Part Three

I listen to the footsteps, making their slow progress up the stairs.

Creak...

Creak...

Creak...

It's probably Leah coming back for her ax. I know that, rationally – but there's something wrong about it. That doesn't sound like the clickety-clack of stiletto boots. More like somebody in their stocking feet, trying to sneak up on me.

"Hello?" I call out, and there's a definite quaver in my voice.

The only answer is the sound of the footfalls, growing closer.

Creak...

Creak...

Creak...

Something isn't right. Leah would have answered me.

My phone is still gripped in my hand. I flick the Wattpad app closed and pull up my phone keypad instead. My thumb hovers, ready to place a call to campus police if need be, but I'm keenly aware of my defenselessness. I'm all by myself in this house. I don't even have a lock on my bedroom door. The sliding metal door latch accidentally got yanked out of its socket last month, during a moment of slight inebriation on my part, and I never got around to replacing it.

Oops.

My eyes dart to the pick axe, leaning against the wall. It probably isn't sharp, but it looks authentic. Maybe intimidating enough to scare off an intruder? It's the closest I'm going to come to a real weapon...

I get myself onto my hands and knees and crawl awkwardly to the foot of my bed, careful to move my bad ankle as little as possible. The ax is leaning against the wall. It's right next to the spot where I had my Eric Thorn cut-out (until I threw a pillow at his head). I reach for the handle and I almost lose my balance. My hand darts out and braces against the bedroom wall to keep myself from falling head first off the edge of the bed.

"Crap!"

I let out a muffled curse as I shift my weight away backward. That was a close one. I was about an inch from bashing my skull in, and my heart pounds from the sensation that I was about to fall.

I take a deep breath to steady myself, and my eyes travel to the floor. That's weird. I expect to see the plain brown cardboard backing of the cut-out lying at the foot of my bed. But it's not there. I can't see any trace of it, actually. What the heck? Somehow, it must've drifted all the way under my bed when it fell over.

"Focus, Kelsey," I whisper to myself. I'll fish Eric out from under my bed later. One thing at a time. For now, I need that ax...

My heart drops as my fingers close around the handle. It looks like solid wood, but it squishes in my grasp like a flimsy piece of foam. Useless. If there's really an intruder in the house, this thing isn't going to do anything to stop them.

I'll just have to fake it.

I kneel on my mattress, brandishing the ax in one hand and my cellphone in the other. I hold my breath and listen. The footsteps sound like they're right outside my door.

"Who's there?" I call out again, putting some steel in my voice. I'm improvising as I go. The last thing I want is to let on that I'm all alone in here.  "Don't come in! Ummmm... we're not dressed! I've got a guy in here!"

Of course, there's only one half-naked male who's been in my room all school year, and he's made out cardboard. Minor detail. If that's Leah, she'll know I'm lying, but it might be enough to dissuade a stranger.

Dang, I think with a fleeting pang of regret. One those football-player frat boys would definitely come in handy right about now. Maybe if I'd put half as much effort into finding a real boyfriend, as I put into writing pornographic fanfics about my imaginary one...

Oops.

The bedroom doorknob turns. I hold my breath and raise the pick axe overhead, bracing for the worst. Slowly, the door swings open.

Leah's head pokes in. I slump forward in relief.

"Dude, what guy?" There's laughter in her voice. "Since when did you have any interest in non-fictional men?"

I ignore her question – along with the annoying way she just dismissed my dearly beloved Eric Thorn as fictional. I'm way too relieved to argue.

"Oh my God, you scared me." I toss the foam ax at her, and she catches it with the blade point against her chest. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack, creeping up the stairs like that?"

Her eyes widen innocently. "Um, just trying not to break my neck. The lights are all out. Did you blow a fuse or something?"

It's only then that I realize, the lights are out in my room. When did that happen? Have I been sitting in the dark all this time? The only source of illumination in here is the screen of my phone. No wonder I let my overactive imagination run away with me just now...

"That's weird," I say. "Why is everything so weird tonight?"

"Maybe Jenny forgot to pay the utilities again." Leah scowls for a moment, but her expression shifts as she studies me. I guess I still look pretty freaked out. "Are you OK, Kels? Do you need me to stay here?"

"No, no," I protest. "I'm fine. You go have fun."

"Are you sure?"

I make my way back to the head of the bed and plop my weight heavily against the pillows. "No worries." I glance down at my phone. "I'm good. At least the wi-fi is still working."

Although, how that's possible in a power outage? I have no idea.

"OK," she says reluctantly. She hesitates for a moment and then salutes me with her ax, turning to leave. "Text me if you need me."

I nod, and then call after her as she heads out of the room. "Oh! Leah?"

She pokes her head back in.

"Make sure you lock the front door, OK? And, um, are the porch lights off outside? I don't want any trick-or-treaters showing up."

"I'll lock up tight," she answers. "Maybe you should get some sleep?"

I smile at her wearily. With those last words, she's gone.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment and then re-open them. There's no way I'm sleeping. My nerves are completely shot. I still don't understand how I've been sitting in the dark all this time and failed to notice. Honestly, this whole situation is creeping me out.

A part of me wishes Leah had hung around. Didn't she know I was lying, when I told her I was fine? I'm alone and incapacitated in a house with no electricity. Talk about feeling powerless. I could really use some company right now.

Thank God my phone still works. I fire it up and head back over to Twitter. My real-life friends may have abandoned me, but there's still my online BFFs. I wonder if Eric noticed any of them after his Halloween tweet just now...

I click onto my timeline, expecting to see the fandom in a full-blown follow-spree meltdown  – but they've all gone strangely quiet. Where is everybody? I see a few of my Wattpad friends still tweeting, but it's dead silence from the Eric Thorn fan accounts I follow.

I flick onto my own profile, with the last thing I retweeted sitting at the top, along with my oh-so-clever reply:

Eric Thorn (@EricThorn)
Happy Halloween to all my fans! Don't you lovelies ever ghost on me...
(How 'bout a follow spree? Retweet!)

Kelsey (@EricThornPorn)
@EricThorn Never babe. I'll haunt you till the day I die.

My eyes drift down to the retweet count at the bottom of Eric's tweet, and I do a double take.

1.3K

"What the..."  My voice trails off as I squint down at the screen. No way that number's right. It has to be a glitch. I could swear that retweet count was at 40K a few minutes ago. "What the hell just happened?"

Maybe Naomi knows. She's one of my best friends in the fandom, and she's always up to date with all the gossip. I enter her handle – @EricTFan – and pull up her account.

And that's when my hands start shaking a little bit.

Something is wrong. Very, very wrong. Naomi has been a part of this fandom forever. Since way back when Eric was nothing more than a lowly YouTuber. She has a follower count of half a million. There's no way she would've....

But I can't deny the evidence in front of my own eyes.

@EricTFan does not exist
Please tap to retry

Deactivated?

Something clicks in my chest. I start entering other handles – fan accounts I've followed for years. But they all came back the same way.

@EricThornLuv does not exist

@ErictHorny does not exist

@TessaHeartsEric does not exist

@MrsEricThorn does not exist

All of them deleted their accounts? The same night?

There's no way. I give my head a shake, struggling to make sense of it.

"It's got to be my wi-fi," I say out loud. I know I'm talking to myself, and I don't care how strange that makes me. My voice sounds high and breathy – not my usual snark-laden tone at all. I'm in total freak-out mode at this point. "Or maybe Twitter's down?" That must be it, right?

But Twitter isn't down.

And my wi-fi connection is just fine.

Because right at that moment, a new notification pops up on my screen:

@PhlebotomyFan has sent you a direct message

To be continued...

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