She came down to breakfast cheerful, yet utterly exhausted. Whatever energy she had stored up overnight was already spent, and now she was badly in need of a nap. The cook, clearly worried about her pale appearance, started asking questions, genuine concern lacing her voice. Alice, however, offered a string of quick excuses—new surroundings, a change in climate, catching up on sleep after the journey—take your pick. Eventually, the woman left her alone, though it was obvious she was still keeping an eye on her. Smiling faintly, the girl headed back to her room.

  The moment she stepped inside, she threw herself onto the bed, hoping to fall asleep quickly. But sleep didn’t come as fast as she’d hoped. The sensation of being watched had grown stronger, and far more disturbing. For the first time in years, Alice felt afraid to be alone in a room. She didn’t understand it. It couldn’t be ghosts—if it were, she’d have seen them by now. Or spoken to them. No, it wasn’t that. Her thoughts started to drift as her eyelids finally grew heavy enough to let her eyes rest.

  She slept deeply, but without dreams. That was rare for her. Normally she dreamed a lot—often several dreams in a single night—but now? Nothing at all. When she checked the time, she realized over five hours had vanished. Lunch was approaching. She had to get up, pull herself together, freshen up her makeup and fix her hair. Easier said than done. Her body wasn’t cooperating; every muscle ached at the slightest movement. Was she coming down with the flu?

  “Oh God…” she groaned, forcing herself to make a superhuman effort. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

  Silence answered her. Deep down, she might have been hoping someone would say something—someone tall, broad-shouldered, with black hair and cold eyes. As soon as that thought struck her, she scolded herself and summoned a hidden reserve of stubborn will. Fifteen minutes later, she was eating lunch.

  The rest of the day passed quickly, but Alice felt as though she were slipping deeper into a strange, trance-like state. She did everything on autopilot, mechanically, without emotional engagement. It felt as if the life were slowly draining out of her. She went to bed unusually early. She wanted to meditate, to figure out where all her energy was going, but she couldn’t. The moment she closed her eyes, sleep took her into its arms and didn’t let go—not until the middle of the night, when her bladder demanded attention. She struggled to will herself out of bed. The short walk to the bathroom felt like an Olympic challenge. Thankfully, pride came to her rescue, reminding her she had no choice but to take a few steps and handle it like a proper human being.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  She was in the bathroom. Just finishing, she fought to stay awake on the toilet seat when that strange feeling returned—the sense that she wasn’t alone in the room. Her exhaustion began to give way to unease, and that unease steadily deepened into fear. Still, Alice refused to let it show. She could feel it clearly now: there was something dangerous nearby.

  Calmly—though with a strange stiffness that was uncharacteristic of her— she stepped over to the sink to wash her hands. Without thinking, she glanced reflexively at the mirror hanging in front of her. She looked pale, but not awful, and for some reason, that brought her a small, strange sense of comfort. She was examining the small bags under her eyes when she caught something in the corner of her vision. Something that definitely shouldn’t have been there.

  Her mind blanked. Her brain refused to process what she was seeing. It was madness. The door behind her—the one that should have been shut—was open. And through the narrow gap, an eye was watching her.

  She froze. That was all she could do. Someone was in the room. Someone was watching her. Someone was just inches away. She could scream, but what good would that do? She could try to slam the door shut, but would she be fast enough? No. None of the ideas racing through her head were good enough. She was trapped. And all she did was stand there, staring back at the intruder.

  Her eyes started to sting. Dry out. She had to blink. She blinked—only for a fraction of a second—and when she opened her eyes again, the space behind the door was empty. Her heart pounded like crazy. She sprang toward the door and locked it as fast as she could manage. Who the hell was that?

  She tried to focus, to gather enough energy to summon the Not-a-Doctor—but she couldn’t. Her knees gave out, and she collapsed onto the cold tile floor. What now? She sat there for a long moment. How long? Probably just a few minutes, though they felt like an eternity. She stared at the door, tense and afraid, but nothing happened. No one jiggled the handle. No footsteps. No presence she could sense. Maybe… maybe it had all been in her head? The longer she thought about it, the more that made sense. After all, she’d been seeing ghosts since she was a child. If it had been one of them, she would’ve known the moment she entered the room. A person? No. Impossible. She’d locked the door before going to bed. Double-checked it. The Not-a-Doctor had warned her to be careful about that, and she wasn’t stupid enough to ignore his advice. The window was shut tight, too. Yes. It had to be her imagination.

  After another few eternal minutes, she forced herself to face her fear and leave the bathroom. She needed to prove to herself that she was safe. Slowly—painfully slowly— she walked to the door, turned the lock, and opened it. The room was empty. Prepared to bolt at any second, she approached the light switch and flipped it on. She looked around carefully, checked every corner. She was alone. A crushing weight lifted off her shoulders, but the feeling of being watched still lingered. She crawled into bed without turning off the light.