Stonebridge cont

“Mornin’, Steve! Hope yuh doin’ good an’ yuh recover from what happen. We read ‘bout it in de local paper.” 

“Good morning.” I replied, forcing a smile. 

Lisa smiled back warmly. “How yuh holdin’ up? Yuh look a likkle... peaky.””

“I’m all right,” I lied. “Just didn’t sleep well.”

Ben nodded sympathetically. “If yuh ever need anyting, don’t hesitate to knock. We right yah.” “Thanks,” I said, appreciating the sentiment. Despite the lingering strangeness, it was comforting to know that some of the people here were genuinely kind.

As they continued down the hall, I caught a glimpse of Mr. Wilkins watching us from his doorway. His eyes were narrow, suspicious. He quickly ducked back into his flat when he saw me looking. I closed the door behind me, trying to shake off the feeling of being watched. The flat felt even colder now, the silence pressing in. I busied myself with mundane tasks, washing dishes, tidying up, anything to distract from the creeping unease. But every so often, I’d hear that faint buzzing sound again, like a whisper just beyond the edge of hearing.

I sat down at the kitchen table, staring at the empty chair opposite me. For a moment, I could almost see Tom sitting there, grinning at a shared joke. The memory hit me like a punch to the gut, and I quickly looked away, blinking back tears. “Get a grip, Steve,” I muttered to myself. I had to keep it together. There was nothing here but the shadows in my own mind. 

But as I sat there, the shadows seemed to lengthen, stretching out across the walls, reaching for me. I shook my head, trying to clear it. ‘Just my imagination,’ I told myself again. Nothing more.

And yet, the flat seemed to breathe around me, its silence broken only by the faint, persistent buzz of a solitary fly.

The days slipped into a pattern, one I tried to hold to like a lifeline. I woke up every morning feeling disoriented, but I forced myself through the motions, shower, coffee, staring blankly out the window as Mrs. Thompson tending to her flowers. Her presence was oddly reassuring, a small beacon of normality amidst the strangeness that seemed to cling to me. Each morning, she waved up at me, and I’d nod in return. She was the sort who made everyone feel like they were her own, always asking after your health, offering herbal remedies she swore by, and recounting stories of her late husband, God rest his soul. 

One morning, she caught me on my way out. “Steve, dear,” she said, her voice warm but with a hint of concern. “You look like you haven’t been sleeping well. Would you like some chamomile tea? It’s good for the nerves.”

I managed a smile. “Thanks, Mrs. Thompson, but I’m fine. Just... you know, life.”

She patted my arm with a wrinkled hand. “Well, you know where I am if you need anything.”

I nodded and continued down the path, feeling her eyes on my back. Her kindness was genuine, but I could tell she sensed something was off. They all did, in their own way. Back in my flat, the air felt heavier again, more oppressive. I tried to brush it off, taking walks to the local park, Emails, phone calls, anything to keep my mind occupied. But the disturbances grew harder to ignore. The lights flickered more often, and I could have sworn I heard whispering, just at the edge of hearing, like a conversation from another room. 

I needed to get out, clear my head. I decided to take a walk to the park. On my way out, I bumped into Lisa and Jamie again. Jamie was clutching his stuffed rabbit, his eyes wide and curious.

“Hey, Steve,” Lisa greeted with a smile. “Tekkin’ a likkle stroll, eh?”

“Yeah,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Just need some fresh air.”

Jamie tugged at my trouser leg, looking up at me with those big eyes. “Mista Steve, why yuh look so sad?”

His innocent question caught me off guard, and for a moment, I didn’t know how to respond. Lisa quickly pulled him away, apologising. “Sorry, he just... yuh know how kids can be.”

I nodded, forcing another smile. “It’s all right. He’s just being honest, that’s kids for you.”

As they walked away, Jamie looked back at me, his expression oddly serious for a child his age. I watched them go, a knot forming in my stomach. There was something about Jamie, something in the way he looked at me. Almost like he knew something.

I shook off the thought and continued on my way. Outside, the sky was grey, the air damp with the threat of rain. The streets were quiet, and I found myself missing the noise, the distraction. The park was empty, save for a few birds pecking at the grass. I sat on a bench, trying to let the stillness calm me, but it didn’t work. The feeling of being watched had followed me here, and no matter how much I tried to rationalise it, I couldn’t shake the sense that something was very wrong. 

I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath, and that’s when I heard it again, the faint buzzing, closer this time. I opened my eyes, scanning the area, but there was nothing. Just the empty park and the low hum of the town in the distance. Maybe Mrs. Thompson was right. Maybe I needed some of her chamomile tea, something to calm the nerves. Or maybe I needed something stronger. Either way, I couldn’t keep living like this, caught between the echoes of Ravenswood and the creeping dread that seemed to be closing in on me from all sides.

As I got up to leave, I felt a chill run down my spine, and for the briefest moment, I thought I saw a shadow move out of the corner of my eye. But when I turned to look, there was nothing there. Just an empty park and the quiet hum of a world that seemed to be holding its breath, waiting. Waiting for what? I didn’t know. But I had a feeling I was about to find out.

I decided to head back to the flat, the sense of unease still clinging to me like a second skin. The walk home was eerily quiet, the kind of quiet that presses on your ears and makes you wonder if you’ve gone deaf. Even the birds had fallen silent, their absence another unsettling reminder that something wasn’t right. I quickened my pace, eager to get back to the relative safety of my flat, but the feeling of being watched persisted, a nagging itch at the back of my mind that I couldn’t quite scratch. As I reached the entrance to the building, I hesitated, my hand hovering over the door handle. I glanced back over my shoulder, half-expecting to see someone, or something, lurking in the shadows, but the street was empty. I shook my head, muttering a curse under my breath. “Get a grip, Steve,” I whispered to myself. “It’s all in your head.” But the reassurance felt hollow, like a lie I’d told myself one too many times.

