The aroma of the stir fry drifts through the hallway into my nose before I even enter my friend Jake’s apartment. We’d had dinner plans for weeks, and over and over they had been rescheduled due to my crazy work schedule and his classes. Finally it had worked out, and he’d agreed to meet with me prior to his trip to Macedonia. Jake - an adept cook - was known throughout the apartment complex for his magnificent-smelling dishes, and despite us being friends, this would be the first time that I’d be tasting any of them.

I knock on his door. Fidgeting with the bracelets on my wrists, I glance around as I patiently wait for him to answer. The hallway is eerily dim. My stare catches on the dome mirror at the end of the hallway, which is typically used to see oncoming hallway traffic when you’re walking in the direction of it. I narrow my eyes, squinting to make out what I think I see. Is my mind playing tricks on me again?

It looks real enough to me. At the end of the opposing hallway, a black silhouette stands completely still. My heartbeat quickens, but before I can dwell on it for too long, Jake opens the door, greeting me with a pleased smile. 

“Spencer!” He laughs, pulling me in for a big hug. He’s easily a foot taller than I am. “How are you!? It’s been a while.”

I giggle. “Pretty good. And you?”

I’ve known Jake for a while - he and my older brothers were best friends in high school, and over time we grew closer as well. Now that we’re both going to the same college, we’ve spent a lot of time together out of convenience. He showed me around campus when I first arrived. 

“I’m alright.” He grins again, before pulling me into his apartment. The fragrance of the food is much stronger now, my mouth watering with impatience. 

“God, how can food smell this good?” I ask, closing my eyes to inhale a deep sniff. 

“It’s almost like I’m studying culinary arts or something.” He winks, then busies himself with making the plates, dumping the meat mixed with veggies onto the glassware. That’s another thing I can appreciate about him: unlike most college guys, his apartment is kept clean and he has actual dishes, rather than hoards of paper plates littering the cabinets and counters. He’s the type of guy I’d want to have around forever. 

I roll my eyes. “Is there anything you need me to do? I feel bad. I didn’t bring anything.”

“Don’t feel bad...you know me well enough. That kind of stuff isn’t important anymore.” He pulls a knife out of the kitchen sink, rinses it, and wipes it off with a linen towel. Handing it to me, he adds, “You can help me slice apples. I’m making a pie for dessert.” 

“Awesome.” 

He places a bowl of freshly washed apples on the counter near me. I hop up to sit on the counter, before taking each apple individually to peel them and slice them. He sits across from me with his own knife in hand, so I throw him a couple of the apples.

“Are you still taking that anatomy course?” He trains his eyes on the red skin of the apple as he edges along to surface to peel it off. “I have a buddy who said he saw you in the class. He’s been telling me about how interesting it is.”

“Yeah, it’s alright. We learn some pretty interesting things. I’m the only girl in the class.”

“What’s that like?” 

“It could be worse. None of the guys in there are mean or anything.” 

Jake looks up at me and furrows his brow. “Not like high school?”

A wave of fear washes over me. “No. Not like high school.” I take a deep breath to steady myself. “They’re nice. Don’t worry.”

“Have you been taking your medicine and everything?”

“Jake.” 

“I’m sorry, I’m just making sure. We haven’t talked in a while and your brother would want me to make sure you’re doing alright.”

I frown. “Yes, I’ve been taking my medicine. I’m fine. Please don’t worry about me. That was a year ago. I’m much better now.”

He’s quiet for a moment, pondering this. “Alright…” he pauses, looking anywhere but at my eyes. “Anyways, I’m ready for dinner. How about you?” 

“Me too.”

We gather up the plates and utensils and carry them to the table in the dining room. By now, the stir fry has more than likely cooled off enough for us to enjoy it without burning off our taste buds. Jake has a solemn expression on his face. I’m hoping that that conversation didn’t ruin the rest of our evening. 

His apartment is well furnished, though it’s not very big. Right next to the table is a fireplace with a mantle and a mirror above it, decorated with ferns and other plants. The kitchen is small, and an arched entryway leads you from the linoleum floors to the hardwood of the eating area. Beyond that is the living room, with a giant L shaped couch and a tv set up, complete with an xbox and a surround-sound system. The windows provide a view of the city streets, and he has more plants seated on the ledges. A side hallway leads to his bedroom and the bathroom. The walls are complemented by photos of Jake and his friends, his family, and band posters. 

We take our seats across from each other. I pick up the fork, stabbing it into the beef, before stuffing it into my mouth. The juicy, savory meat pleases my mouth as I swallow it down and go in for more. The veggies are peppered and delicious as well. I don’t know how it’s possible, but it tastes so much better than it smells.

“This is amazing.”

He eyes my plate and laughs. “You know, if you want more… there’s more on the stove. Help yourself.”

I happily help myself to another serving. 

“So.. what’s in Macedonia?” I ask as I sit back down.

“Poverty.” He sighs, before continuing, “I’ve volunteered to help out at a food kitchen there and teach some of the unemployed on how to cook. Unfortunately, the country is seriously impoverished. I think like… 30% of the country is below the poverty line.”

“That’s awful.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Are you going alone or with some of your culinary buddies?” 

“I’m going alone. They know I’m going, though. I promised them I’d be safe and everything. My mom is really worried but I told her I’d be fine.”

“Is the crime rate high?” I frown. 

“I mean… it’s higher than the national average for communities in America, but it’s still not very high. I should be okay. I’m a pretty big guy.”

I nod. 

He smirks. “Don’t worry about me, Spence. I’ll be alright.”

I giggle. “I’m sure you will be.”

Jake stares at me for a second, hesitating. 

“..what?”

