"Cariño? Cariño? It's me—I'm here," I say frantically.

"Amor." Her reply is crackly. "Help me..."

"Cariño, where are you?"

"Apartment," she croaks.

"Your apartment? Stay there—I'm coming—please stay there."

"Hurry...hurry..." she says as her voice grows fainter.

"Angela, please stay with me—I'll be right there."

With the phone pressed to my ear, I can still hear her breathing on the other side. I rush past the counter, grab the keys, throw open the door and race towards the stairs.

Half-way down, I realise the only thing I'm wearing is my sweats. But that doesn't matter, I have to hurry and continue running downstairs. The call drops the minute I get outside. A gust of frozen air sends a cutting chill through my body. For a moment, I stop and stare at the snow-covered ground.

People will see the blood. They'll see it in the snow.

But I don't have time to worry about that now, her light's still on, she's waiting for me—I need to hurry.

A sharp pain shoots through my feet as I sprint across the street. I briefly glance back and see a bloody trail following behind me.

I can't stop now. Not when I'm so close.

As I'm about to use the fob to open the door, I hear the familiar buzz that sounds when someone pushes the button in their apartment that opens the main door to the building. I quickly look around, but I'm alone in the entranceway.

Did Angela let me in?

With no time to waste, I push through the door and sprint towards the stairwell. Each time my foot hits the cold cement steps, a piercing pain shoots up my legs from the bottoms of my feet. But I grit my teeth, ignore the ache and continue sprinting up the stairs.

I'm almost there, Angela.

My lungs are burning when I reach the fifth floor, but I keep running down the hallway. At her door, my shaking hand drops the keys.

Shit!

I quickly pick them up off the floor, turn the key, throw open the door and rush inside.

"Angela? I'm here!" I call, pausing just off the kitchen area, but there's no response.

Light streams from her slightly open bedroom door, the rest of the apartment is pitch black. A strange sensation washes over me as I approach her room. My heartbeat reverberates in my ears, and the air feels unnaturally colder than outside.

The soles of my feet are burning, forcing me to stop and examine them to determine the source of the pain. I balance on my right foot while bringing my left foot up with my hands, and run my fingers along the bottom of my foot and feel multiple bleeding slashes. Looking back, I see bloody footprints in the hallway, leading to where I'm standing.

I jump when I hear the vibration of a phone on a wooden surface, coming from somewhere in the dark living room. It pings and lights up on the coffee table. In this low light, the screen seems like it's floating in midair.

Another ping echoes through the air, causing me to turn away from the bedroom. I walk over to the living room, wipe my fingers on my sweats and reach down for the phone. The notification on the screen reads, Can't wait to see you later.

Suddenly, a woman's blood-curdling scream emanates from the bedroom, sending an icy chill cutting through my body; I drop the phone.

"Angela!" I call and dash towards the bedroom.

"No," I mutter, stopping dead in my tracks.

My eyes refuse to blink as they take in the gruesome scene before me.

Angela's butchered body sits up in the bed. There's a deep gash over her heart; her limp hand hangs over the side of the bed with blood dripping from her fingertips, pooling on the floor. The white walls are sprayed with red spots, and her lifeless eyes stare at me, wide with terror.

As I'm about to run over to her motionless body, the door slams behind me with deafening force. The light on the ceiling begins to flicker and fade.

A gasp escapes my mouth when I see a hand, black as death emerging from under the bloodied bed, coming between me and Angela. It's claw-like nails dig into the hardwood floor, causing it to splinter. As the other hand appears, a roaring growl rips through the air, making my blood run cold, freezing me where I stand.

And before I can blink, the shadowy figure flies towards me; everything turns black as I feel my body hit the floor with a loud thud.

***

A blurry wooden floor gradually starts to appear. The room feels like it's spinning as I push myself up. For a moment, I don't remember where I am, but as my vision steadies, it all comes rushing back. I jerk my head towards the bed.

Where's her body?

My breathing is shallow as I scan the room, and realise I'm alone. There's no sign of Angela or the—wait, there's something warm and sticky on my hands—blood. I spring to my feet, rush out of the room and into the kitchen. Using my elbow, I flick the light on before tilting the faucet over the sink upwards with the back of my hand.

I rapidly rub my hands together, watching the blood mix with the running water before flowing down the metal drain. Once I can't see any more blood on my hands, I grab the dish soap, turn the water as hot as I can stand it and wash my hands up to my forearms under the steaming faucet.

As my fingers brush against my left forearm, I feel a sharp stab of pain, causing me to examine the arm more closely. There are small, black cracks around powdery white patches on my skin. The contrast against the rest of my tan-coloured arm is hard to miss.

What is this?

The screeching creak of the bedroom door causes me to whip my head around. When I look back at my arm, the patches and cracks are gone. A shiver crawls down my spine; I suddenly feel a strong urge to leave this place.

After hastily drying my hands and arms with some paper towel, I throw the pieces into the garbage under the sink, turn off the light and exit the kitchen.

As I put weight on my feet to walk, I notice that I don't feel the burning pain from the gashes on the soles of my feet, causing me to stop and check them.

The cuts are gone—like they were never there.

I flash the light from my phone on my sweats to the spot where I had rubbed my fingers earlier. I inhale, those blood streaks are still there.

So I was bleeding.

Then I remember the phone in the living room and shine the light towards the coffee table, walk over, pick it up and slip it into my pocket.

Before leaving the apartment, I poke my head into the bedroom one last time; it looks untouched. There's no blood on the walls or floor, and the bed is perfectly made. I crouch down and shine the light under the bed, feeling my heart rattling in my bare, untrimmed chest.

I exhale—nothing there.

I turn around, flick the light off and head for the front door. After removing the key from the lock, I scan the hallway floor. There's no blood anywhere. The same is true of the stairwell as I make my way downstairs.

I know my feet were bleeding when I ran up here.

But when I walk through the doors to the outside, the scene is completely different. Bloody footprints stain the snow-covered street and sidewalk, and the trail leads right to the spot where I now stand. My stomach twists into knots as I hear voices approaching from down the street.