Wayne Hopkins's Blog

I could never decide what to be for Halloween as a kid, and it didn’t get any easier as an adult either. For whatever reason, I could never settle with Dracula, Darth Vader, or Spider-Mannope, unfortunately I had to consider every single costume, try every mask, and ask for things that had nothing to do with my outfit. All of that just to end up being a generic zombie or an oddly specific type of ninja after one of my parents lost their temper and made me choose in a hurry.

That’s one of my earliest memories of Halloween, and truthfully, it’s a pleasant one despite all the indecision. It’s the later Halloween memories that are the problem. Those are the ones that encouraged me to stop celebrating it all together.

Honestly, I enjoyed avoiding the holiday while I could. During that period of my life the whole month of October was nothing but a preheat for thanksgiving dinner next month. I had distanced myself from Halloween completely then, and it really wasn’t until Shannon and Jack came into my life that I started accepting it again. And while I cherish and love them more than anything, I resent the fact that they brought Halloween back into my life.

So, now I do have to dress up at the tail end of the month, but at least I don’t have to choose what I’ll be. Shannon handles all that. Whether we’re taking the kids trick or treating, or staying in and handing out candy, she’s the one I’ll be matching with that night anyway.

That being said, I will NOT be going to any Halloween parties. That’s where I draw the line. I’ve only been to a handful in my lifetime, but that’s more than enough for me. I’d even go as far to say it’s too much. If I could go back, I’d skip a few of them, but when I write that, I’m actually just referring to one party in particular. It was the last one I ever went to, as well as the most bizarre by a large margin, and that’s me underselling it.

I was twenty-six at the time and famished for experience. High school and college were nothing but an education for me; meaning that I had little friends, and the friends I did have were just as exciting as I was. We never did much aside from play XBOX or have the occasional beer or two, which we never enjoyed but stomached anyway. And that wasn’t even in high school: That was my pique college experience.

So, it was only right I put myself out there once I graduated and moved away from Nebraska. In the new city I called home I started going to a few of the local bars in seek of friends and opportunity, and even though I hardly drank, and would, at times, be socially inept, it worked.

I met all kinds of people. They included me in conversations, we laughed and shared stories together as well as bought each other drinks, and women even flirted with me a few times. The only downside was that they were usually wasted and I typically wasn’t. It’d still be flattering each time, though. By that point, I only ever had one girlfriend, so any attention I received from women was nothing short of enthralling for me.

Which is probably the reason why I accepted the invitation so easily when she offered.

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I moved to Willoughby Louisiana at the beginning of the summer; June 30th to be specific, and by the fourth of July, I was well acquainted with the weekend bartenders at Normand’s. That was the bar I frequented at the most, and mainly because it felt the safest. On any given night they still pulled a decent crowd, but it was never a rowdy kind. Most of everyone I met was cool and laid back, and I spent a lot of nights hanging out with them, but I wouldn’t suggest that they knew me well as our interactions never left the bar. Almost none of them went to the party.

I remember the exact date that woman walked in, and I can also recall how I felt when she started walking towards me—or us. It was October 27th, and the room was half full at about twenty people. I was spaced out and gazing at the back of her head. The lights at the bar shined off her red hair, nearly making it look hot to the touch. She turned and looked my way, and right away I was struck with this fuzzy and tight feeling, like how I imagine it feels when you’re sinking in quicksand. I was unmistakenly stuck.

I’m not certain what made me think she was Irish—maybe it was her pale skin to go with her fiery hair, but I anticipated an accent when she spoke. There wasn’t any though, she was all American, it seemed, and a little older than me. The only particular quality of her voice was that she spoke, not speedily, but excitedly. It reminded me of the tone a server uses before taking your order.

She approached my drinking buddy and I just before leaving. Bill was about fifteen years my senior, fresh out a divorce, and had been in the military most of his adult life. He had these broad shoulders that suggested a youth of football, but when I knew him, he was fairly out of shape. I only add that part about his physical appearance because the first thing she did when she came over was lay a dainty hand on his thick shoulder.

He was drunker than I was, per usual, so he was nothing short of thrilled by her presence. The fact that she was touching him actually caused him to blush. For a moment he looked like a big pink baby with his bulbus face, bald head, blue eyes, and dimpled chin. After he managed to get ahold of himself, he offered to buy her a drink, and she gladly accepted. She then went on to tell us that her name was Mariah.

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She ordered something with pineapple, I know that for sure, but I guess that means nothing to you. It’s just a small detail I remember because Bill piggybacked of it and said something about pineapple, but he was rambling. And when I looked at her, I could tell she thought the same thing. She didn’t seem all that interested in what he was saying, it was more like she was just humoring it just so she could start talking whenever he finished. Her demeanor alone made me think that she approached us for more than just a drink.

We told her about ourselves just a little. Bill went on about being in the military, his failed marriage, and his early retirement he was looking forward to. Personally, I shared way less. All I told her was that I was new to the city and just graduated, but that wasn’t totally true. It had been a few years since I graduated. I just didn’t have anything else going on. But when it was her turn, all she told us was that she was in Willoughby visiting a friend, but he was busy at the moment.

And that’s how she transitioned into the party.

At first, she acted as if it had slipped her mind, and then she was suddenly eager. She exclaimed how it was so special that Halloween was on a Saturday that year, and we agreed, despite not having plans. Though, that was her next subject: Our plans.

We told her we weren’t doing anything that night, and that just kinda made her smile at us… And even then, it crossed my mind that it was the first time we were seeing her smile for real.

She went on to say that the same friend she was visiting was also throwing a “Top-tier” Halloween party just a few miles from where we were currently seated. And when Bill asked what made the party so “Top-tier”, she had a spiel of reasons.

“Oh, babe, so much! The location for one thing: It’s at Willoughby Willows. The house itself is a piece of art! It’s like something you’d see in Beverly Hills. Then there’s the open bars, the massive dance floor, catered corners, a hot tub, and just to sweeten the deal, there’ll be a ton of women! Myself included.” Mariah winked at Bill, then laughed it off.

“So, what’s the deal then?”

They both looked at me. “What?”

I should’ve resisted any jokes: Because I’m really not funny. “Oh, nothing. You just said ‘sweeten the deal’, and I was being dumb and said ‘what deal’… Never mind…” Still nervous, I kept blabbering. “Do we have to bring anything, though?”

“Actually, yes.” she grinned, then turned towards me. “You have to bring a costume.”

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As mentioned, it didn’t hurt that the invitation came from a woman, but that wasn’t what sold me. It wasn’t even the promise of free booze or social interaction either. If there was one thing that convinced me to come it was that the party was at Willoughby Willows. But I almost didn’t believe her at first.

During my brief time in Willoughby, I occasionally would pass and be impressed by this gated community in the northern part of town. It honestly looked more like a country club than a neighborhood—I wouldn’t be surprised if they had one on the property, though—and from the front gates, you could see an enormous pond that lay in between numerous lavish and large houses.

Of course, I never had a reason to be inside. The farthest I ever got before the party was parking my car at the gate just to take a peek at the other side. Needless to say, I was enticed to get a better look, so I accepted just as quick as Bill had.

He took it upon himself to drive us that night. Around nine he pulled up in his Jeep and I fought hard not to laugh at his costume when I saw it. He told me he was a barbarian, but something about his plastic-leather vest and the rest of his lazy medieval get-up paired with his round nose made him look like Shrek. I just barely chuckled at his vest, and left it at that.

But he didn’t leave my costume—or lack of one alone.

“So, who are you supposed to be? Dustin Hoffman Rain man?”

“Who? No. I just couldn’t find a costume in time.” Which was the God honest truth; I couldn’t.

“You wanna go pick up a mask or something? Stores probably still open. Businesses don’t give a damn about no Halloween, so we’re good there.”

“Nah, man. No thank you. I’ll be fine without one. To be honest, I figure with the open bar that most people will be too drunk to care about what I’m wearing anyway. But if anyone ask, I’ll just tell them I’m a wall-flower.”

 

The gates to Willoughby Willows were wide open when we arrived, and from the entrance we spotted a tiny security booth you were meant to stop by and check in with, but when we pulled through, no one was there. Beyond the booth was an incline that led to the first row of houses; each of them tall, clean, and either entirely white or built out of brick. Something that we both took note on was that there were no vehicles in sight: Just vast empty driveways that led up to double or even triple garage doors. Bill and I admired every single house on the way up, blown away by how wealthy they must’ve been. They were well off enough to have amble space, but still see their neighbors.

After a valet service took Bill’s keys and drove off with his jeep, we were left with nothing but about a dozen spotless white steps between us and the hefty black doors of the house. We walked up and Bill didn’t spare a second when it came to knocking. We waited for what felt like a minute or two, and oddly enough, we couldn’t hear a single sound as we stood there. It even vaguely crossed my mind that we had the wrong house, valet service aside, but when the doors flung open and music was thrown at us, I knew it was foolish to think so. And if I still had doubts, Mariah being the one who greeted us dispelled them.

Her costume was that of a skimpy prison guard. So, in other words, a two-piece uniform with a badge and cap. Behind her was a crowd of more than fifty people, all dressed up and the majority faceless under a mask or paint. And that was just the first room I was exposed to in this full-on mansion. Upon seeing the sheer size of the party, my face flushed and I quickly became anxious.

“Hey- Oh, hey!” She exclaimed, her tone becoming chipper upon recognition. “I was just wondering when you’d two show your faces! Please, come in and make yourselves at home. There’s so much to explore.”

We moved past her and instantly took in how accurate her statement was. I’d never been in a house of that size. I stood practically spinning in place until Mariah put a hand on my shoulder this time. Her tone was noticeably sour.

“Where’s your costume?”

“What’s up?” I pretended to not hear her, as if it made a difference.

“Where’s your costume?” she said clearly.

“I’m wearing it.” I half shrugged.

She winced, unamused. “What is it then?”

The nape of my neck became damp with sweat. Now my wall-flower answer didn’t seem so cute or funny. I was only wearing a light jacket, jeans, and tennis shoes. What was I supposed to tell her?

“He’s a party pooper, that’s what he is.” Bill cut in.

Her face took a second, but eventually lit up. “Oh, really? That’s so funny!” She cackled. “Is that really what you were going for or are you ju-”

Bill persisted. “Hey, Mariah, where’s your buddy? You said he was the one throwing this party, right? I gotta put eyes on this guy. His house is too much.”

She turned her attention onto him. “Stephen? I’m sure he’s around somewhere. He’s dressed up as the devil, so keep an eye out for him.”

She started to walk and talk with us after that, and while Bill led our part in conversation, I kept admiring the house. I just couldn’t get over how high the ceiling was. All I could think about was that if I had a ball of some sort, I doubted I could even hit it. Walking around that place felt more like walking in a state capital building rather than a home.

With each step, I took in more of the party. In the far-right corner of (what I assume was) the living room was spiral staircase with people lounging up and down it, but somehow it was big enough for people still to get by. Then near the staircase and in every other corner was a bar and a cartoonishly large cooler, serving drinks at anyone’s convenience. And on top of that, there were also food stations with all kinds of snacks.

“Where can I find this ole’ devil? How old is he?” Bill went on. “Please tell me he’s over fifty for my sake.”

“Oh, don’t rush, Willy boy. I’m positive you’ll meet him.”

“Hm, I better. I think he has some financial advice he could lend me. I mean, Christ. Look at this place.”

“She’s a real beaut, ain’t she?”

Wanting to be included, I tried my luck. “So, what does he do for work?” I ask.

“He barely does, if I’m being truthful. Or I suppose it’s just not work for him…Stephen works in fashion.”

“Fashion? That’s pretty incredible. What does he exac-”

“Why don’t you two just ask these questions yourself when you meet them? I know they’ll find you sometime. Just enjoy the party, Jace, and I’ll see you two later.”

Glass shattering nearby yanked my attention away. My head snapped to the source, and when I looked back, Mariah was gone. And when I say gone, I mean gone. I never saw her again. But I also didn’t look for her.

Not before too long I wasn’t looking for anything but the exit.

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As you know by now, I’d never been to such a giant party, let alone a Halloween one. Despite the size of the house, I was repeatedly unsettled by the sea of strangers, the harsh stench of liquor, and the few times someone made eye contact with me. And then there were the costumes.

They ranged from low to high effort, scary to skimpy, and mostly took inspiration from popular movies. There were a few Michael Myers’ walking around, as well as the SCREAM killer, and a TON of Jokers of various types—but only one Batman. Pin-up girls giggled in gaggles in every room, phony officers of many uniforms drank harshly all around, and most of the masked guests kept lifting their mask to drink, revealing a sweaty face almost every time.

It was easy to get hot if you were wandering around in the crowd, but fortunately it was easier to get a drink. As far as I saw, there wasn’t anyone without a cup or can in their hand, and by ten some of the drunker guests were bobbing for drink pouches in the cooler the same way children bob for apples. The party was in full force then, but looking back it, that was around the time I first noticed that the party was actually shrinking.

