Don't Scream 2 Read online

  I looked up. There he was, standing near the edge of the crowd. I pulled over the side of the road and leapt out of the car. "Dan!" I yelled. "Dan!"

  He turned towards me, face still blank. Then, slowly, the rest of them turned to look at me.

  I turned around and ran back to my car. Then I drove home as fast as I could.

  ***

  "Dan! Open up!"

  There I was, knocking down Dan's door at 6 AM. I hadn't gotten a wink of sleep after the drive — but I also didn't feel safe venturing out before dawn.

  "Dan!"

  After five minutes of constant shouting, thumps resonated from within the house. Dan swung the door open, hair rumpled, looking like he'd just woken up. "Violet! What are you doing here?"

  "I saw you at the church. You were there with the rest of them, and..."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Around 3 AM, you were standing in the church lawn."

  "No, I wasn't." Dan's eyebrows furled in concern. "Are you feeling okay, Violet? You look a bit pale." He reached his hand out and touched my face. "Are you worried about selling your song? I know it's scary, putting creative work in the hands of other people. But I think they'll do a good job with it."

  I wasn't listening anymore.

  My eyes had fallen on Dan's hands.

  They were covered in dirt.

  He followed my gaze and looked down at his hands. "What the hell?" he said, staring at his hands. Then he ran over to the sink and began washing them vigorously.

  I followed him inside. "See? That's what I was saying! You were out there, digging with the rest of them. And it's all because of me. Because you heard my song."

  "Violet, you sound crazy. I didn't dig anything, okay? I just got out of bed and answered the door."

  "Then where did the dirt come from?"

  "I don't know, Violet! Okay? I don't know!"

  I fell silent, watching the suds and dirt swirl together in the sink. He turned it off and wiped his hands on a towel.

  "You should go. You're going to wake Margot."

  I stepped back. In all the years that Dan had been my agent, he never used such a harsh tone with me. Not even when I bungled the song for that perfume commercial.

  So I listened to him. I drove home, made coffee, and watched my view count slowly climb to one million.

  But at 1 AM, I returned to his house. I parked across the street, turned off my lights, and waited. After more than an hour of freezing to death and eating two expired candy bars, the door creaked open.

  Dan exited the house. With slow, ambling footsteps, he descended the porch steps. Then he made a sharp left and started down the street.

  I started the car and crawled down the road, headlights off. He walked for a while, then turned left onto Maple Ave.

  And that's when I saw it.

  A figure, walking several yards ahead of Dan. In the darkness, the silence, going the same direction. Then I noticed the cars — a few of them, driving silently down the street. Like me, they all had their headlights off.

  As I got closer to St. Monica's church, more people appeared. More cars appeared. All going the same direction, towards the church. They didn't seem to notice me; apparently, I blended in just fine.

  I glanced down at the clock. It was 2:58 AM, and the church was just up ahead.

  When I pulled into the church parking lot, I slowly climbed out of the car. I hadn't planned to join them — but now that I was here, I felt the need to. I wanted to know what they were doing.

  And if it was, somehow, related to my song.

  I walked through the crowd of people that had gathered on the lawn. They might as well have been marble statues. They stared blankly ahead, taking no notice of me. The ones closer to the center of the crowd had already dropped to their knees and started to dig. They'd already made good headway; a large ditch of broken grass, about ten feet in diameter, lay in the center of the lawn.

  That's where I found Dan. He was clawing at the dirt frantically, sending clumps of it everywhere.

  "Dan! Are you okay?" I asked him. I knew it was a bad idea to engage these people. But I needed to know.

  He didn't reply.

  "Hey, Dan. I don't know what's wrong with you, but we need to get you home. Okay?"

  Still nothing.

  I leaned over and grabbed him by the arm. "Come on. Let's go home. You've had enough digging —"

  Hot pain shot up my wrist.

  Dan gripped my wrist, staring into my eyes with a manic anger. The blank expression was long gone. A few of the other people turned to stare at us.

