we own. Handing me a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of sweatpants, I go inside the bathroom to get dressed.
It feels as if I’ve left my body, no longer controlling it or able to perceive what’s happening. Questions spin around in my head like a devastating whirlwind; what the fuck is going on?
”Grey, please talk to me,” I whisper.
”Not right now.” His voice is clipped, mixed with panic.
The eerie feeling clings to me like a damp fog, paranoia seeping into every crevice of my soul. Memories of strange occurrences flash through my mind—the times I sensed someone watching us, the unsettling note saying, ‘This isn’t the end.’ It cannot be a prank, can it?
”We need to leave,” is all he says, his usual easy demeanor replaced by a hardened look, jaw clenched tight. His troubled expression is more pronounced than usual as he packs our bags, throwing clothes and groceries in a mess.
”Where are we going?”
He doesn’t hear me, already hurrying out of the motel roomwhile leaving the key behind. I quickly follow him, a heavy, relentless thrum filling my chest, as though it could break free with every step.
We leave without a word to anyone, passing the reception without bothering to check out properly, having already paid. Now it’s time to get out while making a haste exit without risking anyone seeing us.
I pull the cap Daxton left for me down over my face, trying to shield myself from being seen. Grey follows suit, his hoodie drawn tight.
His eyes flick around the motel’s perimeters as we step into the cold morning, a chill in the air that raises goosebumps on my arms. Line creases his forehead, tension evident in the strain of his neck muscle. This is something more than merely a prank. He’s worrying about something grander, pulse visibly pounding in his neck.
Tall silhouettes of trees stand against the sky, twigs snapping under our feet as we walk. The forest on either side of the road emits a damp, earthy scent, its presence offering an ominous aura. Despite the soft morning light filtering over the horizon, a chill lingers in the summer air, offering an unsettling contrast to the vibrant greenery.
Who could have left that note? How would someone know my real name when we registered under aliases?
Neither of us speak as we hurry away from the motel.
Grey’s silence speaks volumes, echoing the same unease he wore when he first mentioned going to Millville in Daxton’s car. I know something is wrong.
There’s an unspoken truth lingering between us, as if not even the wind can carry it to a faraway land, and part of me hesitates to even uncover what it is.
”Where are we going?” I ask, hesitantly.
”To the place where my worst nightmares were born.”
Chapter 9
Grey
“I don’t think Ican keep going much more.” Naya’s beautifully soft-spoken voice sounds ahead of me, slightly panting, with exhaustion draping over every word.
With feet aching and my back muscle protesting from the strain, an all too-consuming agony lingers in every nook of my body. Naya walks ahead of me, just as tired, with her shoulders slumped forward and feet dragging behind as we finally reach the edge of the city. We’ve been heading toward it for hours—a nearly impossible task. Ten agonizing hours, to be exact, with many breaks, but here we are.
”Not much longer now,” I tell her, out of breath.
The closer we come, the more it feels as if spidery legs crawl inside my body, doing everything in their power to creep me out. And they’re succeeding. My head throbs, and my palms are sweaty as I hold on to the strap of the bag, needing to rest my back for just a few minutes.
My feet pound against the asphalt on the desolated road, the forest thinning and the roads more evident with each step. As more houses begin to dot the side of the road, the city’s presence looms closer. Each movement feels like a needle stabbing my heart, pumping poison into my veins. Anticipation and dread mix into an unbearable cocktail of anxiety.