He shakes his head, as if clearing a thought. “Nothing, nothing.”

“Well… it sounds like fun. I’m glad you get to go somewhere and do some good. I wish I wasn’t stuck in this craphole.”

“Me too. I’m really hoping I can make a difference.” 

My eyes dart around as an unsettling feeling washes over me. “Hey Jake?”

“Yes?”

“You locked the door, right?”

“Um…” he squeezes his eyebrows together in concern. “Yes....why?”

“Nothing…sorry…” For some reason, I’m brimming with the fear that someone is watching me. I think back to the big black figure that I saw in the hallway. Who was that? Why were they just standing there? It’s almost like they could see me in the reflection of the mirror, too. Waiting. Watching. “It just makes me feel safer.”

“Is something making you feel unsafe?”

“No.” I shoot him a confident smile. 

He returns it. “Good.”

I’m still nervous, but I decide that it’s probably because I’m in his presence. I’ve always been anxious around him, probably because of the a little crush. There was just something about him… from the moment I met him…. I knew. In order to regain my composure, I opt for a quick trip to the bathroom to refresh myself. 

“I’ll be right back,” I say.”

He looks at me quizzically. 

“Bathroom.”

“Oooh. Okay.”

I make my way to the hallway, my socked feet scuffling on the carpeted floor. Turning into the first door on the right, I shut the door and flip on the light, inhaling a deep, soothing breath. Relax. My heartbeat slows down. I place my hands on either side of the sink, leaning into it. Why am I so nervous?

With a heavy sigh, I turn on the faucet. The cold sink-water builds in my hands before I splash it against my cheeks, cooling them. Lifting my head, I stare at myself in the mirror. My icy blue eyes stare back at me, surrounded by dark circles and pale skin. My face looks hollow. The nights have been taking their toll on me, sleeplessness sapping the life out of me. I don’t even know if sleeplessness is the right word for it. I’ve been sleeping, blacking out to later wake up in the morning. Yet when I wake up, I’m exhausted. My muscles ache and my eyes resemble bruises, my head dizzy with lightheadedness. 

A loud clang in another part of the apartment stops me short of my racing thoughts. 

What was that?

Cautiously, I open the door, peering my head around the wall. My pulse has quickened again. It’s so overwhelming that I feel like I’m about to throw up. 

My heart stops.

From where I am, I can see it clearly through the mantle mirror of the dining area. A black figure, holding one of the apple cutting knives. Blood...blood….everywhere. Jake is slumped against the table, blood spilling from his throat. Oh my god, he’s….

The man in black has a mask covering his face and a hood covering his head. He hasn’t noticed me...yet. No matter, I’m still losing my mind. I’m going to throw up. I’m going to throw up. All of the fear that was just a mumble before was now a roar, raging through my chest and head and coursing through my veins. Panic, panic, consuming me, blurring my vision, choking me. I’m going to die. He is...he’s…. 

When I was a little kid, I chased a soccer ball into the middle of the road. At the age I was, I had no idea that it would be dangerous. My thoughts were centered on that one object, and I was oblivious to the dangers of the world. Before I knew it, I was standing like a deer caught in headlights, but rather than a deer, I was a little girl chasing a soccer ball. The headlights were literal, two blazing white balls of light staring me straight in the face as the car they belonged to nearly ran into me. 

My brother saved me, but in that moment I knew true fear. I thought I was going to die. The same panic ripped through my body, and it wasn’t my life that flashed before my eyes, but my death. The image of my broken body mangled by the road. I was always one with an active imagination. 

Now, the blood is pooling around my feet, and the same fear strangles me. Except this is much, much worse, the elements of all of my nightmares standing right before me. The beast of my paranoia, alive and real, a man who’s come to kill me and has just killed my friend. I’ve always been afraid of this, for no rational reason. Maybe it’s the true crime podcasts that I listen to all the time. 

Through the mirror, the looming figure stands over Jake’s body like it’s some sort of prize for the wicked game of murder. The light over the table has been broken, so the assailant looks like he’s a shadow, a figment of my imagination. Is he a figment of my imagination? No… I can’t be that crazy. 

This is real. The blood dripping from the table is real. In an instant, the picture perfect scene of Jake sitting at the table calmly eating his stir fry in his pleasantly lit apartment has changed completely. Darkness has swept over the room, oozing dark red blood has been spilled across the floor. Granted, the rest of the room lies undisturbed. My new plate of food remains untouched by the tragedy that graces the room. The only sounds are the deep, unsteady breaths of the killer, and the ticking of the clock. I almost hold onto the belief that I can stand here quietly, and I’ll be just as untouched as my plate of food. Almost.

The killer finally moves, breaking the surface of tension. Two gloved hands slide under Jake’s arms, pulling him from the chair and onto the ground with a thump. His body is dragged across the room to the window, leaving a trail of blood. Quite carelessly, the murderer opens the window and throws him out of it. The way he moves is familiar to me, but I can’t place it. My brain is too panicked to recall the memory of who it might be. It feels like I’m dreaming, and this is all just a nightmare. The experience is out of body, and though I know I’m standing in the hallway by the bathroom, I’m witnessing this scene unfold from many different places, making it all the more and equally less real. Did I already die? 

I feel so sick. I want to go back into the bathroom and throw up in the toilet. But I can’t. I’m glued to the one spot, witnessing my best friend’s body being disposed of by this deranged killer. 

The assailant gives one last look into the apartment, staring at the mirror, as if he can see me. Maybe he can, but he makes no effort to attack me. Am I really safe? Did he not notice me?

Through the mirror, all I can make out are his eyes. Icy blue, the same as mine. That’s when I black out.