The Temperature Drop

July 7, 2011

by Roxanne

My name is Elena, and this happened just last night. I’m still trembling as I write this, hoping someone out there can make sense of it. My partner, Marcus, and I had just moved into a century-old house on the edge of a dying town. The place had a musty smell, and the radiators clanked like bones, but we were determined to make it ours.

We were in the living room, unpacking boxes, when Marcus rubbed his arms and said, ‘It’s freezing in here. I’m going to check the thermostat.’ He left for the hallway, and as soon as he stepped out, I felt a shift. The air thickened, and the hair on my neck stood up. I could feel eyes on me, boring into the back of my head. I turned, but the room was empty, save for the flickering lamp.

I called out, ‘Marcus?’ No answer. The silence stretched, and the feeling grew stronger, like something was breathing right behind me. I spun around, and for a split second, I saw a dark shape in the hallway mirror, a tall figure with no features, just a black outline against the wallpaper. Then it was gone. I heard Marcus’s footsteps, and when he entered, his face was white as paper. He gripped the doorframe and said, ‘I saw it. At the end of the hallway. It was watching me.’

I asked, ‘What did you do?’ He swallowed hard. ‘I told it to leave. I said, ‘You’re not welcome here. Get out now.’ And as I said it, I felt a sharp pain in my stomach, like a knife twisting, but only for a second. Then it vanished.’ I wanted to believe it was the stress, the old house’s creaks, but I knew, deep down, we weren’t alone.

We tried to sleep, but my mind raced. Around two in the morning, I woke up desperate for water. I stumbled to the bathroom, the floorboards groaning under my feet. As I turned on the tap, I saw the lights flicker. Then, I was overcome with nausea, a deep heave that left me gasping. I looked up at the mirror, and my reflection seemed wrong, my eyes too dark, my smile too wide. I blinked, and it was normal. But the sickness wouldn’t stop. I collapsed to my knees, and I heard a voice, not Marcus’s, not mine, whispering from the walls: ‘You see me now.’

I scrambled back to the bedroom, and Marcus was sitting up, staring at the door. He whispered, ‘It’s in the walls. I can hear it moving.’ We held each other until dawn, but the terror didn’t end. As the first light crept through the curtains, I looked at Marcus, and I saw a dark stain spreading on his shirt, right where he had felt the stab. He looked down, and his face drained of all color. ‘It’s blood,’ he said. ‘But I don’t feel any pain.’

We tried to leave, but the front door wouldn’t budge, as if something held it shut. And in the hallway mirror, I saw the figure again, but this time, it had a face, my face, twisted in a grin. I screamed, and the lights went out. When they came back, Marcus was gone. The only trace was a single black feather on the floor, and the heater, despite being off, was blasting heat, as if to remind me that my nightmare was just beginning.

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