When It Knocks

“I think someone’s watching me”, Sarah whispers. 

Her eyes, vignetted with dark shadows, bounce around the café, and she clutches her coffee cup so tightly that her fingertips match the porcelain. I look at her. Really look at her. Sweat stains darken her creased shirt, snowflakes of dry skin cling to the grease at her hairline, and her auburn hair, usually shiny and well-kept, is so tousled birds could nest there. The sole of her shoe taps an anxious drumbeat under the table. 

“How long’s it been since you slept?” I ask, reaching to touch her arm. She flinches, then sighs and buries her face in her hands. 

“I can’t remember. Days?” she says. “I try, I really do, it’s just…” She seems to weigh up her options before leaning in close. “Just as I drift off, I hear him.” 

“Jacob?” 

A bolt shoots through her and she fixes me with clarity in her rheumy-eyed stare. 

“No.” She’s firm. “Not him.” 

“I’m sorry I just assu–” 

“Don’t worry about it,” she shakes me off and takes a gulp of her cold coffee, pushing the half-empty cup across the table with a grimace, “I’m just being silly.” 

“Sarah, you’re not being silly…but look, it makes sense that he’d be on your mind, right? You’ve barely been split up a month and he was a huge part of your life for such a long time!” 

“You don’t understand…” she murmurs.

“No, I don’t, you’re right. But I’ll tell you what I do understand: you need to sleep. You can’t function like this.” I gesture to the coffee cup; her second in the thirty minutes we’ve been here. 

She sighs and tugs her fingers through her hair. 

“Listen, come over to my place for the night. Tuck up in bed and I’ll keep watch. That way, if someone is watching you - Jacob or otherwise - I’ll be able to corroborate, and we can go to the police.” 

“So, you believe me?” she asks. 

I think about the last time Sarah went through a serious break-up. Think about the nights she spent crumpled on my bathroom floor and the days she spent racing to the window in the hopes that he’d come back again. I knew all too well that she loved passionately; that was her fatal flaw. So, no, I didn’t believe her. And that turned out to be mine. 

“I believe you’re my friend and I love you. That’s all I need to know to lend you my bed. Now, come on, before you fall asleep in that chair.” 

Sarah concedes with a nod, but she continues to scan the room, strung taut like a bow ready to loose an arrow.

—

It takes her an hour to fall asleep. She refuses the bed, curling up instead on the sofa beside me, insisting that I stay exactly where I am. Wrapped tight like a gift in the blanket my grandmother gave me one Christmas, she finally drifts off. The teacup, crusted with a faint white residue, sits empty on the coffee table. And that’s when I hear it. A creak outside the room. The door is closed but the sound is unmistakable. I shoot a glance at Sarah, but she’s completely out, her mouth slightly parted. I briefly consider trying to rouse her, but no, she needs this. I’m just being daft. Old houses creak often, and this one is no exception. Isn’t it funny how scary your brain can make even the most mundane of things? I listen carefully, holding my breath…Nothing. I release it in a puff. Sarah shifts in her sleep.

“When it knocks, you have to run,” she mumbles, so faint I can barely make it out. My head whips around to her.

“What did you–?”

I stop. Towards the back of the house this time. Another creak. The lamp in the corner throws shadows across the room that creep behind furniture and scuttle around corners. Behind the door to the kitchen, another floorboard groans. Right, enough of this madness. Forcing myself off the couch, I throw open the door to the entryway. Nothing. See? Feeling bolder, I lurch to the other side of the room and push open the kitchen door without giving myself time to think. My heart pounds. Shadows rush at me but recede as soon as I switch on the light. Cheap grey linoleum stretches away, chipped and faded under the pallid light. Last night’s unwashed dishes wait by the sink and the load of washing I never finished piling into the machine sits judgmentally by the small, circular door. Nothing amiss. No intruder, no creature, no bog-standard best friend’s ex-boyfriend with a bone to pick. Nothing. I smile at my own stupidity, thinking perhaps I need to get some sleep too, and I flick off the light.

“See? Nothing there.” 

I turn and I stop in my tracks. The breath leaves me in a rush, and I stumble back against the doorframe. Sarah stands in the middle of the living room. A grin stretched too far across her wan, twisted face. Her head tilted to the side, teeth reflecting the lamplight; yellow, like wax. My grandmother’s blanket is strewn across the floor and the sofa is still indented where she slept. 

“Sarah?”

Sarah, or what was once known as Sarah, only peels her lips back further, ever wider; a terrifying crevasse opening up in her face. Her fat, pink tongue darts out of the gaping mouth, scenting the air like a snake. 

“Sarah…” 

I raise my hands and step to the side, hoping to sidestep her and make a break for it. She steps too. Her shoulders are unnaturally high, her arms straight rods down her sides and her fingers twisted like roots. Her eyes, bright and impassive, follow my every move. 

“Sarah, honey, let’s sit down and talk about this,” I stammer. How is this possible? I crushed enough temazepam in that tea for half a horse! I take another step. Sarah starts to laugh. A guttural, heaving noise that drags its fingernails down the inside of my brain. She takes another step and I realise too late. She reaches out with one twisted hand toward the side table. 

Knock knock.   

She turns off the light. 

I run.