Madness Blooms: A Dark Stalker Romance

Chapter 1

One

Ibid my coworkers farewell as I exit the mall and step into the parking lot. It’s late, around 10 PM, and I need to hurry home to check on my younger brother, Austin. Despite him being fifteen, I have to babysit him tonight because Mom is working the third shift. It’s my responsibility to make sure he’s not blowing off his homework again. The only upside is that it’s Friday, and I have Saturdays off.

I shiver, my teeth chattering as I pull my jacket tighter around me. It’s late April, but the nighttime temperatures haven’t warmed up yet—at least not to my liking. In an alternate reality, I would be attending college in sunny California instead of being stuck in this frigid, remote town in Vermont. Chewing on my bitterness, I reach into my bag to retrieve my Discman and put in my earbuds, losing myself in Hole’s new album.

Courtney’s gritty vocals keep me company as I cross the street. Humming along to Violet, I make my way down the sidewalk, feeling reckless tonight despite a creeping sense of unease. Cars whiz past, creating a sense of security. I’ve always seen myself as plain, not one to stick out. Even though I have a secret desire to dye my brown hair a wild color and wear spikes every day.

I’m too boring, too unremarkable to be a target.

Several murders have occurred in the surrounding towns in the past year, with the most recent one just over a month ago. According to the nightly news, the connection between the killings is still unclear. But the police are not ruling out the possibility.

During my shifts at Angelo’s, I often overhear people discussing the murders and exchanging theories like amateur sleuths, desperate for the answers the police could not provide. The community is on edge like they fear a lunatic will roll into town and make us his next target.

I scoff at the idea that anyone would give enough of a shit about Ashburn.

Another song starts, and I bob my head to the beat. I glimpse into an abandoned storefront as I pass by, noticing the old Christmas decorations that no one bothered to take down. The graffiti on the brick exterior further contributes to the decrepit appearance of the place. Bumfuck shithole indeed. On the bright side, at least the little diner nearby is still in business.

The employees of Mackay’s are inside, busy cleaning the floors and tending to the register. Mom is well-acquainted with the owner’s son, James, perhaps even too well. They were close friends in high school, and I suspect that their relationship was more than just platonic even back then. After Dad passed away, she began frequenting the diner, and we would receive discounts on food. I think James felt sorry for us; Mom’s scatterbrained nature makes it hard for her to hold down a steady job for very long.

In her defense, though, Ashburn is not exactly a thriving metropolis of employment.

My stomach rumbles, and I realize I forgot to eat my lunch again. Not that I could afford to get lunch in the first place; I’m not exactly rolling in cash right now. My friend, Kyla Madison, is always offering to pay for me, but I’m too stubborn—and prideful—to accept her generosity. Ignoring the hunger pangs, I round the corner and cross the road. Businesses turn into tightly packed homes, but my house is still far away.

I take a shortcut instead of my usual route, heading down a cracked sidewalk in desperate need of repairs. The lights in the surrounding buildings start to blink off, as expected at this late hour. I gasp as I catch a glimpse of something darting into the bushes, and yank out one of my earbuds, my heart pounding.

It’s probably nothing, just an animal.

I force myself to keep going. Leaves rustle in the breeze. Branches groan and crack, almost imperceptibly at first. Then it happens again. And again. Then once more.

And this time, even closer.

My breath hitches, a shiver crawling up my spine. Stay calm. There’s nothing to worry about.

The piercing crunch of dry grass has me feeling like I’m swallowing glass. I freeze and inhale an uneven breath. You’re just being paranoid, Grace. I stop the music and put my Discman back in my bag. Chill out. Grasping the bag strap with trembling fingers, I take a cautious step forward, feeling the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. The only thing separating me from my path to the cul-de-sac is a deserted parking lot, where a small shopping center used to be.