It’s also when I first caught them staring at me.

I was wall-flowering it up, trying to find the social skills needed to strike up conversation and sipping my second drink of the night. Bill wasn’t too far away; he had run off to the bathroom, but it wasn’t long after this when he disappeared completely. I’d been scoping out the party all night, not sure exactly who I was looking for, but I was still avoiding gazes when I found someone. But those were just glances—totally unlike how they were looking at me.

I really want to say they were a woman, but I have my doubts and I never asked. They were small, but in a boyish way, yet they had a very defined jaw and a long forehead. Their costume was simple. They were blacked out with a long black sleeve shirt, dark pants, and their brownish hair tied in a bun at the top of their head, but the defining trait, was their narrow face painted like a Jack-O-lantern. And by the way my heart seemed to sink when our gazes met, you would’ve thought that it was the most horrifying costume I’d ever seen.

They stared at me expressionlessly in the midst of the crowd, and I couldn’t help but stare back.

That being said, there wasn’t a single fiber of myself that suggested I approach. In fact. I did the opposite. I left their sight and the room they were in, already wanting to put it out of my mind.

After that I went searching for Bill, and I took quick note on how much easier it was to navigate through the party now. My initial thought was that people must’ve left, but for some reason, that was hard for me to accept. Besides the freak who was gawking, everyone seemed to be drunk and merry; why would they be leaving?

Within ten minutes or so I found Bill chatting with a freckled Dorothy from OZ. He was much drunker than the last time I saw him, but I didn’t think much of it. I should’ve though —it had only been fifteen minutes.

But even stranger than his swift intoxication? I could say the same for myself. I was feeling more and more drunk, which should’ve been concerning. I’d barely just finished my second Miller Light. I’d been told I was a lightweight before, but let’s be real: Two beers don’t do that. I wasn’t even taking shots.

Nevertheless, we stayed. We were having a good time, and we couldn’t just leave. Even though I had hardly talked to anyone, I was still giddy just to be there. It was exciting in the way that it felt like I was a part of something. Of course it was just a party, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that was I fulfilling something by just being there. That night I told myself it was exactly what I wanted, and that’s why I felt like that, but now I’m not so sure that’s what was happening…

We went to grab another drink at one of the many coolers and we started talking to a small group doing the same. It was one man and two women, and they were dressed up as Daphne, Velma, and Shaggy from Scooby-doo, but with a generational twist. They were using a 90s style.

Instead of Daphne’s original purple get-up with a skirt, this woman wore a purple Pearl Jam shirt with small jean shorts and a purple flannel tied around her waist. She also seemed to be Mexican or maybe Columbian or something similar, so instead of red hair, it was black with a hair band in Daphne’s favorite color in the middle.  Their Velma—also Latina—wore fishnets stockings and a brown skirt that actually resembled the real skirt the character has, but the orange sweater was low cut. Shaggy looked the same for the most part. He was just some white guy with long hair and a green shirt.

“So, you guys run into Stephen yet? Or did you already know him?” I asked Velma.

She winced at me. “Who’s Stephen? I don’t know him.”

“Oh. Apparently, he owns this house.”

“Huh? Funny.”

“Funny how?”

“Well, we were told a woman named Teresa owns it by the person who invited us. Maybe they’re married though, huh?”

“Yeah, maybe.” I said, then tried to keep it going. “Maybe she’s even a model. I was told that Stephen or whoever he is works in the fashion industry.”

“Fashion, huh? That’s weird. I don’t think that’s what we heard. We were told th-um.” She quietly started talking to herself, but then turned to Shaggy. “What did Alvin say Teresa did for a job?”

Shaggy shrugged. “He didn’t.”

I cut back in. “Alvin? Who’s he?”

“Bruh, I don’t got a clue.” They both laughed.

I laughed with them too, but anxiously. I thought I had said something stupid at first. “Sorry.” I couldn’t help but apologize to them.

“Whatcha sorry for?” Shaggy said.

“I don’t know, I’m confused. I didn’t know if I said something dumb…”

“Nah, bro. That ain’t it.” Shaggy sipped from his cup. “We was laughin’ because some random dude named Alvin invited us, but we got no clue who he is. He just randomly came up to us at the club and threw down this whole costume party on us. We only warmed up to the idea because he was buyin’ us shots all night.”

I listened intently, tickled by the similarities in our invitations. “Have you seen Alvin lately?”

“Yeah, just for a sec, though. He was the one who let us in, but then he dipped.”

 

After talking to two fifths of Mystery Inc., I ventured out by myself. but it wasn’t by choice. Truthfully, I would’ve preferred sticking with Bill, but when I turned back, both him and Daphne were gone. It was like they snuck off together, but that seemed super unlikely. I just assumed I’d run into him later, though.

That wasn’t the case.

The party continued to wane, and I continued to get more sluggish seemingly by the minute. I even ended up dumping my third beer to slow the process, but it felt too late. By eleven I was dragging along the wall and struggling to hold onto the simplest of thoughts. I started to wonder if I had been drugged, only to swiftly forget what I was just thinking about. I also began to grow faint as well, but that didn’t start until the person with the Jack-O-lantern face found me again.

This time they were looking down at me from the second level of the house, their fat head resting on folded arms and their glossy black eyes firmly locked on me in the middle of a decreasing crowd. I froze and stared back. Suddenly I felt light and my flesh was tingling. It was like I had just puffed the harshest cigarette and was riding a nicotine buzz as I swayed in place and gazed back. I wondered if I should approach, after all, but thought better about it. Actually, ‘thought better of it’ is just a masculine way to put what I really did.

I ran like I was being chased. All of a sudden I was struck with a fear so new, yet so natural that I ran.like.hell.

But within a few paces, I stopped. I had forgotten what I was running from. Just like that.

Out of it and even more tired now, I found a room that had a sectioned sofa and I sunk into it gratefully. I wasn’t alone in this random room, though, as a man who had a thin face was asleep on the other side of the sofa. He was dressed as a pirate, or somebody else with a white blouse, black vest, and a bandana.

Drunk as ever, I shut my eyes, and wondered why the party was getting smaller so early. It even seemed quieter then. Much quieter. By the sound of it, the party was less than a quarter of its original size. But where had they all gone? It wasn’t even midnight yet. 

I sat there unsure of it all besides the fact that sleep meant comfort. Crashing right there on that sofa seemed like the most natural thing to do. Like why wouldn’t I sleep in this wealthy stranger’s house? Within a few moments any music playing ceased, I started to feel extra warm, and then my gut bore the sensation like I was being lifted.

I snapped awake.

And next I jumped to my feet. I was dead certain I was just being carried away from the couch, but I was still there. My phone said not even two minutes had passed. And maybe it was how fast I got to my feet, or the brightness of my screen, but right then I felt sober. That’s when it hit me.

I needed to get out of there.

I walked away from the sofa and out of the room, but before I left, I glanced back at the sleepy pirate who was sleeping near me. Or where he would’ve been. He was missing now.

His departure distracted me as well concerned, but I needed to keep going. I couldn’t afford to think about anybody else. Especially not a stranger, but not even Bill.

But I stopped and pondered anyway when I saw I was alone. Just for a second, then I was on the move to the next room in seek for an exit. Only issue was that I was alone in that room, too. And the next, and so forth. The pirate wasn’t the only one who had left recently.

On the way out I kept taking wrong turns and ending up in black and freezer-like rooms with no light switch. Though, during my search for the door it felt like there was no right turn to take. After the fourth empty cold room, the front door felt like a fantasy, like it never existed to begin with. I nearly accepted that.

My body was so numb that a tight pinch would’ve gone unnoticed, and my face had this post-dentist feeling where my jaw just slightly hung and as a result I started to drool as I dragged down the hall.

You can only imagine how relieved I was when I finally found other people. It hardly mattered that they were all sleeping on the floor or on any available furniture. Music still played throughout the house, though, and songs echoed in the high ceiling and between the vacant halls, and not one of them stirred in its noise.

Instead of trying to wake them, I continued my search.

Feeling as if hours had gone by, the door still avoided me. I couldn’t find a single exit anywhere, not even the windows I’m certain I saw at the beginning of the night, but I did end up finding them again.

I turned the corner and the small stranger with the face of a carved pumpkin was already there staring. They stood at the end of the hall while I stood at the other, and I immediately wanted to retreat the second our eyes met.

This time they were dripping, as if they had gotten into the hot tub—that I never even saw—fully clothed and hadn’t bothered with a towel. Their make-up was even indicative of that as well. It was smeared down their face, now looking like a rotting pumpkin in the second week of November.

Fighting the urge to collapse, I spoke.

“Out.” Was all I could muster through the drool and lethargy.

And as if they were on my side, the pumpkin-person stepped aside. They gestured with one arm, signaling the way just right past them.

I drug forward, each step becoming harder than the last.

That nicotine-like buzz was back, too, and stronger than before. I vibrated more and more the closer I got to them.

I crossed them, not wanting to look into their stoic face, but something was urging me to. Something potent. It was their smell.

They smelt identically like pumpkin guts. I have zero doubt about it. I took one whiff and it was as if my head was in a freshly cut open pumpkin, and my stomach churned for some reason. But I fought to keep my eyes down, and I won.

The door was in sight as I stood parallel from them, and I felt I could jump through it at this point. My last bit of energy was enough to get me there, but I almost fainted when they spoke in my ear.

“Hurry and choose.” they said, using a voice that had too much bass for their size, and with a trail of vibration like they were speaking into a fan.

I threw the door open and tossed myself out.

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I couldn’t even finish out the year in Willoughby. Following the party, as in the moment I stepped outside, I instantly sobered. My energy came back, as well as the feeling in my face and body. It was as if being in the house was rocking me to sleep, and outside acted like a pitcher of ice water dumped over my head. I was suddenly awake, aware, and deeply confused.

I was moved out of my new apartment two weeks later, so it didn’t shock me that I didn’t run into Bill again before I left. It did, however, strike me curiously that no one else had seen him either. Everyone at Normand’s told me the same thing when I made my final visit. They all said he had likely been stationed elsewhere and assured me that was the nature of the military, and I accepted that easily. Probably because I wanted to.

It also became increasingly easy for me to buy any excuse because the farther Halloween became, the more I felt I was overreacting and embellishing. Even the next day I told myself that I was just too drunk. And if I wasn’t just drunk, then maybe I was allergic to something?

That’s only me rationalizing, though. But make no mistake about it, it all happened like I said it did.

But I haven’t said everything.

Here’s why I’m really writing this.

Since then, I’ve gotten married and started—and joined—a family. That’s where Shannon and Jack come in. They entered my life at the perfect time, and the last four years have been the most valuable days of my life. I’m beyond happy with the life they’ve given me.

And then you add our daughter, Nicole, to the mix. She’s two, and even though she’s only a toddler, she’s obsessed with Halloween.

That goes double for Jack, who is about to turn nine in December. As soon as September hit, he’s talked about very little besides getting a costume for trick or treating. Apparently, he saw a pop-up Halloween shop when him and Shannon were running errands, and he’s been begging both of us to take him. So, on a quiet and crisp chilly night when Shannon wanted some alone time, I obliged. I took the kids to the Halloween shop.

The store was nothing special; just your common pop-up Halloween store in a strip small, complete with decorations, accessories, and all the mask and costumes you’d want. Or most anyway.

It was special to Jack, though. He rejoiced as if we had just passed the gates into Disney World. He was everywhere all at once, pressing each TRY-ME button, looking at various window decor, and trying on almost every mask. One of our last stops in the shop was the costume section. The complete outfits, if you will.

That’s where I first saw it. She was on the first package I looked at.

I just barely recognized her.

On the cover of a packaged costume labeled, “Grunge Detective” was the woman who was dressed as Daphne at the party. She was wearing the exact same outfit she wore that night, but instead of a Pearl Jam shirt, it was just a purple T with a few holes.

There’s no doubt that I thought it was odd when I realized where I knew her from, but it didn’t exactly spook me yet. So she did some cheap Halloween costume modeling? So what? Nothing too unbelievable, right? Well, it would’ve been, had I not seen the ones right next to hers.

Their Shaggy and Velma were there just the same, but it wasn’t just their gang. It was everyone I remember seeing that night. The pirate on the sofa, the freckled Dororthy, all the drunk officers, pin-up girls, and even the famous slashers were posted as well, but as parody, knock-off versions.

And Bill was there, too.  

He was posted on the cover of one that read, “Medieval Brute.” At first glance he stood harmlessly holding a shrug with a smirk on his face and nothing more. It was just my older and former drinking pal doing some modeling on the surface, but when I looked deeper at the photo of a man who I didn’t know too well, but well enough, I could tell something was off.

It wasn’t just that his blue eyes were now black, it was how wide spread they were. It looked like someone had been keeping them open for him, but edited the hands out of the shot. On top of that, he also had lost all of his wrinkles. There wasn’t a single line in his face; as if he had been smoothed out like he was clay. His dimpled chin wasn’t even there anymore.

