HORROR

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
HORROR
ALICE’S POV
She turned to me, her expression serious, almost pleading. “Alice, do you ever wonder if… if we really know who we are?” she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
The question caught me off guard. “What do you mean?”
“I mean… today, I… I didn’t recognize myself,” she admitted, her eyes searching mine for some kind of reassurance, some validation that she wasn’t losing herself.
I didn’t know what to say. The truth was, I didn’t recognize her either. But I couldn’t tell her that-not now, not when she looked so vulnerable. “Elena, you’re the strongest person I know,” I said instead, hoping it was enough to comfort her. “We all have our moments, but that doesn’t change who we are at our core.”
She nodded, but the doubt didn’t leave her eyes. Finally, she turned the knob and pushed the door open, stepping inside. I followed her in, making way for the couch immediately.
Sitting on the couch, the room was thick with silence, so palpable that it felt like a weight pressing down on us. The tension between Elena and me had grown since we got home, turning our once easy camaraderie into something strained and awkward. I could feel the unspoken words hanging in the air, begging to be voiced, but neither of us seemed willing to break the silence.
Elena stared at the blank television screen, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. I could tell she was lost in her thoughts, just as I was in mine. I wanted to ask her so many things-about what happened today, about what was really going on in her head-but I couldn’t find the words. Each time I opened my mouth, my mind went blank, leaving me sitting there like a mute.
The silence stretched on, growing more oppressive by the minute. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, my fingers tapping nervously against my knee. I knew I had to say something, anything to break this unbearable quiet. But what could I say that wouldn’t make things worse? How could I bring up what happened without making her feel cornered?
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I decided to just say whatever came to mind, anything to ease the tension. But when I opened my mouth, the words that came out were completely different from what I intended.
“I’m starving,” I blurted out. It was a lie, of course-I hadn’t even thought about food. But it was something, at least.
Elena blinked, her gaze snapping to me as if she had forgotten I was even there. “Yeah,” she said slowly, her voice a little shaky. “Me too.”
I could see her wince as she said it, as if even admitting that small truth was too much for her right now. But there was a flicker of relief in her eyes, as if she was glad I hadn’t brought up anything heavier.
I chuckled, though it sounded forced, even to my own ears. “Let me make us something to eat,” I offered, standing up from the couch. “How about some pasta and crispy fried chicken?”
Elena’s lips twitched into a small, almost imperceptible smile. “That sounds good.”
The tension in the room eased just a bit as I made my way to the kitchen. I could still feel the weight of our unspoken words, but at least now there was something else to focus on. Cooking had always been a sort of therapy for me, a way to keep my hands and mind busy when everything else felt overwhelming.
I set to work, grabbing the ingredients I needed from the pantry and fridge. The familiar motions of chopping, seasoning, and stirring gave me a sense of control that I desperately needed right now.
First, I filled a large pot with water, adding a generous pinch of salt before placing it on the stove to boil. As I waited, I began preparing the chicken. I carefully washed and patted the pieces dry, laying them out on a cutting board. With precision, I sliced them into even strips, each piece perfect for frying.
I reached for the seasoning-a mixture of salt, pepper, paprika, and garlic powder-sprinkling it evenly over the chicken. I massaged the spices into the meat, making sure each piece was thoroughly coated. Next, I prepared a dredging station: one bowl filled with flour, another with beaten eggs, and the last with seasoned breadcrumbs. The steps were methodical, each one bringing me a little closer to a finished meal, and a little further from the oppressive silence that had filled the room.
By the time the water started to boil, I had the chicken prepped and ready to go. I added the pasta to the pot, stirring it occasionally to prevent it from sticking together. The bubbling water and the rhythmic motion of stirring were almost hypnotic, lulling me into a sense of calm.
While the pasta cooked, I heated up a pan of oil on another burner, waiting until it was hot enough to fry. The oil sizzled as I carefully placed the first piece of chicken into the pan, the aroma of the frying meat filling the kitchen. One by one, I added the rest of the chicken, watching as they turned a beautiful golden brown, their crispy coating crackling in the hot oil.
I let the chicken fry for a few minutes on each side, ensuring that they cooked through completely. The sound of sizzling and the smell of frying chicken were comforting, a reminder of simpler times. Once they were done, I used tongs to transfer the pieces onto a plate lined with paper towels, letting them drain the excess oil.
With the chicken done, I turned my attention back to the pasta. It had cooked to a perfect al dente, the strands firm but tender. I drained the pot, shaking it gently to remove any lingering water before setting it aside.