I fix my eyes on the Super Mega Dollar across the mostly empty sprawl of concrete as I increase my pace, my breathing quickening with each step. As light refracts on the glass pane to my right, I swear I see a shadow moving among the unkempt shrubbery behind me. I dash down the pavement, my heart racing as I round the corner—before shrieking as I come to a sudden stop.

A tall, hooded figure in all black with a bizarre white mask stands before me, blocking my path.

I’m seconds from opening my mouth when I see it: a shiny blade in his hand, with something sticky coating the edge. Is that … blood?! Slowly, I back away—before spinning on my heel and bolting toward the Dollar Store.

I run as fast as I can, my legs pumping as I sprint toward the store. The figure gives chase, causing my stomach to bottom out in terror. The thought crosses my mind that I might die—or worse. I can already imagine the headlines tomorrow: Dumbass Girl Chopped to Pieces Because She Was Too Lazy to Take the Long Way Home. They’ll probably use my terrible high school graduation photo too, the one with bloodshot eyes and a puffy face.

I want to vomit.

I run past an abandoned car, and the footsteps fade away. I steal a glance over my shoulder, finding my pursuer has disappeared. But before I can feel any sense of relief, I trip over a curb and pitch forward. I flail, my elbows smacking into the ground as I drop. My ankle twists and pain shoots straight into my brain like zaps of lightning. Tears well in my eyes and I feel my skin go slick and clammy from the pain. The world spins around me and I cough, the air punched out of my lungs.

Come on, come on—get up!

Gasping for air, I try to push myself up, but the weight of my bag presses against my tender side. Wincing in pain, I glance down at my jacket and notice a jagged chunk of concrete has torn the sleeve. But the cost of replacing it is the least of my concerns when there’s a spectral nightmare lurking nearby, armed and ready to end my life.

“Please, God,” I say out loud as I fight to stand up, “if I get through this, I promise to go to church every Sunday. I’ll even stop cursing your name when I—fucking hell!” The masked stranger reappears like a terror in the night, giving me the motivation to jump to my feet and take off running. Just a couple of blocks away is my neighborhood, where I might find safety.

Adrenaline courses in my veins as pain lances through me. I sprint across the lot, my heart pounding, racing past the Dollar Store and cutting through an alley. Flickering light poles cast an eerie glow as I emerge onto a quiet street. Despite my burning lungs, I grit my teeth and push forward. I know I need to rest, but I can’t risk even a glimpse behind me.

When I can no longer push through the pain in my ankle, I pause for a moment beside a darkened house and desperately drag air into my lungs.

But before I can assess any damage, the figure leaps out in front of me, blocking my escape. I fall backward and let out a terrified scream. I hurl my bag at him and scramble frantically away from his grasp. Stepping forward, he still holds the knife, now clean of blood. The featureless white mask, with only a crudely scrawled smiley face and pits for eyes, gleams in the moonlight.

Pebbles from a decaying garden press into my palms, but it’s nothing compared to what that sharpened blade is about to do to my insides. I squeeze my eyes shut, part of me accepting the inevitability of death. After all, I was the one dumb enough to take a shortcut with a serial killer on the loose. Perhaps this is my fate—to rot here until I become fertilizer, or to become a tasty meal for some wild animal.

Cold metal slips underneath my chin, lifting it.

Oh my God, this is it. It’s all over.

I reluctantly open my eyes and see the man crouching in front of me, his shrouded black eyes devoid of emotion. Not that I can see anything past that stupid white mask. I can feel his gaze on me as I fail to hold back the tears that spill down my splotchy cheeks. I dare not move; the tip of the knife is just a hair’s breadth away from my neck. With a gloved hand, he reaches for me, and I squirm back, losing my balance.

My head hits the ground, and he chuckles in dark amusement. Black spots swarm in my vision as he hovers above me. I’m hyperventilating, openly sobbing now. I want to beg for my life, to appeal to any shred of humanity he may have left, but part of me wants this. My self-loathing takes over, overriding my reason. I turned twenty-one a couple of months ago. But I feel like I have accomplished nothing noteworthy; I’m already so far behind my peers.