  He dragged me out of the crowd, past the lawn, to the border of the forest. "Dan, what are you doing?” I shouted, tugging against him. “Let go of me. Please.”

  "We need to find what's underneath," he whispered.

  "What are you talking about?"

  "We need to dig her out."

  "Who?"

  "The one that sleeps under the earth for eternity. She has waited until now — for this moment, when we free her. She will rain down revenge and pain on our foes, exalt us into kings and queens —"

  "Dan! You're hurting me!" His grip on my wrist had grown even tighter.

  "With just us, we will never burrow deep enough to reach her. But now..." He trailed off into a wheezing laugh. "In just a few days, the entire world will hear your song, and start digging. I made sure of that when I contacted Chained Up."

  My heart dropped. The world spun around me.

  "You didn't actually write that song, by the way," he said. "It came a little too easy, didn't it? You had to realize that."

  "I... I don't know what you mean."

  "I knew you had talent. Widespread appeal. You were the perfect vessel, as it were. So after grooming you for years, I put a cassette player under your window. Started playing the song, to put it in your subconscious. Make you think it was your own idea. Worked perfectly."

  He finally let go of me. I swayed dangerously close to the ground.

  "Great job, Violet. Your best work yet."

  He shot me a smile before walking back towards the crowd. I collapsed into the cold, frozen grass, my heart pounding.

  What have I done?

  TINFOIL HAT

  Sarah sat across from me, wearing a tinfoil hat.

  She'd put effort into it. Tinfoil sculpted neatly around her entire head, with a nice little bulb on the top.

  "Can you tell me why you wear that, Sarah?" I asked.

  Her eyes darted back and forth, as if the Government – or whatever entity she was afraid of – might hear her. "They'll listen to my thoughts," she finally whispered. "And then..."

  "I understand. But l can assure you – it's perfectly safe to remove the tinfoil, Sarah."

  "Really?"

  Poor girl. Her lip was trembling, and her eyes were wide with fear.What made her so afraid? Of the government, or aliens, or whatever else she thinks is listening in on her thoughts?We'd already investigated her parents. There was no evidence of any sort of abuse. So why was this little 8-year-old girl so scared?

  "I know you think, when you take off that hat, that something will listen in on your thoughts. And then, that'd be a disaster, right? Because maybe the government, or aliens, or whatever else is listening will use that to their advantage. They'll stalk you, or try to control your mind. But that won't happen, Sarah."

  "But they'll kill me. When they hear my thoughts, they'll come in the middle of the night and –"

  "Ssssh. None of that is going to happen, Sarah. You're okay."

  "No, I'm not!" she said, tears brimming in her eyes.

  "I promise, you are. There's nothing to be afraid of, okay? Nothing." I leaned forward and gave her a smile. "Can you try to take off the hat?"

  "No, I don't want to."

  "Please? Try. For me. I promise – nothing bad will happen."

  She looked around, her face growing pale. "Youpromise?"

  "Promise. I'll even do the pinky thing." />
  She finally broke into a smile.

  Our pinkies locked. Then she slowly reached up for the tinfoil. She shut her eyes tight.

  She yanked it off.

  I jumped back. My heart pounded in my chest.

  "Dr. Taylor? Are you okay?"

  A ringing filled my ears. It gave way to whispers – talking all at once, overlapping and hissing. Some fell away, others intensified, until the words became clear:

  Take your Swiss Army knife from the cabinet.

  Stab her in the eye with it.

  Now.

  The voice wasn't hers. It was low, deep, rasping. The kind of voice that scrapes at your mind, shredding your sanity.

  "Sarah?" I asked. But my voice sounded so small.

  And then I felt my body move. I clenched my muscles, tried to stop; but nothing happened. My feet shuffled forward, towards the cabinet.

  Towards the knife.

  Her eyes widened. She reached down and grabbed the tinfoil, pushed it back over her hair. Immediately – the voices extinguished. A dull ringing throbbed in my ears.

