Chapter Text
The hum of the bar felt distant to Harry, like he was inside a bubble. Music thumped, voices rose and fell, but none of it pierced the uneasy quiet inside his mind. Then she smiled—warm, real, and completely unexpected.
Her name was Emily.
They struck up a conversation, light and easy at first. Harry found himself laughing more than he had in weeks, the weight on his chest lifting just a little with each passing minute. There was something about her that felt genuine, no hidden agendas, no veiled threats.
When the night wound down, Harry surprised himself by asking, “Want to come back to mine?”
Emily didn’t hesitate.
His flat felt calmer with her there. They cooked a simple meal, sharing stories over quiet music. Harry’s usual racing thoughts slowed. For the first time in ages, he let himself breathe without flinching.
That night, he slept. Deeply.
For days afterward, the usual terror was absent. No messages, no ominous notes, no lurking shadows. Harry dared to think the nightmare might be fading.
A week later, the Sidemen came over, casual and loud as always.
Ethan raised an eyebrow, grinning. “So… who’s this Emily? We’ve gotta know.”
Simon chuckled. “Yeah, mate, you’ve been hiding this one well.”
Harry smiled faintly but kept quiet. He wasn’t ready to share everything—not yet.
Josh nudged him. “Come on, spill. Don’t leave us hanging.”
Harry's chest fluttered with warm, unfamiliar butterflies, just the thought of her making his head spin. “Not much to tell if I'm honest, I haven't heard from her all week”
The room buzzed with playful teasing, and Harry almost laughed. Almost.
Then Josh’s eyes caught something on the coffee table.
“Hey, what’s this?”
He picked up a plain cardboard box, sealed with rough tape. No markings. No hint of what was inside.
Tobi smirked. “Oooh, mystery girl, huh? This must be her welcome gift.”
The banter faded as all eyes fixed on the box.
Harry’s heart hammered. His fingers shook as he peeled back the tape, breath shallow.
Inside, resting on a bed of crumpled tissue, was a pale, severed head. The eyes stared blankly, glassy and unseeing.
Next to it lay a single red rose, petals still fresh and vibrant.
Harry’s gaze fell to the folded note beneath.
His hands trembled as he unfolded it.
How dare you.
The room fell deathly silent.
Every face went white.
Harry’s breath caught in his throat. The words confirmed his worst fear—it was her.
A sudden chill swept the room.
From the darkness near the window, a shadow stirred.
A figure pressed her bloodied hands against the glass, fingers splayed wide, red dripping slowly.
Her lips curved into a cruel smile as she whispered, barely audible but filled with menace, “You belong to me.”