Her body reacted before her brain did. She backed away instinctively, heart pounding, breath shallow. The rational part of her mind insisted it was probably nothing—maybe a loose chair, maybe something collapsing under its own weight.

But logic didn’t stop the dread from curling deep in her stomach.

And because her brain hated her, it chose that exact moment to connect everything to last week’s horror movie marathon.

Okay, she thought grimly. Do not be the idiot.

You watched Scream. Investigating a mysterious sound—even if it’s probably a rat or something—is how you become the dumb first victim who dies for cinematic value.

I am not about to die to set the tone.

Her flashlight beam trembled slightly as she held it steady, sweeping it slowly across the rows of seats.

Do not investigate the strange noise.

That was, like—surviving 101.

The decision formed in a split second, sharp and instinctive. Ira took another step backward, the heel of her shoe clinking far too loudly in the suffocating silence of the hall. The sound seemed to echo, bounce, linger, like the room was listening.

She didn’t bother grabbing her laptop.

With her phone held out in front of her, flashlight on, angled like a pathetic little weapon, she began to back away slowly toward the exit. Every movement was careful. Measured. She would get out. There would be people in the corridor. Or better yet—the main lobby. Someone would be there. There were always people there.

She took only a few steps.

Then she heard it again.

Another thud.

This one was different.

Heavier.

Solid.

And close.

Too close.

Her head snapped toward the sound, muscles screaming as adrenaline surged through her veins. She swung the flashlight wildly in the direction it came from, the beam jerking across the dark.

Nothing.

Just the podium.

The registers that had been neatly stacked earlier now lay scattered across the floor, pages splayed open at odd angles, like they’d been thrown.

A rat can’t fucking do this.

Her blood turned to ice.

Every instinct in her body screamed run. Her heart slammed against her ribs, breaths coming fast and shallow, chest burning. For a heartbeat, she stood frozen, mind blank, body locked in place.

Then the paralysis broke.

She had to get out.

Now.

She took another step toward the door. Her hand reached for the push bar. The metal was cold under her palm—but the sensation barely had time to register.

Because she felt it.

A presence.

Right beside her.

Her eyes widened.

No. No no no—

Panic hit her like a live wire, clean and electric, shooting straight through her nervous system. She lunged forward, throwing her weight toward the door.

She didn’t make it.

Arms wrapped around her waist from behind, sudden and crushing, yanking her back. She fought immediately, instinctively—kicking, twisting, elbows flying—but it didn’t matter. The other person was larger. Stronger. Unyielding.

She opened her mouth to scream.

Something rough slammed over her face.

A cloth.

It smelled chemically sweet and wrong, like disinfectant mixed with something rotten. It was shoved hard over her mouth and nose, cutting off her breath. Her scream turned into a muffled, desperate grunt against the coarse fabric.

The arm around her waist tightened, iron-strong, pinning her as she thrashed. Her feet barely touched the ground. She clawed blindly at the arm, nails scraping skin, leaving sharp crescents wherever she could reach.

It didn’t slow them.

Her phone slipped from her hand and hit the floor with a sharp crack, the flashlight skittering away, beam spinning uselessly across the ceiling—

And then—

Pain.

Not one clean, dramatic strike.

It started suddenly. Chaotically.

A violent, jagged series of sensations that made no sense at first. For a split second, her mind couldn’t even process it. There was pressure. Impact. A dull, shocking force.

Then another.

And another.

There was no rhythm. No pattern. Just frantic movement, the attack driven by something panicked and cruel. Each stab landed differently—some sharp and blinding, others heavy and numbing. Her body jolted with each one, muscles spasming, vision blurring.

Her eyes stayed open.

The world narrowed.

Sound became distorted—her own muffled gasps, the wet, horrible sounds of movement, the scrape of fabric, the faint echo of something metallic being pulled free and driven in again.

When the shock finally loosened its grip, the pain crashed in all at once.

White-hot. Consuming.

She could feel it spreading—heat, wetness, a horrible slick sensation soaking through her clothes, down her sides, across her back. Her body felt wrong. Heavy. Weak. Like it was already beginning to give up.

And then—

It stopped.

As abruptly as it had begun.

The arms released her.

Her body crumpled, limp, hitting the floor like a marionette with its strings cut. She barely felt the impact. Blood pooled beneath her, warm against the cold floor.

There were footsteps.

Retreating.

Then nothing.

She lay there, staring upward, eyes wide and unblinking.

Her last coherent sensation wasn’t the pain.

Not entirely.

It was the earbud still lodged stubbornly in her ear, somehow never having fallen out through the entire ordeal. Guess they weren’t kidding when they said those things didn’t fall out no matter what you did with them.

The music was still playing.

Faint. Distorted.

The final lines drifted through her fading consciousness—

'She could’ve killed you, she had every right

You just caught her off guard tonight

But it’s alright…

…she’ll be fine'