As I stood gazing at the costume, my daughter whimpered in my arms. I had been unintentionally squeezing her as I slipped into what felt like a trance. But her subtle whine was also what brought me out of it. For a solid minute or two I had been enduring the same sensations I had the night of the party; the numbness, the looseness, and the buzzing under my flesh.

Not wanting to worry Jack, I shook it off and put on a parental face. I don’t think he fully caught onto my moment of panic and I’m grateful for that. He and Nicole came home with nothing but smiles and their Halloween gear, which they both shared instantly with their mother.

Jack settled on The Hulk; mask and muscle padding included.

But Nicole came up with her own idea. One that made my skin spread cold and encouraged me to stare at her in a way that unsettled both of us.

Passing the face paint, she pointed and said, “Daddy, I wanna be Halloween pumpkin this year.”

Grant Wells lay staring at his apartment’s high ceiling, a paused movie to his left and the frozen frame illuminating the side of his face. At the moment he wanted nothing more than to resume the film and carry on with his night off, but there was just one issue. A small one, admittedly, but a reoccurring and irksome one all the same.

His upstairs neighbor was being too loud.

He’s only met the prick who lives above him just once, but that was more than enough. Andrew Rawlings was his name and if he wasn’t pacing around his apartment and driving Grant up the wall, he was yapping on his phone while he did his pacing. The guy was the definition of restless. And if you ever had the displeasure of meeting him, you’d see that he was just as inconsiderate as he was active.

Andrew was one of those pompous and judgmental dress shirt-and-tie-wearing sissies who typically had an earbud in with an on-going call coming through. Usually when he walked by someone, Andrew carried himself as if the person nearby didn’t exist, but at the same time, you knew he thought less of them. Grant had never learned what Andrew’s career was but it was obvious that his occupation defined him. Call it white collar or simply being business man; either way Grant thought he was a total douche.

The only reason Grant knew his name in the first place was from a simple mix up with their mail. One day he had found an envelope addressed to an Andrew Rawlings, and despite that it was placed in the incorrect mailbox, it had the correct apartment number listed. And as it turned out, it was the noisy bastard who lives directly above him.

Whenever Grant had made the trip to the sixth floor to return his mail, their meeting had been brief. But in spite of that, he still learned everything he needed to know about his upstairs neighbor. And what he had learned was that Andrew was as self-centered as the sun itself.

The skinny little twerp opened the door about a foot wide but hadn’t looked at Grant until he wrapped up the call in his ear. “Yeah?” he said, his eyelids low and his expression unamused.

“Andrew, right? I got some of your mail here by mistake. Just thought I’d drop-”

Just then Andrew reached for the envelope and snatched it from Grant’s light grip. “You were in my mailbox?”

“No? They accidently put your mail in my box. Why would I be in your ma-”

A second later the door was closed and Grant was left feeling like an idiot in the open hall. That was Grant’s one and only meeting with the pencil-neck and needle-dick Andrew Rawlings, and ever since then he’s thrown away any piece of mail of his that he’s received. But be that as it may, he still endured all the noise that comes from above. He’s had long nights of listening to Andrew’s steps, his conversations, his laughs, and his shouts, and Grant’s overlooked them all.

Until tonight that is.

To Andrew’s misfortune Grant had spent several hours at one of the bars downtown and currently he was drunk. He had been dropped off by an Uber around midnight and all he had wanted to do was eat some food, crawl into bed, and then fall asleep to Spider-man 3. He almost accomplished just that too. Once he made it inside, he drunkenly devoured nearly a pound of deli meat, plopped into bed, and put on the movie, but Andrew’s commotion had prevented him from falling asleep peacefully.

In fact, Grant was anything but peaceful at the moment. He had become furious with all the creaking and banging that fell to him. And each time he felt it was coming to an end, more came. It nearly sounded like there was an endless game of tag going on right above him.

Something had to be done.

And if not by him, then who else?

(2)

With a drunk fury brimming Grant abandoned his bed, put on his clothes and then stormed out of his apartment and to the staircase. He only had to go up two flights of stairs to reach his nuisance of a neighbor’s door, and when he got there, he wasn’t any less angry.

He balled his fist tightly and pounded on the door four times. Breathing heavily, he refused to second guess himself; allowing the liquor in his system to guide him. He eagerly waited for Andrew to swing the door open and when he did, Grant still had his fist tight.

A beat-red and cramped face appeared, glaring at Grant from the start. “What the hell is this? Are you out of your mind?”

“Me? What about you, jackass? The fuck do you think I’m doing here? You need to quiet down up here before you and I have a serious problem. People are trying to sleep, buddy.”

Andrew snorted. “What people? You’re the only one who has ever complained, buddy. Next time why don’t you put some headphones in, okay? Thanks, sport.” He then tried to slam the door, but Grant stopped it from shutting with one open hand.

“Hold up, what? Please tell me you’re playing with me right now. Are you really this much of an asshole?”

“Well, I guess I must be.” He tried his hardest to muscle the door shut against Grant’s hand. “Are you really that much of a fat ass that you’re winded from the stairs?”

 With the help of an insult Grant’s brimming rage was now boiling and overflowing. His jaw tensed and his eye brows lowered before he pushed Andrew’s door fully open. Once his apartment was exposed, Grant took one step towards him and spoke loudly.

“Go on, repeat that. I dare you! I’ll beat your scrawny ass right here and now!”

Grant had faith that he could do just that, too. He was easily the bigger man between the two, and not just by weight. His shoulders were much broader and Grant also had about three inches of height on him. When stepping up, he was almost surprised Andrew didn’t cower in some way. He still seemed as cocky as ever. He even took a step closer and looked Grant in his inebriated eyes before sending him over the edge.

“You won’t do a fucking thing, pussy. Go back home while you still can.” he said, then went for a full-on shove and successfully moved Grant back about half a foot.

He stumbled then steadied quickly, and out of pure instinct, Grant shoved back with full power.

Andrew went flying.

Suddenly his thin neighbor was off his feet and on the way to his back. Grant watched him fall to the ground in what seemed like slow motion. He saw the frightened look on his face on the way down, how he attempted to catch himself with flailing arms, and how one of his earbuds flew out once the back of his head struck the foyer table behind him.

His eyes were closed the second he hit the hardwood floor, and before he went completely limp his body twitched twice. Grant stayed put and watched, praying that the bastard would pop up and show further signs of life. He stayed in the same spot for an entire five minutes before he noticed the blood spread underneath Andrew’s head.

That’s when panic set in.

Out of memory of all the crime movies he’s seen Grant decided to wipe down everything he touched. But what had he touched anyway? Trembling with his heart racing he went out into the hall and took a glance around. Nothing out of the ordinary stood out, so he went back into Andrew’s and did a once over. He was beginning to believe that he hadn’t touched anything when he remembered how he stopped Andrew from shutting the door. Therefore, he took the belly of his shirt and wiped where his mitt of a hand had been.

But now what?

Could he just leave him? Calling the police was certainty out of the question. Sure, it had been an accident, but aggression was what had brought him to Andrew’s door and inside his apartment, and now he was dead. He didn’t need a police officer to figure out how it would end up for him if the law were involved.

Just go back home, he told himself as he tried his best not to hyperventilate. Close the door, wipe the handle, and then backtrack downstairs. He honestly couldn’t see why he couldn’t get away clean. No one had seen him tonight and fortunately for him, there were no cameras in the building. And even Andrew himself had mentioned that no one else has ever complained about the noise. So, what were the chances that anybody had heard them just a few minutes ago?

(3)

Sober and shivering, Grant rushed back downstairs and locked himself in his apartment. It was eerily silent inside now and he couldn’t resist being unsettled by it; a hint of irony that wasn’t lost on him. Refusing to suffer in silence, he finally resumed the movie that was meant to send him to sleep just twenty minutes ago.

For the next hour and a half, he did anxious laps around his apartment and nibbled his nails and bit any skin off the tips of his fingers. He dwelled over dozens of outcomes and each one made him sicker than the last. He spent a lot of time in the bathroom either nervously vomiting or showering to clean off the immense amount of sweat he had recently collected.

It wasn’t until after two a.m. when he realized that he needed to leave town.

Even without a destination or hideaway mapped out he began to pack feverishly. He easily filled up his only suitcase and after that he loaded up a hefty trash bag with essential items. About midway into packing his next bag Grant quit and decided that everything else should stay. He needed to travel light if he was going to successfully get away. He even started to wonder just how long he would have to hide out and then it dawned on him that it couldn’t be more than two weeks, tops. Any more time than that would completely drain his financials, but Grant was certain being arrested for murder would do the exact same.

By three-thirteen he was ready to go. His bags were packed and set by the door for him as soon as he finished obsessively cleaning the floor. He had cleaned the entire apartment as if the murder had taken place there instead. Besides packing and puking, it was the only thing that kept him together. But when he was near finished with the floor, a couple of stern knocks at the door shattered him.

He doubted he had even heard the knocks at first. Though no matter how hard he tried to lie to himself, Grant was absolutely petrified that someone was waiting for him just outside.

Three more knocks came.

Grant couldn’t lie to himself any longer. Someone was at the door, likely listening to any activity going on inside. Vaguely he pictured a bloody and twitching Andrew, his head leaking like a punctured milk jug while he leaned on the door for support. In Grant’s mind Andrew was holding a large knife in his left hand, eager to split his face in two the second he opened up.

Hesitant and gravely afraid, Grant Wells approached the door. His palms were slick with perspiration and when he made it there, tears had to be cleared from his eyes to see through the peephole.

A police officer stood on the other side of the door.

Grant backed off quietly, but with his ears full of the sound of his adrenalized heart. He was done for. Why else would a cop be here? Andrew’s body must’ve been found already. Maybe he had been expecting company and th-

Oh god, he thought, what if he was still on a call when it happened? What if someone had heard the entire thing? Within seconds Grant was certain that was the case. Whoever Andrew had been talking to via his Bluetooth must’ve put two and two together and called the police. Of course that’s what happened! Suddenly he was lightheaded as he regretted every choice that led him here. Why didn’t you leave sooner? He begged out of himself. Why did you even confront him in the first place?

More knocks came, startling Grant as he contemplated his next move. He looked to a nearby window and weighed his options. There was no fire escape; only a five story drop to the pavement. Which, considering the circumstances, didn’t sound so bad. But what if the officer heard him fumble with the window and the screen? Would he bust in and apprehend him before he could even jump?

Rather than knocking for a fourth time, the cop outside spoke through the door. “Lansing Police. Open up, please.”

Grant froze and gazed at the door. Strange, the officer hadn’t sounded impatient or urgent. He had spoke as if it was routine visit and he didn’t even want to be here; his tone was calm and nonimportant. Almost like it was a request rather than a demand. Definitely wasn’t the type of voice you heard from a cop trying to catch a killer.

Taking a chance, Grant approached the door once more and unlocked it. He then opened it modestly and briefly looked at the cop. The officer hadn’t looked pleased, but nor did he look angry with Grant. He seemed indifferent and mainly bored. He stuck his hand out after a moment.

“Officer McCane.”

Grant stared at his hand for a solid five seconds before shaking it with his own clammy grip. “Grant Wells.” He tried to keep his nerves at bay.

“Grant? Nice to meet you. I apologize for coming over here so late at night, but I’m afraid that we’ve received some noise complaints regarding this apartment.”

His mouth involuntarily fell agape. “A noise complaint?”

“Yes sir. So, if you could just keep it down for your neighbors, I’m sure they’d greatly appreciate it.”

Even though the sky was devoid of the moon, the piling snow caused the night to glow. Natalie Fields found herself watching it fall from the comfort of her living room, and was reveling in every part of the scene. She fully believed that when its chill couldn’t reach you, the frosty season was just as serene as spring or early summer. Though, when your vulnerable to winter’s wrath, it’s singlehandedly the worst thing known to man; a seasonal curse.

Thanks to Natalie’s new home, she could fully enjoy the holiday season again, but just a little over two months ago, she dreaded the declining temperature passionately. In her mind, she was still going to be stuck at the dump she used to call home and suffer with its inadequate heating.

Actually, that may be kind of harsh. Sure, the former residence lacked proper heat and was as drafty as a castle, but it had been her home for a good five years. And it had been fairly cheap, too. If her previous landlord had just taken the time and money to repair the heating, she might’ve even stayed.

But say she did stay: then Natalie would’ve missed out on her new modest home with all its quirks and perks. It wasn’t much bigger than her last place, but that was fine by her. She didn’t want more space than necessary. After all, it was just her, and she was committed to staying single while living on Sycamore CT. Honestly a basement, attic, garage, or walk in closet was of no use to her. All she needed was the basics; a kitchen, one bathroom, one bedroom, and a living room. Paired with the quality central heating, it was practically her dream home.

That isn’t to say that the new house didn’t have its issues though.

It wasn’t anything she couldn’t overlook, but for one thing, the kitchen sink leaked a tad bit. Each time she tended to the dishes the tile floor would be wet by the time she finished. Of course, Natalie countered this by just mopping every time, but it still has developed into a daunting task.