Next, I moved on to the sauce. In a small saucepan, I melted a pat of butter, adding minced garlic and onion as it began to sizzle. The smell of the garlic and onion sauteing in the butter was heavenly, filling the kitchen with a rich, savory aroma. I added a can of crushed tomatoes, stirring them in as the sauce began to simmer. A pinch of sugar, a splash of cream, and a handful of fresh basil completed the sauce, making it creamy and slightly sweet with just the right amount of tanginess.
Once the sauce was done, I poured it over the pasta, tossing everything together until the noodles were thoroughly coated. I couldn’t help but smile as I admired my handiwork-pasta with a rich tomato sauce, accompanied by crispy fried chicken. It was a simple meal, but one that was warm and comforting.
I carefully arranged the pasta and chicken onto two plates, adding a sprinkle of freshly grated Parmesan cheese on top as the finishing touch. With the food ready, I carried the plates back into the living room where Elena was still sitting on the couch.
“Hope you’re ready for some good old comfort food,” I said as I placed her plate in front of her. Elena looked up at me, her expression softening as she took the plate from my hands.
“This looks amazing, Alice,” she murmured, her voice sincere. “Thank you.”
“Anything for you,” I replied, taking a seat beside her. For a few moments, we ate in silence, the awkward tension from earlier still lingering but not as heavy as before. The simple act of sharing a meal together helped bridge the gap that had formed between us, even if only temporarily.
As we finished eating, I leaned back against the couch, contemplating what to do next. The silence had returned, but this time it wasn’t as stifling. I glanced over at Elena, who was staring down at her empty plate, lost in thought once again.
I decided it was time to lighten the mood, even if only a little. “How about a movie?” I suggested, hoping the idea would help distract both of us from everything that had happened.
Elena looked up at me, her brow furrowing slightly. “A movie?”
“Yeah,” I nodded, getting up from the couch and walking over to the TV. “Something to take our minds off things. I was thinking… maybe a horror movie?”
Her eyes widened slightly at the suggestion, but she didn’t protest. “Sure,” she said softly, her voice a bit uncertain.
I grinned, grabbing the remote and scrolling through the options until I found something suitably terrifying. It was an older horror movie, one that was known for its suspense and jump scares. I popped it in, feeling a bit of mischievous glee at the thought of seeing Elena’s reaction to the scares.
Settling back down on the couch beside her, I hit play, and the movie began. At first, Elena seemed unbothered, her expression neutral as she watched the screen. But as the movie progressed, I started to notice the subtle signs of tension-her hands clenching the edge of the blanket, her body stiffening slightly with each suspenseful moment.
In contrast, I could already feel my nerves fraying. Every creak of the floorboards, every shadowy figure lurking in the background had my heart racing. I tried to keep calm, but I could feel myself shrinking into the couch, pulling the blanket tighter around me as the tension in the movie built.
Then came the scene that I had been waiting for. The camera zoomed in on a murky pool of water, the soundtrack building to a tense crescendo. I knew what was coming, but that didn’t stop my heart from pounding in anticipation. The water rippled, and just as the character leaned in closer to investigate, a massive snake burst out of the water, its jaws wide open as it lunged at the man.
The snake sank its fangs into the man’s neck, its powerful jaws crushing his throat as blood sprayed everywhere. The man’s screams echoed through the room, and the snake began to twist and thrash, dragging him under the water as it continued to chew on him. Blood churned in the water, staining it red as the man’s body was mangled beyond recognition.
Elena’s reaction was immediate. She jolted upright, her hands flying to cover her eyes as she let out a terrified scream. Her entire body was shaking, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she tried to shield herself from the gruesome scene.
My heart lurched at the sight of her so shaken. “Elena,” I whispered, my voice trembling as I reached out to comfort her. But before I could touch her, a sudden, sharp knock echoed through the house.
But before I could touch her, a sudden, sharp knock echoed through the house.
Both of us froze, the sound jarring in the eerie quiet left by the paused movie. The knock came again, louder this time, almost frantic. It wasn’t just a simple knock-it was rough, urgent, as if someone was pounding on the door with all their might. The entire doorframe rattled under the force, shaking so hard it seemed like it might come off its hinges.
Elena and I exchanged wide-eyed looks, our fear mirrored in each other’s faces. My heart was in my throat, and I could see Elena’s hands trembling as she clutched the blanket to her chest.
The knocking grew even more violent, now accompanied by the sound of something heavy being dragged against the wood, as if whoever-or whatever-was on the other side was trying to break in. We sat there, paralyzed with fear, and before we knew it, the two of us screamed at the top of our lungs, the sound filling the room as we were gripped by pure, unfiltered terror.