So what’s the point?

The masked stranger tilts his head curiously as if he were trying to figure me out. Idly, he points the knife directly at my heart. I swallow thickly and stare into the voids where his eyes should be, waiting for the end to come. Time crawls forward in our tense stare-down, but nothing happens. For a moment, I convince myself this is just a hallucination.

Maybe I hit my head harder than I thought.

My survival instinct kicks in, and as I open my mouth to scream, the man is on me in an instant, pressing the knife against my lips to silence me. I cry again.

“Do you believe in God, Miss Lawrence?”

The dark, metallic sound of his voice takes me by surprise. His tone is dangerously suave, with a strange, unnatural static at the edge. A voice changer?

His gaze remains pinned on me, but I’m too afraid to say a word. So I nod, hoping it would suffice as an answer.

“Liar.”

Suddenly, he raises the knife high above me—before driving it down, the tip stopping just centimeters from my eyes. He then shakes his head and withdraws the blade, offering me his hand. Hesitantly, I grab it and he pulls me up. My ankle throbs as I stand, making me wince.

“If I were you, I would start. Miracles like this don’t happen every day, you know.”

I say nothing. My limbs feel like jelly, and I sway, struggling to maintain my balance. He allows me only a moment to steady myself before revoking his twisted aid. I can feel him sizing me up, probably smirking behind the mask as he takes some kind of sick, twisted pity on me. He’s probably getting off on the fact that I can barely stand right now.

He snickers as he wraps his arm around me, keeping me upright. For a moment, I’m able to gather my wits. But it’s not long before his grasp turns rough. He squeezes my waist, knowing exactly where to apply pressure to make me cry out in pain. Through the haze, I shoot him an angry look, my teeth clacking as I shake. His grip tightens, then loosens, and I crumple to the ground.

He wraps both of his arms around me as he arranges my body, and I try to blink away the fog as he props me against the nearby house. I hear him move something, likely my bag, and then he’s back in front of me. Squatting beside me, he holds a knife against my neck, causing a shiver to run through me from the cold metal.

“You got lucky tonight,” he hums, almost thoughtfully. Moving the mask aside, he tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. I can feel a grin tug at his face as his breath tickles my skin. Nuzzling his cheek against mine, his stubble scrapes against my raw, sensitive skin.

I am frozen in place, too petrified to move. For a fucked-up moment, I relax into his touch—before he presses the blade into my throat. I yelp in shock as he cuts a shallow line into my flesh. Panic consumes me as he moves away, and I clutch my neck with wide eyes.

He stands up after adjusting his mask. “You might want to reconsider taking that shortcut, Little Bunny,” he warns. “Because if I find you around there again, I’ll slit your throat and let you slowly bleed out before putting an end to your pathetic existence.”

A car drives by, its headlights briefly illuminating a section of the yard. I’m too focused on stemming the bleeding from my neck to notice that the man has vanished into the shadows. Still reeling from his warped affection, I shut my eyes and lean against the house. My head feels like it’s about to split open, and I struggle to choke down the bile that is threatening to spill all over the lawn.

Everything hurts, and I can taste blood in my mouth. Desperately, I wish I could call my brother. Or even my flaky mother. I have to get home … Have to check on Austin. I attempt to peel open my eyes, but my efforts fail.

I feel myself drifting into darkness.

And after an unknown amount of time, I regain consciousness. I have no way of knowing if it had been seconds, minutes, or even hours.

As I wait for my vision to clear up, I stare at a neighbor’s chimney. Once I feel confident enough to not immediately collapse, I rise and steady myself against the house. I heft my bag back over my shoulder and make my way to my house on wobbly knees, my shoes scuffing on the gravel. Pain pours from every cell in my body, but I don’t stop for anything.

I dare not look back for fear of seeing that frightening white visage.