Her second compliant was one that was justified each time it was presented to her. Similar to most homes over forty years old, it creaked and groaned throughout the night. She heard some of the commotion in the day as well, but it was at night when it seemed loudest. It kept her up at first, and even spooked her a little. At times it seemed like she had company within her walls by the sounds that echoed out of the vents; other times she was sure her house was haunted. She heard shuffling, snapping, scratching, and air rushing all night, but ultimately Natalie perceived it as a small price to pay for such good heating. In fact, that’s what Google had told her as well: it was only the hardworking heat. 

As far as complaints go, that was pretty much the gist of it. Nothing to get overly excited or fret about. It was clear that when weighing out the pros and cons of the house, the positives dominated the negatives every time. The heat alone might’ve been the decision maker for her, but there were a few other perks as well. For example, Natalie was over the moon when she saw all the furniture and learned it was hers to use.

There had to be around two-thousand dollars of furniture in the house when she moved in. The leather couch was generous enough, but grouped with the loveseat, washer and dryer, and the immense bookshelf, it was a blessing. And her new landlord knew that. He was an older man, and an immigrant from the middle east, but he sympathized with the youth of America. His name was Mr. Dogan, and Natalie instantly felt comfortable around him. He was a little goofy, but in the same way a grandparent or an eccentric teacher would be, and not to mention, just as sweet. He said that he realized that kids have more of an up-hill battle today with the prices of everything and that it was utterly unfair to expect them to live the lives that their parents had. And Natalie obviously couldn’t agree more.

She was completely elated when Dogan informed her of the furniture she would get to use, even though Natalie knew that she would never even touch the bookshelf. She wasn’t much of a reader (not since her Percy Jackson days anyway) but luckily the shelf already had plenty of books to hold. Mostly encyclopedias, world maps, children’s books, and religious texts like the Bible.

By the time she decided to check the mail, there was about five inches of snow on the ground. Avoiding putting on real shoes, she slipped on her fuzzy slippers and snatched her jacket from the back of the couch. Once she stepped outside, Natalie immediately regretted her choice of footwear. Snow quickly found its way inside her shoes and underneath her bare feet.

“Jesus!” she yelped, speedwalking to the mailbox and indenting the snow with every step.

She reached the mailbox and swiftly retrieved anything that lay inside. And then on the way back in, Natalie hauled balls.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit.” She chanted while more and more snow made contact with the flesh of her feet.

When she made it back inside, Natalie urgently kicked off her snowy pajama-like shoes, and within a minute, a small puddle formed from her home’s warmth. Her toes were still cold, so she found a nearby vent and placed them on top. While Natalie regained feeling in her feet, she took a look at the mail she had so bravely fetched.

There were four pieces in total; one being a catalog of coupons for fast food, and the other three being sealed plain envelopes. However, only one of them belonged to her. The other two belonged to Aimme Herrera, and upon reading the unknown woman’s name, Natalie was reminded of another compliant she had about her new home.

It was a small one, microscopic even, but it still got on her nerves now and then. Like the moment she presently stood in for instance. Natalie hated that she had just braved the cold and snow to fetch a stranger’s mail. And the worst part about it was that they’ll never even read them; it’ll just be stacked with the rest.

The post office hadn’t been of much help when she brought the issue up to them. They quickly dismissed her concerns by saying, ‘Frankly, ma’am, this happens to almost everyone. What happens is that a certain resident will move out, or even pass away, and big companies, or even just regular folks won’t realize it. So, they just keep churning out mail because they have set mailing lists and whatnot. Chances are this Aimme didn’t even open these pieces of mail you’re receiving when she lived there either.”

And then whenever Natalie asked what she was expected to do with all the stranger’s mail, the unconcerned post-woman said, ‘Just toss em.’

But that didn’t feel right to Natalie. What if someone had thrown away her mail and she really needed it? How would she feel in Aimme’s shoes? Therefore, she let the former resident’s mail stack on the foyer by the door while she spent weeks searching for Aimme Herrera online. The mail only continued to come and pile up on the foyer, day by day, sometimes a handful of mail at a time. She knew it wasn’t going to stop anytime soon either. Natalie accepted that about a week ago, and once she left the vent, she placed Aimme’s mail with the rest.

***

Natalie abruptly popped upright in bed, shallowly breathing and her chest slick with sweat. Her mouth was dry and tasted biter. She looked to her nightstand for a cure, but found nothing useful. She must’ve not brought any water with her to bed tonight. Only her phone and a few miscellaneous health items like pill bottles and two different types of Chapstick sat bedside.

That meant she would have to go out to the kitchen, whether she liked it or not. Her throat was drying out quickly after her mouth and a painful cough was ensuing. She threw her blankets back then swung her feet off the bed. Then, the second she made contact with the carpeted floor, she asked herself why she had woken up. Was it from her mouth drying out, or something else? It wasn’t totally unlike her to wake up randomly, but this felt different. Not only was her throat feeling rough, but she now had a peculiar sense of urgency. As if something had legitimately disturbed her peace and plucked her out of sleep.

Ignoring her own question because she didn’t have the answer, Natalie stood and went to her bedroom door. She had just barely grabbed ahold of the door knob when she heard it. A pair of feet had raced past her door. Suddenly terrified and wide awake, she jumped back and drew closer to the bed.

Frozen, she anticipated another sound. Natalie could feel her face start to blotch with heat as she pictured the intruder on the other side of the door. In her mind it was a desperate burglar, but just because he was merely a thief didn’t mean he wouldn’t hurt her if she appeared. Hence why she stayed put in her dark room and attempted to stay as silent as possible.

But her throat was still dry, as well as beginning to itch.

She tried to clear her throat gently, even putting both her palms across her mouth to snuff it further. The itch endured though; it wouldn’t be dismissed so easily. Natalie knew her body was begging her to full on cough.

So, she did, but not from by her own will. Involuntarily, a sharp and painful cough escaped her lips, and immediately after, more sounds of quick feet rushed by her room yet again. Then, a sudden and loud skiiirrrt blared and caused Natalie to slip out a small scream.

She felt like screaming more, but resisted. She bit her tongue and prayed the intruder wasn’t heading to her room. Best case scenario they were fleeing from the sound of her cough. And after a minute or two, it seemed likely. All was quiet in the house. Apparently, they didn’t want any trouble just as much as she didn’t. But had she heard them actually leave?

The fear surging through her body had made her sweat double. Her face was soaked from chin to scalp, but it wasn’t until she wiped her eyes that she realized she was also crying. Natalie put a hand on the doorknob once more, praying that the intruder had left. She turned it clockwise and had just started to pull when another startling sound forced her the close the door again.

Skiiirrrt!

Stepping back even further, Natalie almost cried o-

Skiiirrrt!

Panicked and afraid for her life, she retreated back into bed and pulled the sheets over herself. Before cowering underneath all her pillows and blankets, she sought out her phone. A part of her was baffled that she hadn’t used it sooner, but she knew it was because it had happened so fast. Now that she had a handle on what was happening, Natalie quietly called the police.

Somebody responded within ten minutes of the call and came knocking at her front door while she still sat shivering affright in her bed. Natalie dreaded leaving her room, even if the cops were just right outside. Though when she did leave, nothing was out of place. As far as she could tell, they hadn’t taken a single thing, nor was there any other sign that they were ever there.

The lone officer who came to her rescue gave law enforcement a good name. Upon meeting Natalie, Officer Reynolds catered to her instantly and not for a second did he doubt her story or dismiss her concerns. He seemed genuinely concerned for her wellbeing, which both unsettled and comforted her at the same time. She liked that she wasn’t being treated like a hysteric woman, but seeing the cop treat her situation as if she had just barely escaped death, or worse, had freaked her out. How close was she to being hurt? Did this sort of thing happen a lot in this neighborhood?

“Do calls like this come through often?” Natalie asked on the officer’s way out.

“Well, no actually. Not throughout the city, that is, but I can’t say the same for around these parts.”

“What do you mean by that? Is it not safe here?”

“It’s not that I think it’s unsafe.” Reynolds replied. “But I don’t know if I should elaborate any further.”

“What? You can’t just say stuff like that and not explain!” she pleaded.

“I feel like this is a conversation you should have with your landlord, ma’am. I don’t want to be ruining anyone’s business now.”

“The hell with that! What about my safety?”

“All right, all right, I’ll tell you what I know.” He attempted to calm Natalie. “I don’t know that much about it, but the old woman who used to live here had called several times reporting a break-in. She always swore somebody was walking around her house when she was sleeping.”

“You’re joking.” she tried not to sound scared, but nearly gasped.

“Nothing ever happened though. I promise. I’m pretty certain that she just moved away is all.”

Natalie let a lull pass in conversation while she stomached the unnerving insight of her new home. Her eyes fell to the floor in search of a response, and she found it underneath the foyer table. One of Aimme’s pieces of mail had fallen.

“Was her name Aimme?”

Officer Reynolds squished his face in thought. After clicking his tongue, he seemed disappointed to tell her, “No, I don’t believe it was…”

***

One week removed from her close call with the intruder, Natalie came home dog-tired, empty-bellied, and aggravated from work. Working in retail during the holiday season was actual hell, and could give railroad work a run for its money. But then again, Natalie had never worked on the railroad, so maybe that wasn’t fair for her to think. She did, however, know that railroad workers had never been screamed at for feces being on the wall of a public bathroom before. Natalie had definitely been in that position herself though, and each time they yelled at her as if she were the one who violated the bathroom, when in fact, it was more likely that it was the indignant customer who had the ‘accident’.

Fortunately, that shit was over with. At least for tonight anyway. Tomorrow was a different story, but she took comfort in the fact that she had more than twelve hours until she’d have to be back in. Now it was time to eat and sleep with very little in between.

The majority of the snow had melted the day before, so she didn’t worry about dragging in a wet mess when coming inside. Natalie kept her shoes on all night, but finally took them off when she was committed to going to sleep. Once her feet were free from her shoes, she sighed with relief and crawled into bed. Minutes later, she lay there, digesting her late dinner and scrolling on her phone with a tired gaze.

Now, Natalie didn’t own a therapeutic mattress, but at the moment, she swore she could feel herself sinking in little by little. Soon enough, only my nose will be visible if the bed continues to swallow me, she thought and grinned. Her eyes fluttered and her breathing was calm, her chest rising and falling subtly. Not embracing it wasn’t an option, and it wasn’t long until she was seconds away from sleep.

But then she thought she heard footsteps in the hall.

Alarmed, Natalie pulled herself up and tried to put her ear on the other side of the bedroom. She couldn’t hear anything now. The steps had vanished just as quickly as they appeared. Only the hissing of her hardworking heat filled the air. Natalie waited and waited until she felt like she had imagined it.

There were never any steps. Quickly she accepted the idea that what she just heard was only her sleepy subconscious. Which seemed likely, given how much the intruder had been on her mind lately. She hated that someone—assumingly a man—had crept around her house while she lay asleep. It made her feel unsafe, scared, and overall, a little neurotic.

Confident that the commotion she heard was imaginary, Natalie loudly spoke up. “Hello?”

No indication of company came.

“Is there anybody out there? I’m calling the police!”

But she was only bluffing this time. There wasn’t anybody out there, she was sure of it. And now that she truly felt alone, Natalie could continue her route to sleep.

She flipped her pillow cool-side up then threw her head in the center. The cool silk of her pillowcase contrasted nicely with the warmth of the bed, and before she knew it, Natalie was twitching. Usually when sleep was within grasp, her legs slightly kicked, and knowing that, she reached for it. And she would have grasped it if it hadn’t been for the chatter in her pillow.

The God-honest truth was that she wanted to ignore it. To just play it off as her brain activating sleep mode after a long and busy day. Something that could be boiled down to overthinking, and wasn’t actually transpiring in her house. But Natalie knew she couldn’t allow herself to be so oblivious. She was already way too paranoid.

For the second time tonight, she aborted sleep and picked her head up. The faint voices were still to be found. It resembled T.V chatter, or maybe from a radio; but both at a low volume. While listening, she could even hear a melody at times. In her exhausted head, it sounded as if her house was humming its favorite tune.

Bravely, Natalie raced out of her room. She hadn’t put much thought into her plan if someone had been out here to meet her, but even if she had, it would’ve been useless.

Nothing out of the ordinary revealed itself. And the vague voices had ceased on top of it.

Mystified as well as irritated, she stomped to her front door. There wasn’t a single sign of activity outside the panel window, but she still opened the door and took a gander.

Nothing but her empty street.

A part of her said she were losing it. What was she expecting to see? Somebody holding a radio on their shoulders like some 80s cliché? Or maybe something more practical like a car with a loud sound-system driving by?

But none of that was there. It was only herself and her worrisome thoughts about not being as alone as she expected. Natalie didn’t slam her door shut, but she wanted to. Instead, she locked her door aggressively and as tightly as possible, then she finally went to sleep.