  "I'm so sorry," she said, bursting into tears. "I didn't want you to hear it, Dr. Taylor. That's why I didn't want to take it off. That's why –"

  "It's okay, Sarah," I said. "You're going to be okay. I promise."

  But I wasn't so sure that was a promise I could keep. Because now I knew.

  She doesn't wear the hat to keep something out.

  She wears it to keep that voice in.

  I FOUND MY DOPPELGANGER ON FACEBOOK

  Have you ever blocked an ex?

  I blocked all of them. Facebook, phone numbers, the whole nine yards. When my husband and I got engaged, it was time to give up my guilty pleasure of stalking exes... no matter how much joy I got from seeing Michael chronically unemployed, or David dating a woman double his age.

  I'd successfully avoided stalking them for seven years – until last night. A friend of mine posted a photo of herself at a wedding.

  My ex, Joseph's, wedding.

  Huh. I felt that familiar twinge in my stomach. Not jealousy, exactly – I was happily married. Just... annoyance? Curiosity? Nostalgia?

  Maybe all three.

  I unblocked him. Sure enough, his profile photo showed him standing at the altar. Watching his lovely bride walk up the aisle. I couldn't see much from the photo, since her back was turned. But she was curvy, with long, dark hair.

  His "type." My type.

  Another twinge.

  I turned around. Chris was snoring softly, out like a light. Should I really be doing this? Checking out an ex's wife? I hadn't seen Joseph in 12 years. I didn't really care about him, or his wife.

  Did I?

  I couldn't stop myself. I greedily clicked on the album titled Wedding Photos. The first image loaded.

  I let out a gasp.

  The bride... looked exactly like me. Dark hair, falling to her waist in soft waves. A pointed chin. Full cheeks. Even that mole on her neck, under her left ear.

  It was like looking in a mirror.

  I clicked madly through the photos. Through the ceremony, the reception. There she – no, I – was, throwing my head back in laughter during our first dance. There I was, closing my eyes, tossing the bouquet behind me. There I was, snuggled up to him, looking out the taxi window.

  I would've thought it was some Photoshop trick, but the photos went years back. Us, standing in front of the Eiffel Tower. Baking muffins together. Engagement photos, showing off her ring – with the same freckle I had, near her thumb.

  I clicked on her profile. Anna Brekje. Sadly, she kept it pretty private. The only thing I could see was her profile picture – a wedding photo I'd already seen.

  Before I could stop myself, I clicked on her name and started typing a message.

  Hi Anna. My name is Jenna Baker. I saw that you and Joseph got married. Congratulations! How did you two meet?

  I didn't point out the fact that we looked like twins. She'd see it herself. No need to be a creep.

  The message popped up a second later:

  ✓ Seen 12:47 AM

  Then three dancing dots appeared, indicating she was typing a response.

  My heart began to pound. I grabbed my glass of wine and took a huge gulp, my fingers slipping against the keyboard.

  But a reply never came.

  After several minutes, I typed another message, nicer this time:

  I'm sorry if this seems like a random message from a stranger. I just wanted to reach out, because I thought it was kind of cool that we looked so much like each other.

  ✓ Seen 12:52 AM

  I tapped my fingers across the table, then took another sip of wine. Or, well, tried to. The glass was empty. I got up, poured another from the fridge, and sat back down at the computer.

  Still no message.

  Around 2 AM, I finally closed the laptop and joined Chris in bed.

  She doesn't look exactly like me. That's what I told myself, as I slipped into sleep. Her eyes are a little too close together. Her smile hitches up on one side. And she's shorter than me, isn't she? People sometimes look alike. It happens all the time. My cousin looks just like Taylor Swift, when she does her makeup right. Two guys I knew in college – Evan Johnson and Justin Scalzo – looked like brothers.

  When there are 7 billion people in the world, some are bound to look alike.

  Right?

  ***

  The next day, Anna popped up in my "suggested friends."

  I hate it how Facebook does that. You stalk someone, and then suddenly, it suggests them as a potential friend. It's like some sort of stalking hangover.

