It was taped to the bathroom mirror. At my eye level, covering up my reflection. Five words.

Don’t look under the bed.

I peeled it off the mirror and looked down at it. It was in my handwriting—my sloppy, chicken-scratch handwriting. More sloppy than usual, like I’d been in a rush. I turned it over in my hands, confused.

Don’t look under the bed?

I didn’t remember writing it. At all. Maybe I wrote it when I was half-asleep? Weird.

I walked back into the bedroom. Nothing looked amiss—just my blue-gray comforter, bunched up on one side. My pillow askew. A cup of water and my phone on the nightstand.

I began to crouch down—

Arf! Arf!

I ran down the stairs to find Sadie, scratching at the back door. “You need to go out, huh?” I glanced up at the clock—12:23 PM.

How did I sleep so late?

I let her out, then headed towards the kitchen. But as I got closer, the sour smell of decay hit my nostrils.

Oh, no—

My heart stopped as I stepped in.

Red. Red everywhere. Splattered up the sides of the cabinets. Pooling across the floor. I sucked in a breath to scream—

And then spotted the jar of marinara.

It was shattered in the middle of the floor. Red sauce splattered in every direction from that central point, covering half the kitchen. And as I looked around, there was the source of the smell: an opened package of ground beef on the counter. Beside it sat a half-diced onion on the cutting board, a teaspoon full of kosher salt. Two wine glasses—one half-drunk—sat on the kitchen table, along with my wallet and keys.

Did I have Henry over last night…?

Arf!

Sadie’s bark tore me from my thoughts. I let her in and then collapsed on the couch. “What happened last night?” I muttered.

Maybe I hit my head? Maybe I dropped the marinara sauce, slipped in it, and hit my head on the floor. Got a concussion, went up to my bedroom, and fell asleep. But then wouldn’t there be sauce in the bed?

I sighed and pulled out my phone. I’d give my boyfriend Henry a call and see if he remembered anything. But as soon as I unlocked my phone, I saw the notification.

1 New Voicemail

A chill ran down my spine. I called into the voicemail service and waited, chewing on my lip—

“Listen. Listen to me.”

My blood ran cold. It was my voice.

“As soon as you get up, get out of the house. Take Sadie and get out. And whatever you do—do not look under the bed.”

That was it. That was the whole message.

A powerful feeling of derealization hit me. You probably know the feeling I’m talking about: that nothing is real, my entire life has been a dream, no one exists but me. It’s usually just an intrusive thought… but now I felt like it was grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking me.

I don’t remember anything.

Is this even real?

Am I dreaming?

I forced myself off that train of thought and dialed Henry’s number. The phone rang once, twice, three times…

It went to voicemail.

“Why aren’t you picking up?” I growled into the phone. “The one time I need you…” That was just like Henry. I slipped the phone back into my pocket and stared at Sadie. She stared back at me with her big, brown eyes.

Get out of the house. Do not look under the bed.

I forced myself up off the couch. “Okay, we’re going to the dog park!” Sadie sped by me like a bullet. Hands shaking, I grabbed my laptop, a few other necessities, and shoved them into my bag. I pulled the strap over my shoulder, dialed Henry one more time, and prayed for him to pick up—

No.

There was a sound from upstairs.

The sound of a ringing phone.

Every muscle in my body froze. With shaking hands, I pressed the red “end call” button on my phone. A second later, the ringing ceased.

Oh, God…

No, no, no…

I stepped onto the first stair. The old wood creaked underneath me. I took another step, then another, until I was standing motionless in the hallway.

Don’t look under the bed.

I stepped forward. My hands shook as I reached for the doorknob. Twisted it, pulled it open.

I stepped in the room. It looked as it always had. The same comforter, the same items on the nightstand. Everything the same. My gaze flicked to the dark shadows underneath the bed. With shaking hands, I pulled out my phone and dialed Henry again. Please don’t ring. Please don’t—

It rang from under the bed.

My throat went dry. I slowly crouched down, my entire body shaking like a leaf. My heart pounded as my hands splayed against the carpet, balancing myself. Please, no. No, no no—

It was him.

His skin was pale, almost blue. The mattress pressed into his tall frame, as if he’d been shoved and kicked under there until he fit. And his eyes… his eyes were empty and lifeless, boring into me as though he knew what I’d done.

I ran over to the bathroom and puked. Wiped my face off, gripped the bathroom sink to keep myself from fainting.

Did… did I kill him?

The half-drunk wine glass. Did I poison him?

That had to be it. There was no blood. But why? Why did I do it? What happened last night? What—

Arf!

Sadie’s bark was like a shock of cold water.

I have to get out of here.

I ran down the stairs. She was pawing at the front door. “Just—just a second,” I said, as I stumbled back towards the kitchen. “I need to get the keys.”

I ran back into the kitchen. I carefully stepped around the shards of broken glass, the splatters of tomato sauce. I reached out for the keys—

And then something hit me.

Not quite a memory--more of an intuition, a gut feeling. Like the memory was poking up from my subconscious, about to break the surface.

The salt.

I ran over to the teaspoon of salt lying on the counter, next to the cutting board. Slowly bent over so that it was eye level.

It wasn't salt.

I could see that now. It wasn't the coarse, irregular flakes of kosher salt I kept in a pig by the stove--it was a fine powder.

And it smelled terrible.

The memory hit me like a truck. Getting out of the shower. Putting on a vampy lipstick. Poking my head into the kitchen while Henry was making dinner for our one-month anniversary.

Stopping dead as he swirled white powder into the wine glass.

Backing up. Mind reeling. Almost fainting. Stumbling forward and hearing him call out my name.

Carrie? You there?

I walked in, pretending I didn't see anything.

And he bought it.

I knew that the glass of wine he offered me with a smile had something in it. Whether it was a date rape drug or poison, I didn't know. But I did know this. If I let on that I knew—if I tried to call the police—I might not make it out of there alive.

So when he turned to finish chopping the onion, I switched the glasses.

I wavered in the kitchen, black dots dancing in my vision. Then I sucked in a breath and walked to the front door, where Sadie stood waiting for me.

"Come on," I said, as I opened the door. "Let's go."

.+.