***

Early on in the week, a notable snow storm was put into the forecast. It was said to begin on the evening of December 22nd and continue until the afternoon of December 23rd. Altogether they were looking at about eight to ten inches with moments of high winds and dangerously low temperatures.

Natalie made sure to collect all the mail the morning before the storm. Lucky for her, she had the day off from work, but even if she had been scheduled, Natalie likely would’ve called in. She didn’t want any part of the oncoming snow, and not only was she annoyed with it already, she was also determined to avoid it all cost. Hence why she was retrieving the mail now rather than later. She had learned her lesson last time; her house shoes were damp for days after.

Today’s mail was no different from all the weeks before; only a quarter of the mail actually belonged to her and the rest was addressed to Aimme. Honestly, Natalie wasn’t even sure why she checked the mail anymore to begin with. Even the mail she did receive was useless. More than half the time, the important stuff came via email these days. Aside from her insurance holder and her dentist, Natalie couldn’t remember the last time she received a piece of mail that wasn’t a package or junk mail.

Aimme Herrera had clearly never boarded the email train though. Apparently, she still received her mail the old fashion way. Well, she wasn’t actually receiving it, Natalie thought. She’s never going to sort through the thick stack of mail on the foyer, despite that every single one was addressed to her. Likewise, she also wouldn’t read a word written inside any of them. Which, at times, made Natalie feel like she was doing something wrong. She only hoped that whatever lay inside, wasn’t of importance.

Resisting any more troublesome ideas around the stranger’s mail, she put today’s load with the rest and picked up any envelopes that had fallen to the floor. It seemed like every time she opened her front door that Aimme’s pile would tumble. Whether she was going in or out, Natalie knew she’d be picking up the mail from underneath most of the furniture; but that’s just what happens when you have over fifty envelopes stacked precariously next to the door. At this point, she was doing it to herself. Why haven’t I just put a rubber band or hair tie around them, she wondered?

Or better yet, why not just throw them all away? What’s the difference?

But Natalie couldn’t bring herself to do it. No matter how much she might enjoy the clear foyer space if the mail was tossed, she couldn’t throw them away. The best she could do was put them in a bag and store them in a closet. Maybe she’ll do that tonight; it sort of fit into her agenda anyhow.

Tonight, Natalie wanted to deep clean her house. She hadn’t felt right since the break in. It wasn’t that it just felt unsafe, it felt dirty. A part of her felt like the intruder’s presence lingered; almost like a bad stench would. In fact, sometimes she even thought she could smell him.

Him.

Why had she put a gender to the intruder? Was it because the mental image of a stranger is always a man? Could be. It was hard for her to picture a woman breaking into her house, but she supposed that it could’ve been. There wasn’t any indication that told her otherwise.

While Natalie didn’t live in filth and kept a tidy home as it was, she insisted on thoroughly cleaning for her night off. It had been her plan since a few days prior when she was shopping and had bought the supplies. She even picked up a bottle of red wine to entice the process. Once it was uncorked, her night began and she hopped to it with a glass in her hand.

First, she wiped down counter tops and tables, and then dusted the ceiling fan and the large vent that inhale air. Next, she started to sweep the hardwood floors. Though, before she mopped, Natalie put in her head phones and proceeded to clean with the encouragement of music. After that she vacuumed her room and between couch cushions, cleaned her fridge, scrubbed her oven, and lastly, found a bag for Aimme’s mail.

By the time she found the tawdry backpack her ex-boyfriend had left behind, Natalie was fairly drunk, but let’s just call it intensely tipsy. She wasn’t stumbling around, nor was her head spinning, but she did feel a little light on her feet as well as care-free and confident. That’s probably the reason she decided to put away Aimme’s mail in the first place.

Why did it take me so long to do this? she criticized herself. Natalie supposed that she just wanted to be prepared if Aimme came to collect someday. Before, she could’ve handed the mail right over with it being right next to the door. But what’s the difference between that, and fetching a bag with all the mail in it? It didn’t need to be spilling all over the foyer for it to be convenient for Aimme, whoever she is. Natalie never found her online, and the cop did mention that she was an older woman, so maybe she wasn’t in any condition to check her own mail anyway. The woman could be blind, sick, or even dead.

So why treat her mail so preciously? She asked. Put that bag away and just toss them in the trash. No one is looking for them.

Natalie considered this. Her drunken thoughts were leading her to a reasonable conclusion. Who gives a shit about this woman’s mail? She’s probably too old to care, or else someone would’ve come by now. Chances are that she lived on Sycamore for years. There was even a chance that she had died here.

No one is coming, she told herself, then made a decision.  

She scooped up all of Aimme’s mail with both arms. Then she carried them to the kitchen, used her foot to lift the lid, and then toss every piece of mail inside. Once it was packed down, the once near empty trash bag was almost full.

She felt better already.

And the foyer table looked great! Now the only trouble was finding what to put there. She didn’t have a clue what that’d be, but maybe that was ideal. Maybe it was supposed to be a clear space, she thought. It could be a place for keys, wallets, hats, and such. Just as long as it wasn’t a sloppy stack full of stranger’s mail, she’d be happy.

Having put all her energy into scrubbing down the house and drinking four glasses of wine, Natalie suddenly felt spent and ready to sleep. She poured the rest of her final glass out, then went to freshen up in her restroom before she called it a night.

Laying in her clean bed in her clean home with her now clean body, Natalie dove right into sleep. Mesmerized by how quickly she was slipping, she figured she must’ve needed it. It was no doubt from the stress of work, as well as the newfound stress from home. Speaking of which, had she remembered to lock the door tonight?

Of course, it’s locked, she answered, just barely awake. It’s been locked all night.

And she was right. It had been locked ever since she checked the mail. There was no chance of a clean break-in tonight. Someone would have to break a window to get in, and if that happened, she would surely hear it. Any intruder would have to have some tricks up his sleeve if he wanted to get it without a single peep. For the first time in weeks, Natalie was completely at ease in her home.

All of a sudden, Natalie was awake in the middle of the night. As far as she knew, there had been no ruckus to jolt her out of sleep. It seemed as if she was awake without a cause, and that annoyed her tremendously. She blamed the wine, and had been smart to do so.

Natalie had to pee.

Before she left the warmth of her bed, Natalie wanted to take note of the time. She uncovered her phone from underneath her pillow and sought out the time, her eyes wincing from the screen’s brightness. Though half-asleep, she was taken aback from the time. It was just barely past midnight, Natalie had only been asleep for an hour, tops.

Irritated by the fact she had been woken up by her bladder in the first place, she chucked her blankets back and dragged herself to the door. Before opening it, she half-assed looked for her house shoes, but they were nowhere to be seen. She assumed they were in the kitchen when they didn’t turn up.

Natalie left her bedroom and admired the dim environment of her home in the still of the night. If it weren’t for her mini-Christmas tree, plug-in febreze’s, and stove light, her house would’ve been densely black. She was thankful for them at moments like these; too much light would’ve been too much for her sleepy eyes.

After she finished up in the bathroom, she detoured to the kitchen in search of slippers. She surveyed the tiled floor and came up with nothing but admiration for her own mopping skills, and a single envelope that must’ve fallen from her grasp when throwing them away. She bent down and picked it up, nearly grinning at the strange persistence of the inanimate object.

For the first time since she’s lived on Sycamore, Natalie thought about taking a look inside Aimme’s mail.

Was it a generic, impersonal business letter?

Perhaps a thank you letter?

Or could it be letter from a friend? How about a pin pal?

Screw it, she decided, and out of sheer impulse, she tore open the envelope.

A single piece of notebook paper lay inside, and at the sight of it, Natalie’s body tensed. She pictured a handwritten letter, something sweet and very personal. The idea of somebody tearing out a page from a notebook, writing down a thoughtful message, and then mailing it, only to have it thrown away made Natalie feel like a bitch.

And she could have sworn that’s how she was going to feel from then on out. But that changed when Natalie read it.

There was a disclaimer written on the fold in bulky letters. “DO NOT DISCARD. READING IS CRUCIAL.”

Sweating already, she opened the folds and began to read the letter.

“Dear current resident,

I’m writing this to the young lady who lives at 2210 Sycamore Ct as of December 13th, 2023. I can only hope this finds you as I don’t know your name and only know your address. I know there isn’t an Aimme that lives there. The only reason I used that name is because I figured he wouldn’t touch it. That is also why I kept my name off as well. I have limited reach where I currently live, but I know the Sycamore address by heart. I used to live there no less than two years ago before my old age took my independence.

It would be wise to brace yourself for the message I’m trying to convey. This is going to come off as strange, freighting, and disturbing, but it’s true, and you need to alert the authorities and/or flee immediately. Despite my mind being faulty and no one believing me, I know I’m right. I remember all the signs, but it wasn’t until recently when it clicked for me.

I suspect that you’ve experienced break-ins and invasions just like I had, but never have seen the intruder. I also know they never steal anything, or cause noticeable damage. You lock your doors tight every night and assumingly have even considered buying a security system, but it won’t do you any good. No one is breaking in, because they don’t need to. You simply don’t live alone in that house.

Dogan lives below you in a hidden tiny basement. The bookshelf in the living room covers a door, and when he feels it’s safe enough, he leaves his space. I don’t know what he does upstairs, but he only does it when you’re asleep. He knows your every move, and it isn’t unrealistic to think he can see you, too.

If by some miracle you receive this, please do not second guess the information I have given you. Help yourself and leave before he discovers I’ve written this to you.”   

Her stomach was tight and her mouth full of saliva as she swallowed what she had read. She felt legitimately petrified, she knew she was shaking. Natalie reflected over every noise she had ever heard in the house and wondered if Dogan had been responsible for them. She reread the letter again and again until it made sense, but it never did. She had so many questions.

Was this lady writing to her out of her mind?

Or had she been honest and insightful?

And if she was telling the truth, that opened a world of possibilities.

Was Dogan dangerous? Had he seen her sleeping? Were there Cameras somewhere? Had he heard her the same way she heard him?

Could he see he-

Skiiiirrrt!

And at that obnoxious sound, the same one she had heard more than once, she realized what it was. Shuddering as if the heat in the house was nonexistent, she crept down the hall and peeked around the corner into the living room.

The bookshelf was moved, the left side of it pushed ahead. It resembled a thick door and an abyss was below. Natalie refused to get closer and look inside. Instead, she twirled around and watched her back, because all she was concerned with was where Dogan was now.

From Paradise Productions. Directed by Wayne Hopkins.

Whenever I try to recall the weather of the night before my accident, I can remember it being nearly perfect outside. I had been knocked out in my boyfriend’s bed all morning and the majority of the day, but once I got up then stepped outside, I instantly grew excited for the night… As if I was going to do something other than take an absurd amount of Xanax and completely black out for hours. But, of course, that’s exactly what I had in mind.

 The spring and summer of that year was nothing short of vague. I can only recall certain scenes and images of what really went on those days. In my head, it comes to me more like a movie I had seen but can’t really remember the plot of. This was the peak of my addiction or ‘binge’ and my summer days were all melted together in the same pot. And as time goes by, the more solid it becomes, making those days harder to separate from each other.

 Although, following the crash, my lack of memory halted that early morning in June. From that point on, I can remember everything. Especially the time I spent under the bridge and in the creek. And of course, the most memorable part, him.

Him, I could never forget. Despite how they justify it or what they suggest really happened, I know it happened like this.

***

Straight out of Dillton High I went to Butler University the next fall. Butler was a good fit for me, it wasn’t too close to Dillton but it was still in Indiana. It gave me some nice breathing room from home and the freedom of that was a massive draw for me from the start. Though, besides the freedom, older boys, and the parties, I did enjoy college so far. Back then, I was a smaller, prettier, and unscarred girl and everyone seemed to want me there. Plus, school was never really that challenging to me as I did well at keeping my grades on point. Today, I still can’t believe I sacrificed all of that for a boy when I took a year off school.

 I had made that choice when I had fallen in “love” with Hunter. He was my age; I knew him the whole time growing up and I can say I always had a thing for him, but he didn’t really develop feelings for me until I had come back the summer of my sophomore year. We spent that whole summer together and when it became time to return to school in the fall, I did not want to leave him. He didn’t tell me to stay, nor did he tell me to go; he was just so indifferent about it; about everything really. For some stupid, naive reason, I loved that about him.

 So, I spent the year with him, all the way to next summer that is. My parents were furious with me at the start, mostly about school but they also didn’t trust Hunter much. That didn’t stop me though, and they knew it wouldn’t and, in the end, they let me make my own decisions. That whole year I stayed at his house almost every night. He didn’t have his own place like I make it out to be though. Hunter lived with his dad, and Mr. Taylor just didn’t care what his son did, no matter how irresponsible his actions were.