  I nearly scrolled past the friend suggestion, when I saw the text under her name:

  12 mutual friends

  She'd had no mutual friends with me last night.

  What the hell? I read the list of names. Molly Ackerfield, Jesslyn Johns, Mike Zhu... They weren't people I'd talked to recently, but they weren't just random acquaintances, either. Molly had been my freshman roommate in college, Jesslyn worked a few cubicles down at my last job, and Mike was an old crush of mine from high school.

  I saw that Mike was online and shot him a message.

  me: Hey Mike. Did you accept a friend request by someone named 'Anna Brekje'?

  Mike: Oh hey! You got your account back!

  Did you find out who hacked it?

  me: No one hacked my account. What are you talking about?

  Mike: You messaged me from that Anna account saying it was your new one. That your old one had gotten hacked. And you were using a new name because you were sick of your boss checking up on your FB.

  me: That's not me.

  Mike: But the picture is of you.

  I clicked over to her profile. Her picture was no longer a photo from the wedding – it was just a plain old selfie. No makeup, morning light, with the caption "New day. New me." I squinted at the background; it looked familiar, somehow. Blue sky, a patch of grass, and the corner of a stone building. But I couldn't quite place it.

  I shook off the feeling and continued typing to Mike.

  me: That's not me, Mike.

  Mike: Oh, it's a bot?

  I didn't know how to explain everything. So I told him yes, and to unfriend her immediately. Then I messaged the other eleven people and told them the same thing. I poured myself a cup of coffee – it was too early for wine – and sat back down at the computer, staring at her face.

  "What are you up to?"

  I jumped at Chris's voice. He stood behind me, smiling, still in his pajamas.

  "Just browsing Facebook," I said, shutting the computer. "But I should get to work. I'm going to be late."

  I wanted to tell him about it. But then I'd have to admit to stalking Joseph, and spending hours tracking down his wife...

  After a quiet breakfast, I made my way over. The rain was driving down in sheets, drowning out the surrounding noise. I found the sound calming – water hitting the glass, over and over, washing a
way my fear.

  I pulled into the parking lot.

  No.

  Next to the door stood a figure. Her face was hidden under a black umbrella – but familiar waves of dark hair fell down her waist.

  I swung the car door open and swiftly walked towards her.

  "Anna?" I called.

  She didn't look at me. Instead, she turned around and walked down the sidewalk. Then she disappeared into the far end of the parking lot.

  "Hey, you okay?"

  My coworker, Lena, leaned against the stone building. In one hand, she held a Starbucks cup; in the other, her phone. I hadn't even noticed her.

  "Did you see that woman?"

  "What woman?"

  I shook my head. "Nevermind."

  Get a hold of yourself.

  That wasn't even her.

  You're driving yourself crazy.

  I took a deep breath and followed Lena into the building. We entered the elevator and I closed my eyes, determined to put this behind me and get some work done.

  ***

  My phone was gone.

  In my rush to pursue what I thought was Anna, I'd left my phone in the car. And my wallet. And forgotten to lock it up.

  Now they were both gone.

  Nothing else was missing. Not even the $30 cash in my glove compartment.

  I swung into the driver's seat. My shirt was soaked with rain. I gripped the steering wheel and began to cry.

  It was too much stress. This weird woman who looked just like me, now my stuff getting stolen... it was one of the worst weeks I'd had in a long time. I needed to tell Chris everything. He'd know what to do. He was always my rock, my calming force. Whenever I spiraled into anxiety, he was always there to pull me back.

  I turned up the radio and drove home.

  But when I pulled into our driveway, I found a car already there. A blue Honda Civic – just like mine.

  I slowly got out of the car. Walked up to our door, my heart hammering in my chest.

  I heard voices inside.

  "That was fantastic! I didn't know you knew how to make chicken cacciatore."

  A giggle.

  My giggle.

  I pulled out my keys. But my house key was missing from the keyring. I backed away from the door, feeling dizzy, and walked around the side of the house.