CHAPTER ONE

Someone is watching me.

You know that eerie sensation of being under surveillance? It's been haunting me all week, during my walks to school, at work, in the library, and even now as I make my way home from my job.

It might sound crazy, but I'm convinced I'm not imagining it. That feeling of being watched is unmistakable.

As I step into the two-bedroom apartment I share with my friend, I quickly lock the door and rub the goosebumps on my upper arm.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Clara, my roommate, asks, genuine concern etched across her face. With her golden-hued blond locks cascading over her olive skin, she's a vision of beauty.

I met Clara during freshman orientation, drawn to her by her boisterous and comical brothers. She may claim embarrassment, but her affection for them shines through as they proudly carried her on their shoulders, proclaiming to the entire freshman class that their baby sister was the most brilliant person alive. And they weren't wrong; she's the most intelligent person I've ever known, defying stereotypes.

"Oh, it's nothing. I just got a shiver from being outside, that's all." Although Clara and I are close, I'm not comfortable sharing the real reason. After all, what are the odds she'd believe me? And even if she did, I don't want her worrying about me.

"What's for dinner?" I inquire as I move toward the kitchen. The kitchen is situated to the far left of the living room, separated by a thick wall and no door.

"First of all, wash your hands before touching anything in there," she nearly yells at me.

One crucial detail I failed to mention is that Clara is a germaphobe, diagnosed at the age of 12 with a borderline-compulsive disorder. If you ask me, there's nothing borderline about it.

"Secondly, there's pizza in the oven. It's leftover from my early dinner; you can help yourself." But I don't mind because she's the best roommate I could ask for, a literal godsend.

"I'm heading out, and I might be gone all night, so don't wait up for me." It's only at that moment that I notice she's dressed up. Score one for me, considering I was creeped out when I walked in.

"Ooh, look who's got a fancy date," I tease her. "Do I know him?"

Clara rolls her eyes, an old habit I'm used to. "No, Lucia, you don't, and it's hardly a date. We're just two people meeting up for coffee. It's no big deal." Well, if there's one thing I've learned about Clara, it's that when she says "it's no big deal," it's usually a significant deal. I'm dying to hear the details, but I know she'll tell me when she's ready; she always does.

"Alright, miss, off to your 'no big deal' date you go," I say, making air quotes. "Make sure you have fun."

After Clara leaves, I finish up the pizza and head to freshen up for a good night's rest. As I'm coming out of the bathroom, towel in hand, I notice that someone has been inside. I'm certain Clara shut the door, yet it's now slightly ajar.

"Hello, is anyone here?" I ask, mimicking the behavior of every character in a horror movie just before they meet their demise. I try to shake off the negative thoughts as I nervously move toward the kitchen to find any potential weapon.

"I said, is anyone here?" There's no response. It's starting to feel like a scene from a movie, and I'm wondering if I'm about to be confronted by a supernatural entity or a serial killer.

"Hey! I have a weapon, and I'm not afraid to use it, so you'd better save us both the trouble and reveal yourself." I bluffed; I hadn't actually found a weapon yet. However, my bluff is met with a faint chuckle. It wasn't meant to be heard, but I've always had keen hearing, which has been both a blessing and a curse. You'd be surprised how often people say unpleasant things about a friend when they think that friend can't hear—it's quite disgusting.

The chuckle emanated from the kitchen area, the very place I had intended to grab a weapon. I can't help but wonder, how do you spell "doomed"?

Slowly and nervously, I approach the kitchen, my heart pounding so loudly that I can't even hear my own footsteps. My palms are sweaty, and I wipe them on my pajama shorts. This is the most cliché way to meet one's demise, but of course, the universe has chosen this exact scenario for me today, the one day in the week I have off from work and school.

"Focus, Lucia!" I scream inside my head as I draw closer to the kitchen. Almost there. I cautiously peek around the corner.

GGRHHHHHHH...

"Arghhhhhh!"