 The particular night in which I’m writing about, we had a plan to hang out with two friends who were bringing Xanax gummies over. Justin and Marcus were actually his friends to be truthful. Marcus was really funny, and I did like him; Justin, on the other hand, was annoying and extremely flirty but really, he was border line rapey. He always got under my skin𑁋or I mean, he would have liked to𑁋by calling me Riley on purpose. I’m positive he knew my name was Kylee but that was just one of the small things he did that made me dislike him even more.

 His friends came over around seven or so with the gummies. The gummies were these little green blocks no bigger than a fruit snack, but Marcus mentioned one cube was the equivalent to three bars of Xanax.

I took two. It’s what I felt was necessary to get the high I desired. Around February is when I started taking Xanax and from that point to this point, they began to have less and less effect on me. The pills are all I had access to before then and the word was that gummies were “double dipped,” so they were obviously stronger. They were more bitter going down, but Hunter told me to suck on them like he was. If I would have known that bitter and chewy cube was going to be my downfall, I would have never given myself the chance to taste it.

***

Fatigued or weak seems like a narrow way to put the effects of Xanax into words. Lethargy is absolutely one of the side effects, but I wouldn’t say that it’s from weakness or that it’s the only result. Based off my experiences, I would say the lazy side of the high comes from feeling heavy. A weight is dropped onto the person and it stations them, yet, at the same time, a different weight is lifted mentally. All their concerns and anxieties flee, leaving them cool with anything and everything that’s going on. That’s what I would call, the first shade of the high.

 Then, after a certain amount is taken, they look more like someone on their way out of this world. Pale in complexion and jaw loosely hanging open, sometimes even with their tongue out and their eyes practically closed. Looking from the outside, you would think that they’re asleep and more than half the time, you’d be correct. Fighting a Xanax induced sleep is like staying dry at a waterpark. They might not get totally soaked, and the person on Xanax might stay awake for a little while, but inevitably, they will be splashed just like how the one on Xanax will find themselves with their eyes closed and unconscious.

 Marcus was the first one I saw asleep, I think. Hunter could have been out before him though. If I had been focusing on him and not Family Guy on the TV, I might have been able to keep Hunter awake. Maybe Marcus too. Honestly, anybody but Justin would have been perfect.

 I noticed Justin awake and looking at me after I had checked my phones time and messages. It was only 10:30ish and my mom had texted me to say goodnight and that she loved me𑁋since every night I was never home for her to tell me in person, she usually did𑁋and I saw I had three messages from an unknown number. They said, “whatss upp” with a drooling emoji.

It was Justin texting me from no more than three feet away.

 I don’t know how long I stayed inside once I realized, but I must have felt just as uneasy with him staring as I do now because I ended up outside sitting on some lawn chair in Hunter’s back yard looking up at the stars. The night really was strangely gorgeous, that always stuck with me. Not before too long, Justin came out as well and with his own chair, the kind you place on the beach and tan in. He slugged over to me and placed his chair uncomfortably close, and nearly fell in it when he sat down.

 What Justin said to me while we were outside, I don’t have a clue. For as long as I’ve known him, I never really cared what he was saying whether I was sober or high. So, it doesn’t really shock me that I can’t make out anything he said that night. What I do remember from our exchange is precisely what made me get in my car and drive off.

 Drunkenly, he called my name.

 “Kyleeee” was just like how he said it, with an emphasis on the e in my name. Although surprised he didn’t say Riley, I still ignored him and kept looking at anyway but his direction.

 He laughed his stupid high pitch hyena laugh even with Xanax dragging him down. I wanted to get up as soon as he got out there, but I was so sluggish myself. Though, no substance could have kept me outside with Justin after his next move.

 “Ky!” he shouted in the form of a whisper. I couldn’t stand that he used that name so casually. That was a nickname reserved only by loved ones and I was frankly offended he even tried to use it. That’s when I snapped back and saw it hanging out of his pants.

 He had pulled his tiny dick out of his shorts and was playing with it right next to me. “Do ya wanna touch it?” the fucking creep asked me.

 I bolted from my chair, flipping it on its back and went back inside. If I was out there a second longer, I was going to scream the neighborhood awake. Immediately, I wanted to tell Hunter what had happened but he was still in the same position I left him in. Harshly, I shook him and slapped his back while calling his name, but he was out for the night, most likely the day too from the amount he took.

 Then I heard the back door open again; Justin was coming back inside.

I looked at Marcus and back at Hunter. They weren’t waking up for anything, I was sure of that. Without much planning, I grabbed my car keys off the table and sloppily ran out the front door before Justin returned to the living room to see me.

***

When someone says they blacked out on Xanax, it’s no exaggeration. It’s as if an auto pilot mode is switched on and the cock pit becomes vacant. The pilot will return eventually, but sometimes when they do come back, they’re somewhere else, maybe somewhere off track. The blackout may be merely minutes, or it could be hours with only brief moments of awareness in between.

 Right when I got into my car, after frantically leaving Hunters, I went black.

Only for a few minutes though, and when I regained a better consciousness, I was on the outskirts of Dillton. To be specific, I was on Jones St. and just a little away from my parents. My auto pilot or subconscious must have known that.

I was all too familiar with Jones St, even as drugged up as I was. I drove on it every day during high school, avoiding the highway because Jones St. was more relaxed with only a forty-five-mph speed limit. The isolated road itself was a straight shot out or into town with farmlands, rich neighborhoods, and old trees on each side of it.

 With my head dangerously close to the wheel of my Monte Carlo, I finally gathered that I was only eight miles from my parents. Regardless, those eight miles could have been eighty miles, I was a Xaned out mess. I shouldn’t have been driving. My posture at the wheel was hunched and awful, I was pretty much leaning on it. Keeping my eyes open was as challenging as keeping them open in water and when they were open, the road wouldn’t hold their attention like my phone was. Music was blaring loud, and my driver side window was down all in effort to keep me awake.

 The summer night air rushing in through my driver side window felt excellent while I was flying down Jones. My speed was constant eagerly driving at sixty mph and I was edging closer to safety by the second.

 Before I knew it, I was approaching Hiker Creek within a mile. Now turned ironic, every Easter with occasion in the summer, my cousins and I would make the three mile walk to Hiker to play in the creeks water. At the pinnacle of spring, it always held flowing water but, in the summer, it usually had little water or none at all. I looked forward to walking down to Hiker every year as a kid. However, as all of us grew older, they didn’t come out this way as much, and when they did, the creek wasn’t mentioned and like them, I quit going myself. And before my car tore through the steel guard rail on the bridge above the creek, I hadn’t been there in seven years.

 There was a song playing, and I didn’t like it or just at that moment I didn’t. I grabbed my phone in attempted to change the song. I can’t remember if the wheel jerked out of my hand or if I had them on it in the first place. My Monte Carlo pulled to the right, and I heard a loud crash, then suddenly, I had the feeling as if I was on a roller coaster hurling down the track at top speed.

Seconds before my life changed not only painfully but spiritually, I looked toward the back of my car on the way down because something was telling me I wasn’t alone. But I saw no one, and then nothing but black once I hit Hiker Creek.

***

As soon as I woke up, before my eyes even had the chance to see my surroundings, I believed I was safe. I thought I made it to my parents’ house after all and I was curled up in the bed I left that summer. I wasn’t that fortunate though. 

 The music I had been playing at an unreasonable volume was dead and gone, replaced only by a ticking and hissing from my now upside down and totaled engine. My hair had been in a loose bun all night but once I came to, my hair was down and dangling to the roof of my car. As my eyes looked toward my hair, I was hit with a massive light headed feeling and my face felt warm and numb. I looked to my rearview mirror and there were veins bulging in my forehead. They were thick and chock full of blood, feeling more like roots than veins.

  Moving my arms from their hanging position gave me major discomfort. I tried to unstrap myself, but it was as if I was physically restrained from putting my hands near my lap. I ended up being able to put my hands at the top of the wheel, It’s the farthest I could get them, and I hoped maybe that would make the blood even back out.

 I was scared and confused, it took me quite some time to recall how I got there but once I was struck with the realization of my crash, I began to sob upside down. Despite that it was remarkable I had my seatbelt on and that I hadn’t been smashed by my own car, I was still convinced death was waiting around the corner for me.

 But other than the uncomfortable feeling my arms gave me from hanging above my head this whole time, I felt no other pain or agony. I wasn’t bleeding from anywhere I could see. No scratches, gashes, or any place I could feel a potential bruise coming. I was fine, I was alive, but I didn’t feel I should be. Especially with no damage like how it appeared. The car from the inside looked fine too. None of the interior had been smashed in and the rolled-up windows were still intact without a crack on any of them.

 My driver side window was still down from when I was driving, and I could see all the healthy grass and weeds that my car was so close to smashing. From what the night allowed to be seen, the creek looked the same as it did every summer: dry with short weeds and grass covering the creek.

 Outside seemed way later than when I was on the way over. Granted that it was already late when I crashed, but it seemed near black out now. I decided then I must have been unconscious for a few hours.

 Although the time was irrelevant to me, I couldn’t have known even if I wanted to. My car was dead and not able to display the time and my phone was missing. Way later, the police would bring me my iPhone in the hospital. They said it was yards away from where my car landed and my mother gasped, “Oh my god, no wonder you couldn’t call for help!” I just nodded toward her in an agreeing fashion but truthfully, I doubt if I would have ever used my phone if I did have it.

***

During those isolated and uncomfortable hours, I strongly believed it was too late for me. No one ever used Jones at this time of night𑁋except for drunk or drugged up drivers obviously𑁋and by the time they would use the road, I figured I’d be dead by then. Plus, I was far too embarrassed and ashamed of being caught there in the first place and what got me there exactly.

 Only three times did I cry out for help since I claimed myself be hopeless. When I cried out the first time, I thought hope was approaching.

A series of twigs snapped underneath what I assumed to be human feet. It sounded amazingly close to me, so I focused in.

Then I heard more.

Grass crunching with more twigs snapping but at a slow rate, like they were looking out for their steps or creeping up. 

 Right…left…right…left.

 I took the opportunity just in case.

 “Hello? Hey!” I yelped.

 Praying it was a person and not just a nocturnal animal, I anticipated that their slow creep would speed up to the car. Discouragingly, no one made a reply and the steps I was hearing stopped for a moment.

 “Help me?” I whined.

 Suddenly the steps returned, but much different from before, now they weren’t stepping, they were loudly stomping at the same slow pace.

 RIGHT…LEFT…RIGHT…LEFT

 Stomps that sounded like they were produced by a fictional giant filled the creek that morning. Closing in on my upside-down car with me trapped in, I held my breath on accident but felt the desire to scream. I recall thinking, Is that you, Death? Coming up on me?

 I was struck with a case of odd luck because right when the steps were coming as close as they could before getting to me, blackness came upon me one more time.

***

Before my final black out, I assumed I was never going to see the light of day again. Thankfully, it was the first thing that stuck out to me when I woke up. The green in the grass was becoming more apparent, I could now see the cracks in the dry dirt between patches of weeds and the uplifting sun had also encouraged the birds to form their choir for the day.

 Everything else was still in order though, and by in order I mean I was still hanging upside down in my flipped car under a bridge. Through the sun and birds, I felt relieved, even if it was just a little tease of the day. It was hard for me to fathom I had made it to dawn alive. The heavy steps I had heard earlier had assured me I wasn’t long for this life, but seeing the world brighten before my eyes when it was once appearing black, gave me hope.

 My arms were back to dangling and were completely numb by this point. There wasn’t a possibility of me swinging my arms to one side let alone put my hands back on the wheel. Crying had crossed my mind again, but as noted, the rising sun was giving me strength or at least that’s what it felt like.

 People would start driving on Jones soon, I figured. I did have my doubts though; the bridge over Hiker was pretty small, the creek only stretched like sixteen feet wide. My own hope was someone seeing the rip in the bridges side guard or maybe even see my car if they bothered to look out by the bridge.

 While practically praying for it to be over with, a soft sound made me jolt and snatched my attention. Sticks were being broken underneath what could be human feet. It sounded just as nearby as earlier in the morning but normal sounding and not yet menacing. I awaited to hear further steps to be taken in my direction and when I did, I was hesitant and afraid.

What was I going to do if it was the same thing I heard before I blacked out? Just trying to get me to speak up so it can reveal its true beastly self and devour me?

 Right…left…right…

 “Hello?” a man spoke. 

My heart, while still upside down with the rest of my body, jumped into my shoes when I heard his voice for the first time.

 “Yes! Hello!” I screamed. “I’m in here! I don’t seem to be hurt but I’ve been in here all night! Can you please get me out or call somebody!”

 Abnormally, there was no reply at first. Then he chimed back in like he had forgot he was even talking to someone.

“Oh, ha-ha, yeah. I can help you. What’s your name, honey?”

 “Kylee Richter.”

 Again, there was a long pause in our conversation.

 “Hello?” I called back.

 The silence dragged on and by the time he did speak back, I was close to thinking I was imagining his voice being there.

 He actually returned with a laugh prior to talking.

 “Yeah, I’m here, Ky. Don’t worry.”

