Chapter 4 Dead men don't text

POPPY

The world dissolved into static. Around me, the living room exploded into a deafening chaos. Tristan was shouting into his phone, his bloody fingers slipping against the screen as he begged the operator for an ambulance that would never make it in time.

Grayson had dropped to his knees, his hands hovering over Katie’s lifeless face, his violent rage replaced by a pathetic, stuttering sob. Kenny was pressing two fingers hard against Katie’s throat, his face pale, his lips moving silently as he desperately searched for a beat.

“Nothing,” Kenny whispered, his voice cracking into a raw, hollow sound that made my skin turn to ice. “There’s no pulse. Oh my god, she’s not breathing.”

Jamie lunged forward to help, but I couldn't hear him anymore. The sound of Martha’s hysterical screams from the kitchen doorway seemed to stretch out, slowing down until it sounded like a demonic groan.

Dejavu.

It was happening again. The red light. The choking sounds. The heavy, suffocating scent of cheap liquor and panic. My mind violently fractured, tearing me out of Katie’s glass living room and dragging me back to the wet, freezing mud of the woods twelve months ago. We had stood in a circle just like this, watching a boy stop breathing, choosing our futures over a life.

I took a step backward. Then another.

My skirt brushed against a fallen chair, but no one looked at me. They were too busy drowning in the blood on the rug.

I turned around, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird, and I ran. I burst through the heavy oak doors, sprinting down the long, winding driveway into the freezing night air, the image of the white foam and dark blood burned behind my eyelids.

I didn't stop until I reached my house.

The front door clicked shut behind me, the heavy locks automatically sliding into place with a mechanical snap. The mansion was dark, vast, and completely empty. My parents wouldn't be back for weeks.

“Welcome home, Poppy,” the smooth, automated female voice of my house’s AI system chimed from the ceiling speakers, lighting up the hallway with a faint, ambient glow.

I ignored it, stumbling blindly into the kitchen. My hands were shaking so violently I could barely grip a glass from the cupboard. I filled it with tap water, my teeth chattering against the rim as I forced myself to swallow, trying to ground my racing mind.

Think of unicorns. Think of rainbows. It’s a dream. It’s just a dream.

But the water tasted like iron, and the silence of the house was too loud.

Needing the comfort of my own space, I ran up the stairs and threw open my bedroom door. I expected to see the mess I had left behind, the tangled sheets from my earlier encounter with Jamie, my clothes scattered across the floor, the discarded pillows.

Instead, the room was immaculate.

The bed was perfectly made, the silk duvet pulled tight without a single wrinkle. My vanity was cleared, every makeup brush aligned in perfect precision.

A cold wave of paranoia crashed over me, making the hairs on my arms stand on end. He was here again. My eyes slowly drifted to the vanity mirror. My breath caught in my throat.

The lilies from this afternoon were gone. In their place sat a heavy crystal vase filled with deep, velvet-red roses. They were so fresh that droplets of water were still sliding down the thorns, dripping onto the marble counter like drops of blood.

He changed them again.

“Poppy,” the AI voice announced suddenly causing me to flinch, the voice cut through the heavy silence of the room. “Motion detected at the eastern perimeter. You have a visitor arriving at the front gates”

Tears spilled over my cheeks, hot and burning. I turned and stormed out of my room, my bare feet flying down the grand staircase as I wiped the tears from my face, bracing myself for the nightmare to walk through the door.

“Nevermind,” the AI voice chimed smoothly, the lights in the foyer dimming back to a soft shadow. “False motion detected. Perimeter is clear.”

I froze on the bottom step, my breath hitching. A false motion? The security system in this house was military-grade. It didn't make mistakes. Someone was probably out there. In the dark.

I spun around and rushed back up the stairs, throwing myself into my bedroom and slamming the heavy door shut. I turned the deadbolt, throwing my weight against the wood as if I could keep the entire world out.

My hand instinctively moved toward my phone to call Jamie, or Kenny, or anyone who could save me. But my fingers froze over the screen. One of my friends was currently lying dead on a bloody rug, and the others were back there trying to help, while I just…ran away, like a coward.

Suddenly, my phone beeped, a sharp, high-pitched notification sound that made me jump out of my skin. My heart violently thudded against my ribs as I looked down at the glowing screen.

It wasn't a text from Jamie. It wasn't a notification from the group chat.

The lock screen flashed with a direct message request from an account on Instagram. The name attached to the account made my breath completely die in my throat.

RUNE

“I’m going crazy,” I whispered to the empty room, my voice trembling as I stared at the name. It felt heavy, dark, and utterly dominant, pulsing with a dangerous energy that seemed to command the air around me.

With shaking hands, I tossed the phone across the room, watching it slide under the vanity. I scrambled up the mattress, pulling the tightly made silk duvet over my head, curling my body into a tight, protective ball in the center of the bed. I squeezed my eyes shut, burying my face into the pillows, forcing the rhythm of my breathing to slow down.

Dead men don't text. When I wake up, this bad dream will be over.