Inside, the building the communal hallway to the stairs was dimly lit, the flickering bulb casting long shadows that seemed to stretch and twist unnaturally. I took the stairs two at a time, eager to be back in my own space, away from the uncomfortable quiet of the outside world. As I reached my floor, I could hear the faint sound of a television coming from Mr. Wilkins’ flat. He was always watching something, his television perpetually turned up too loud, as if he were afraid of silence. I fumbled for my keys, my hands shaking slightly as I unlocked the door. The flat was exactly as I had left it, but it felt different somehow, it felt as though I didn’t belong. I shut the door behind me and leaned against it, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. The faint buzzing, there it was again, just at the edge of hearing, a low, persistent hum.

I opened my eyes and walked over to the kitchen, determined to make a cup of coffee and try to calm my nerves. As I filled the kettle, I noticed the cupboard door was ajar again. My heart skipped a beat, and I felt a cold sweat break out on my forehead. I reached out to close it, but stopped myself, staring at the dark gap between the door and the frame. Had I left it open? I couldn’t remember. My mind was a jumble of half-formed thoughts and memories, none of them making any sense. I shook my head and pushed the door shut, the sound echoing in the stillness of the flat.

I turned back to the kettle, but as I did, I caught sight of something out of the corner of my eye. A movement, quick and subtle, just at the edge of my vision. I spun around, my heart pounding in my chest, but there was nothing there. Just the empty living room, the curtains drawn against the fading light of the afternoon. I took a deep breath and laughed nervously, the sound harsh and jarring in the silence. “You’re losing it, mate,” I muttered to myself. “Seeing things that aren’t there.” But even as I said it, I wasn’t so sure. The kettle clicked off, and I poured the hot water into a mug, watching as the steam curled up into the air like wisps of smoke. I took the mug into the living room and sat down on the sofa, staring at the dark screen of the television. The room felt colder now, the shadows deeper, and the buzzing louder, filling my ears with its incessant drone. I had suffered with tinnitus a few years ago and put it down to it coming back.

I tried to focus on the coffee, the warmth of the mug in my hands, the familiar taste on my tongue. But my mind kept drifting back to the shadows, the buzzing, the sense that something was watching me. I set the mug down on the coffee table and leaned back, closing my eyes. 

I must have dozed off, because when I opened my eyes again, the room was dark. The only light came from the streetlamp outside, and my coffee was cold. I sat up, rubbing my eyes, and that’s when I heard it, a soft, almost imperceptible whisper, coming from the direction of the bathroom. My heart leapt into my throat, and I stood up, moving slowly towards the sound. The whisper grew louder as I approached the bathroom door, a low hiss that seemed to seep through the cracks in the wood. I hesitated, my hand hovering over the doorknob, every instinct telling me to turn around and walk away.

But I couldn’t. Something was drawing me towards the door, something I couldn’t explain, a pull that I felt deep in my bones. I took a deep breath and turned the knob, pushing the door open slowly, the hinges creaking in protest. The bathroom was dark, the mirror a black void. I reached for the light switch, my hand trembling, as I flicked it on. The bulb flickered once, twice, and then burst into light. And there, in the centre of the mirror, was the fly. It sat motionless, its wings folded against its body, its eyes glistening in the light. I stared at it, a sense of dread creeping over me, my skin prickling with fear. 

The fly twitched, its wings buzzing briefly, and then it was gone, disappearing into the room. I stood there, my heart racing, the silence pressing in around me. I didn’t know what to do, what to think. All I knew was that something was very, very wrong. And then, from somewhere deep within the flat, I heard the whisper again, soft and insistent, calling my name.

“Steve...” 

I turned, my breath catching in my throat, I stepped back into the hallway, my eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of movement. But there was nothing. Just the dark, empty flat and the lingering whisper.

“Steve...”

I called out, “Sis, is that you?” There was no reply. 

The voice was closer now, almost right behind me, and I spun around, my back against the wall, my eyes wide with fear. But again, there was nothing. I didn’t know how long I stood there, pressed against the wall, listening to the whispers, the buzzing, the darkness closing in around me. But eventually, I forced myself to move, to take a step forward, then another, until I was back in the living room. I grabbed my phone, my hands shaking, and dialled Linda’s number. It rang once, twice, three times, and then went to voicemail. I hung up and tried Mark, then Carl, but no one answered. 

I was alone, truly alone, and the realisation sent an icy shiver down my spine. I sat down on the sofa, my heart pounding, and stared at the blank screen of the television, my mind racing with a thousand thoughts, none of them making any sense. I assured myself that it was stress, exhaustion, my mind working overtime. As I was beginning to calm down, the television flickered to life, the screen filled with static. I jumped, dropping the phone, I stared at the screen, my breath catching in my throat. For a moment, I thought I saw something in the static, a shape, a face, but then it was gone, replaced by a blank, empty screen. I picked up the remote and turned the television off, my hands trembling, my mind reeling.

I didn’t know what was happening, but I knew one thing for certain: whatever it was, it wasn’t over. The darkness was still there, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike. And I had a feeling that moment was coming sooner than I’d like. I stood up, my legs unsteady, and made my way to the bedroom, closing the door behind me. I sat on the edge of the bed, my head in my hands, trying to make sense of everything. But the more I thought about it, the less sense it made.

And then, just as I was about to give up and go to sleep, I heard it again, the faint buzzing, louder this time, and the whisper, so close I could almost feel it on my skin.

“Steve...”

“Emily, please… is that you!”

I closed my eyes, my heart racing, and tried to block it out, but it was no use. The darkness was closing in, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.