 It went right over my head then but I’m certain I’m quoting him accurately. The man outside the car saying my family\friend nickname gave me the feeling I knew him, or maybe he knew my family, which wasn’t impossible if he was from the area. It was even kind of likely he did know me if that was the case.

 His voice was friendly and had a touch of the country in it, he definitely sounded like anybody else from Dillton. The whole Midwest tone and slang was hard to detach yourself from if you grew up here and its easy as hell to hear it in somebody’s voice. In the car, I couldn’t decipher his age, but he wasn’t too assertive like most grown men around Indiana like to be, he was more suggestive and supportive sounding.

 “You say you’re not banged up in there? You must be one lucky gal then, considering I’ve seen multiple bodies pulled out of wrecks in comfier positions than your car is in.”

 “I don’t feel so lucky right now but I’m glad I’m alive. Have you called someone? Or could you get me out of here? I’ve been like this for so long I can’t feel my arms!”

 Another lull in conversation came from the man. Every time he did so I would get annoyed passed my limits. I didn’t even bother calling out this time and I just waited for him to make his next move. I also thought he could be calling someone at any moment he wasn’t speaking to me.

 Waiting, I noticed the sun was starting to spread faster and brighter than before. From what I could see of the sky in my bent side mirrors, it was becoming blue and there were very few clouds. I predicted it to be a hot day with a small breeze. The day was assured to be absolutely beautiful from how I pictured it. I remember somewhat bargaining with God that if I got to live past that day, and continued on to have another chance at a different sunny day, I would never take drugs again. And as one could tell, I did get the day I asked for plus more, and I also kept my end of the bargain too.

 During my admiring of the incoming day light, a foot dressed in a brown sandal stepped directly in my view. The shoe was Velcro strapped to an ordinary sized male foot but longer toenails than most.

 “I’m comin’ in there to unstrap you and getcha’ out myself, all right? Try and get ready for me,” he said while I tried to look up at his face, but was only able to see his foot.

 On board with anything at this point, I agreed and anticipated my rescue.

***

Dillton, not unlike other small towns, has a tight community. Gas stations, grocery stores, and school events are constantly attended by mutual friends and even some family. It’s truly difficult to not be recognized if a native goes into town. Everybody notices everybody, at least once. With that being said, when I got to see the man who pulled me out of my totaled car at five in the morning under a local bridge, I knew right off the bat I had never seen him a day in my life beforehand. 

 He looked to be the age of retirement, or he was just sneaking up on it. Not a large man by any means, though he was taller than me and stood with great posture that displayed some sort of confidence. His voice also sounded sure of himself but when looking at him while he spoke, it was the type of confidence that could be mistaken for charm.

“You sure you feel okay?” he said to me once I got to my feet, looking directly into my eyes.

 His were a dusty green that assumingly were much brighter and clearer in his youth. Not to say he was brittle or a walking antique, because he didn’t really come off that way. He seemed active in his everyday life and possibly even worked out to some degree. All in all, he gave off a look that he was in pretty good shape for his age.

  To go with the sandals, he had khaki shorts on, and a vibrant red short sleeved shirt buttoned all the way to the top of his chest. The outfit was clean, lacking wrinkles, stains or tears in the clothing and it was complete by a grey John Deere hat that looked just as old as me.

 I didn’t say much when he first spoke to me once I got out of the car. Not only was I checking the man out, but I was still so downright astounded I was alive and even more amazed by the fact that like my car, there wasn’t really any glaring damage on me. The feeling in my arms took a while to recover but it did before I started being more social toward him.

 “Thank you so much for being here and getting me out. I honestly thought I was done for,” I praised him as he circled my dead car.

Starting to become something like a signature around this time, he chuckled before replying to me.  “Oh, no problem, dear. It was on my way.”

 That made me smile. “What’s your name anyway?”

He replied swiftly but not with an answer to my question, but with his own. “Did you grow up here?”

 “In Dillton?”

 “In America.”

 It was as if I didn’t comprehend his question.

In America? Clearly, I had. I didn’t look like I could be from anywhere else as far as I knew, and I surely didn’t have a foreign accent. The only thing I could think to do from his bizarre question was to stay silent while he looked for his answer.

 “Never mind. We have to get you out of here, girl!”

 I nodded back to him and assumed he meant by the ambulance or police that were on their way. Police potentially arriving did scare me though since they would probably have to investigate why I crashed, but after it was all said and done, I faced no sort of legal trouble for my actions.

 Watching my surroundings brighten from the sun, I thought I would be hearing the sirens at any second. Although, they never blared, we sat there with only the frogs and crickets cussing while he evaluated my car and occasionally turned his head to smile at me.

 “Alright, let’s get goin’.”

 Entirely bewildered, I looked up at him with curious eyes. “What do you mean?”

 “I’m going to get you out of here, just follow me.”

  “Wait, wait, where are you taking me?”

 “Well don’t make it sound like I’m kidnapping you now.” He smiled. His voice was still so calm and strangely persuasive, he talked so matter-of-fact like. As if he did this kind of thing often.

 “I don’t know if I should. I don’t understand wh-”

 “Hey, kid, just trust me, and everything will be perfectly perfect again, okay? This is a hell of an accident you got yourself in and you’re in shock, I get it. But just follow me and I’ll work everything out.”

 I had no clue what he was talking about, or where he wanted me to go but I was beginning to trust him for unknown reasons. So, I followed him as he led the way down Hiker Creek.

***

Mr. Noname didn’t speak while he led the way, but he did stroll with a soft whistle. When I first heard the tune, it didn’t sound familiar to me, though now I can’t get it out of my head. The song gave off a tone that was dreamy and subtly melancholic like most old rock n roll songs from the 50s. Sometimes when I’m spacing out or just relaxing, I’ll catch myself whistling it the way he did.

 The sun was becoming more obvious than ever, shining beams of its light in between trees on the right side of Hiker, but not much of its shine got through. The creek was similar to how I remembered with its cool and generous shade. I could still feel the warmth coming in even with the shade, but it was just enough for it to be soothing. Despite the circumstances, it was sort of nice for a moment to take a hike down memory creek.

 As the night transformed into the morning, the more I started thinking for myself, the shock was fading.

What the hell am I doing? I asked myself. I have no idea who this is.

 He did save me though. I was out of the car because of him, and I was extremely appreciative about that. But where was he taking me?

 I bit my tongue on that question, even though I was becoming more resistant the further we traveled down the creek.

 On the walk, I hardly saw any water or puddles, but the weeds seemed to have no issue growing in its absence. All kinds of them covered the dirt in patches and some were tall enough to poke up my legs𑁋 or worse, what my legs lead up to. Small athletic shorts weren’t the best choice of outfit for my journey but then again, it was an accident that started it all.

 As much as the weeds were awful to walk through, they weren’t everywhere and every once in a while, there would be nothing bothering or touching my legs at all.

 I should have spoken up then.

 Eventually, we came across a large part of the creek covered with these huge and leafless bushes. Instead of being puffy with bright green color, they were just branches coated with black thorns that looked like decaying teeth from a small shark. I have never seen any plant like it. Most plants symbolize life or love in one way or another but the plants that were ahead of me, looked to symbolize death or pain.

I couldn’t believe my eyes when Noname started to walk right into it. And crazier than that, I couldn’t help but follow.

 Instantly they punctured my legs and arms, no matter how much I tried to maneuver around the thorns. Him on the other hand, his pace didn’t stutter. He kept his head up and his whistling still blowing.

 My patience faded and was long gone. “Hey, where are we going, dude? Is this really necessary?”

 He didn’t even stop whistling. That did it for me and I know that for others reading this, it’ll be a no brainer, but I finally realized that none of this made any sense.

 “Alright, fuck this.” I stopped about a quarter of the way into the field. Noname kept going forward.

 “Hello? Are you fucking with me? Where are you trying to take me?” I was beyond frustrated, confused, and scared while I spoke this, and I just wanted to be done with it and out of the creek for good.

 It was like I wasn’t there with him. He didn’t give me the smallest signal to figure if he was listening or not. So, I took matters into my own hands, and turned around.

That got his attention, and he evidently didn’t take my abandonment well.

 “Where do ya think you’re goin’?” he said, but in a tone beyond different from before. Now, he sounded angry, and his voice was starting to get raspy as if he suddenly developed a sore throat. “Ky, it would be best for you to come with me. So, keep walking. Right fucking now, girl!” he yelled.

“No,” I confidently said to him once I turned to him again. “I’m not going with you anymore! We’ve been walking for at least a mile and you haven’t said anything to me about where we are going, what the plan is, or even your name!” I turned back around. “Thanks for getting me out of the car. I’m going back to the road now so I can flag someone down. Goodbye.”

 A wild sharp pain came upon my entire right leg. I looked down and right before I saw them squeeze, I saw that the thorns were constricting up my right leg like pythons with an agenda.

 In no time it spread to my other leg and wrist to stop me from swinging my arms. Thick amounts of blood leaked from where the thorns stabbed me and louder than I ever did in the car, I bellowed.

My screams were high pitched, powerful, and as genuine as could be. When I think about the worst pain I’ve ever experienced, I still think of those thorns and when I think about the most scared that I’ve ever been, I don’t think about when I woke up trapped in a flipped car. No, every time that fear is brought into my head, I think of how Noname looked when I looked back up, and how he looked at me.

Looking like his skin was melting or sticking to his bones, his face began to resemble a skeleton with only a wax paper thin layer of skin on him. He looked at me and he smiled without showing his teeth, but I could still see them through his skin. His green eyes were swelling as well, and there were large dark bags under his eyes, the kind someone would get from lack of sleep or taking a downer drug like opium or Xanax.

 “You can’t go anywhere but with me,” he said in a voice much raspier than before. His hat fell off when he stepped toward me in the sea of thorns and some dark hair that was underneath shed off with it. The top of his bald head was bumpy or spiky, and as if he still had a head of hair, he ran his hand over the top of it. His fingernails were now long like his toe nails.

He got face to face with me, put his index fingernail to my chin and pointed my head up to his.

 “Listen to me and make no mistake, whore. You belong to me now. The life you lived and the world you inhabited have expired.” His smile returned but this time he showed teeth, broken, dirty, and unhuman like.

 “Your heart, your mind, your cunt, and your soul are all my possessions now, for I am your destination and fate, and you have arrived.” He went in as if he were going to kiss me and I had no choice but to watch him get closer. So, I closed my eyes.

 Suddenly, another voice spoke to me, but it sounded above, and it was a woman’s voice. “Hey! Are you awake down there? Help is on the way!”

 I opened my eyes to see I was in my car again. Upside down once more with my arms and hair dangling. Everything wasn’t the same as before though, the sun was completely out and there was glass and blood everywhere. My car𑁋even from the inside𑁋looked demolished. Was I bleeding? Yes, and a lot. My nose, my eyebrows, and my lip all had gashes but there was still a lot more blood to be accounted for; it couldn’t have all came from my face. Finally, I heard the sirens coming and I whined with them then passed out.

***

No question that I wasn’t quite as unharmed as I once believed. It turns out I suffered four shattered thoracic vertebrae in my back that night and the surgery was just a little over six hours. I still consider myself lucky to be alive and the doctors, EMTs, and my family considered that as well.

 My therapist, Dr. Langoria, told me it would be good for me to talk about my accident to others. ‘To release myself from that creek,’ he says. Like a big slap in the face though, no one listens to my story. They don’t buy it for one second. I can tell by their faces when I start talking about the footsteps growing huge or when I bring up Noname.

Although, they don’t tell me I’m wrong, they just suggest the following, “The Xanax was making you have bizarre stressed induced dreams.” Or “When you broke your back, you went into so much shock that you made up a dream or fantasy in your head to escape the pain while still being trapped.”

 Bullshit. He was there, I remember him vividly and when I go out into town, I’m afraid I’ll run into him sometimes. The version I had first seen of him, not the second. I don’t miss him or anything, but I guess I just want to be assured it wasn’t just my imagination like the doctors or my parents say.

 But it really doesn’t matter what they say, because I know the truth. I don’t know how I ended back in the car, but I know I got out before they got me out.

And when I look down to my wrist or my ankles and admire the scars the thorns left, it gives me closure.

Whenever I try to recall the weather of the night before my accident, I can remember it being nearly perfect outside. I had been knocked out in my boyfriend’s bed all morning and the majority of the day, but once I got up then stepped outside, I instantly grew excited for the night… As if I was going to something other than take an absurd amount of Xanax and completely black out for hours. But, of course, that’s exactly what I had in mind.

 The spring and summer of that year was nothing short of vague. I can only recall certain scenes and images of what really went on those days. In my head, it comes to me more like a movie I had seen but can’t really remember the plot of. This was the peak of my addiction or ‘binge’ and my summer days were all melted together in the same pot. And as time goes by, the more solid it becomes, making those days harder to separate from each other.

 Although, following the crash, my lack of memory halted that early morning in June. From that point on, I can remember everything. Especially the time I spent under the bridge and in the creek. And of course, the most memorable part, him.

Him, I could never forget. Despite how they justify it or what they suggest really happened, I know it happened like this.

***

Straight out of Dillton High I went to Butler University the next fall. Butler was a good fit for me, it wasn’t too close to Dillton but it was still in Indiana. It gave me some nice breathing room from home and the freedom of that was a massive draw for me from the start. Though, besides the freedom, older boys, and the parties, I did enjoy college so far. Back then, I was a smaller, prettier, and unscarred girl and everyone seemed to want me there. Plus, school was never really that challenging to me as I did well at keeping my grades on point. Today, I still can’t believe I sacrificed all of that for a boy when I took a year off school.

 I had made that choice when I had fallen in “love” with Hunter. He was my age; I knew him the whole time growing up and I can say I always had a thing for him, but he didn’t really develop feelings for me until I had come back the summer of my sophomore year. We spent that whole summer together and when it became time to return to school in the fall, I did not want to leave him. He didn’t tell me to stay, nor did he tell me to go; he was just so indifferent about it; about everything really. For some stupid, naive reason, I loved that about him.

 So, I spent the year with him, all the way to next summer that is. My parents were furious with me at the start, mostly about school but they also didn’t trust Hunter much. That didn’t stop me though, and they knew it wouldn’t and, in the end, they let me make my own decisions. That whole year I stayed at his house almost every night. He didn’t have his own place like I make it out to be though. Hunter lived with his dad, and Mr. Taylor just didn’t care what his son did, no matter how irresponsible his actions were.

 The particular night in which I’m writing about, we had a plan to hang out with two friends who were bringing Xanax gummies over. Justin and Marcus were actually his friends to be truthful. Marcus was really funny, and I did like him; Justin, on the other hand, was annoying and extremely flirty but really, he was border line rapey. He always got under my skin𑁋or I mean, he would have liked to𑁋by calling me Riley on purpose. I’m positive he knew my name was Kylee but that was just one of the small things he did that made me dislike him even more.

 His friends came over around seven or so with the gummies. The gummies were these little green blocks no bigger than a fruit snack, but Marcus mentioned one cube was the equivalent to three bars of Xanax.

I took two. It’s what I felt was necessary to get the high I desired. Around February is when I started taking Xanax and from that point to this point, they began to have less and less effect on me. The pills are all I had access to before then and the word was that gummies were “double dipped,” so they were obviously stronger. They were more bitter going down, but Hunter told me to suck on them like he was. If I would have known that bitter and chewy cube was going to be my downfall, I would have never given myself the chance to taste it.

***

Fatigued or weak seems like a narrow way to put the effects of Xanax into words. Lethargy is absolutely one of the side effects, but I wouldn’t say that it’s from weakness or that it’s the only result. Based off my experiences, I would say the lazy side of the high comes from feeling heavy. A weight is dropped onto the person and it stations them, yet, at the same time, a different weight is lifted mentally. All their concerns and anxieties flee, leaving them cool with anything and everything that’s going on. That’s what I would call, the first shade of the high.

 Then, after a certain amount is taken, they look more like someone on their way out of this world. Pale in complexion and jaw loosely hanging open, sometimes even with their tongue out and their eyes practically closed. Looking from the outside, you would think that they’re asleep and more than half the time, you’d be correct. Fighting a Xanax induced sleep is like staying dry at a waterpark. They might not get totally soaked, and the person on Xanax might stay awake for a little while, but inevitably, they will be splashed just like how the one on Xanax will find themselves with their eyes closed and unconscious.

 Marcus was the first one I saw asleep, I think. Hunter could have been out before him though. If I had been focusing on him and not Family Guy on the TV, I might have been able to keep Hunter awake. Maybe Marcus too. Honestly, anybody but Justin would have been perfect.

 I noticed Justin awake and looking at me after I had checked my phones time and messages. It was only 10:30ish and my mom had texted me to say goodnight and that she loved me𑁋since every night I was never home for her to tell me in person, she usually did𑁋and I saw I had three messages from an unknown number. They said, “whatss upp” with a drooling emoji.

It was Justin texting me from no more than three feet away.

 I don’t know how long I stayed inside once I realized, but I must have felt just as uneasy with him staring as I do now because I ended up outside sitting on some lawn chair in Hunter’s back yard looking up at the stars. The night really was strangely gorgeous, that always stuck with me. Not before too long, Justin came out as well and with his own chair, the kind you place on the beach and tan in. He slugged over to me and placed his chair uncomfortably close, and nearly fell in it when he sat down.

 What Justin said to me while we were outside, I don’t have a clue. For as long as I’ve known him, I never really cared what he was saying whether I was sober or high. So, it doesn’t really shock me that I can’t make out anything he said that night. What I do remember from our exchange is precisely what made me get in my car and drive off.

 Drunkenly, he called my name.

 “Kyleeee” was just like how he said it, with an emphasis on the e in my name. Although surprised he didn’t say Riley, I still ignored him and kept looking at anyway but his direction.

 He laughed his stupid high pitch hyena laugh even with Xanax dragging him down. I wanted to get up as soon as he got out there, but I was so sluggish myself. Though, no substance could have kept me outside with Justin after his next move.

 “Ky!” he shouted in the form of a whisper. I couldn’t stand that he used that name so casually. That was a nickname reserved only by loved ones and I was frankly offended he even tried to use it. That’s when I snapped back and saw it hanging out of his pants.

 He had pulled his tiny dick out of his shorts and was playing with it right next to me. “Do ya wanna touch it?” the fucking creep asked me.

 I bolted from my chair, flipping it on its back and went back inside. If I was out there a second longer, I was going to scream the neighborhood awake. Immediately, I wanted to tell Hunter what had happened but he was still in the same position I left him in. Harshly, I shook him and slapped his back while calling his name, but he was out for the night, most likely the day too from the amount he took.

 Then I heard the back door open again; Justin was coming back inside.

I looked at Marcus and back at Hunter. They weren’t waking up for anything, I was sure of that. Without much planning, I grabbed my car keys off the table and sloppily ran out the front door before Justin returned to the living room to see me.

***

When someone says they blacked out on Xanax, it’s no exaggeration. It’s as if an auto pilot mode is switched on and the cock pit becomes vacant. The pilot will return eventually, but sometimes when they do come back, they’re somewhere else, maybe somewhere off track. The blackout may be merely minutes, or it could be hours with only brief moments of awareness in between.

 Right when I got into my car, after frantically leaving Hunters, I went black.

Only for a few minutes though, and when I regained a better consciousness, I was on the outskirts of Dillton. To be specific, I was on Jones St. and just a little away from my parents. My auto pilot or subconscious must have known that.

I was all too familiar with Jones St, even as drugged up as I was. I drove on it every day during high school, avoiding the highway because Jones St. was more relaxed with only a forty-five-mph speed limit. The isolated road itself was a straight shot out or into town with farmlands, rich neighborhoods, and old trees on each side of it.

 With my head dangerously close to the wheel of my Monte Carlo, I finally gathered that I was only eight miles from my parents. Regardless, those eight miles could have been eighty miles, I was a Xaned out mess. I shouldn’t have been driving. My posture at the wheel was hunched and awful, I was pretty much leaning on it. Keeping my eyes open was as challenging as keeping them open in water and when they were open, the road wouldn’t hold their attention like my phone was. Music was blaring loud, and my driver side window was down all in effort to keep me awake.

 The summer night air rushing in through my driver side window felt excellent while I was flying down Jones. My speed was constant eagerly driving at sixty mph and I was edging closer to safety by the second.

 Before I knew it, I was approaching Hiker Creek within a mile. Now turned ironic, every Easter with occasion in the summer, my cousins and I would make the three mile walk to Hiker to play in the creeks water. At the pinnacle of spring, it always held flowing water but, in the summer, it usually had little water or none at all. I looked forward to walking down to Hiker every year as a kid. However, as all of us grew older, they didn’t come out this way as much, and when they did, the creek wasn’t mentioned and like them, I quit going myself. And before my car tore through the steel guard rail on the bridge above the creek, I hadn’t been there in seven years.

 There was a song playing, and I didn’t like it or just at that moment I didn’t. I grabbed my phone in attempted to change the song. I can’t remember if the wheel jerked out of my hand or if I had them on it in the first place. My Monte Carlo pulled to the right, and I heard a loud crash, then suddenly, I had the feeling as if I was on a roller coaster hurling down the track at top speed.

Seconds before my life changed not only painfully but spiritually, I looked toward the back of my car on the way down because something was telling me I wasn’t alone. But I saw no one, and then nothing but black once I hit Hiker Creek.

***

As soon as I woke up, before my eyes even had the chance to see my surroundings, I believed I was safe. I thought I made it to my parents’ house after all and I was curled up in the bed I left that summer. I wasn’t that fortunate though. 

 The music I had been playing at an unreasonable volume was dead and gone, replaced only by a ticking and hissing from my now upside down and totaled engine. My hair had been in a loose bun all night but once I came to, my hair was down and dangling to the roof of my car. As my eyes looked toward my hair, I was hit with a massive light headed feeling and my face felt warm and numb. I looked to my rearview mirror and there were veins bulging in my forehead. They were thick and chock full of blood, feeling more like roots than veins.

  Moving my arms from their hanging position gave me major discomfort. I tried to unstrap myself, but it was as if I was physically restrained from putting my hands near my lap. I ended up being able to put my hands at the top of the wheel, It’s the farthest I could get them, and I hoped maybe that would make the blood even back out.

 I was scared and confused, it took me quite some time to recall how I got there but once I was struck with the realization of my crash, I began to sob upside down. Despite that it was remarkable I had my seatbelt on and that I hadn’t been smashed by my own car, I was still convinced death was waiting around the corner for me.

 But other than the uncomfortable feeling my arms gave me from hanging above my head this whole time, I felt no other pain or agony. I wasn’t bleeding from anywhere I could see. No scratches, gashes, or any place I could feel a potential bruise coming. I was fine, I was alive, but I didn’t feel I should be. Especially with no damage like how it appeared. The car from the inside looked fine too. None of the interior had been smashed in and the rolled-up windows were still intact without a crack on any of them.

 My driver side window was still down from when I was driving, and I could see all the healthy grass and weeds that my car was so close to smashing. From what the night allowed to be seen, the creek looked the same as it did every summer: dry with short weeds and grass covering the creek.

 Outside seemed way later than when I was on the way over. Granted that it was already late when I crashed, but it seemed near black out now. I decided then I must have been unconscious for a few hours.

 Although the time was irrelevant to me, I couldn’t have known even if I wanted to. My car was dead and not able to display the time and my phone was missing. Way later, the police would bring me my iPhone in the hospital. They said it was yards away from where my car landed and my mother gasped, “Oh my god, no wonder you couldn’t call for help!” I just nodded toward her in an agreeing fashion but truthfully, I doubt if I would have ever used my phone if I did have it.

***

During those isolated and uncomfortable hours, I strongly believed it was too late for me. No one ever used Jones at this time of night𑁋except for drunk or drugged up drivers obviously𑁋and by the time they would use the road, I figured I’d be dead by then. Plus, I was far too embarrassed and ashamed of being caught there in the first place and what got me there exactly.

 Only three times did I cry out for help since I claimed myself be hopeless. When I cried out the first time, I thought hope was approaching.

A series of twigs snapped underneath what I assumed to be human feet. It sounded amazingly close to me, so I focused in.

Then I heard more.

Grass crunching with more twigs snapping but at a slow rate, like they were looking out for their steps or creeping up. 

 Right…left…right…left.

 I took the opportunity just in case.

 “Hello? Hey!” I yelped.

 Praying it was a person and not just a nocturnal animal, I anticipated that their slow creep would speed up to the car. Discouragingly, no one made a reply and the steps I was hearing stopped for a moment.

 “Help me?” I whined.

 Suddenly the steps returned, but much different from before, now they weren’t stepping, they were loudly stomping at the same slow pace.

 RIGHT…LEFT…RIGHT…LEFT

 Stomps that sounded like they were produced by a fictional giant filled the creek that morning. Closing in on my upside-down car with me trapped in, I held my breath on accident but felt the desire to scream. I recall thinking, Is that you, Death? Coming up on me?

 I was struck with a case of odd luck because right when the steps were coming as close as they could before getting to me, blackness came upon me one more time.

***

Before my final black out, I assumed I was never going to see the light of day again. Thankfully, it was the first thing that stuck out to me when I woke up. The green in the grass was becoming more apparent, I could now see the cracks in the dry dirt between patches of weeds and the uplifting sun had also encouraged the birds to form their choir for the day.

 Everything else was still in order though, and by in order I mean I was still hanging upside down in my flipped car under a bridge. Through the sun and birds, I felt relieved, even if it was just a little tease of the day. It was hard for me to fathom I had made it to dawn alive. The heavy steps I had heard earlier had assured me I wasn’t long for this life, but seeing the world brighten before my eyes when it was once appearing black, gave me hope.

 My arms were back to dangling and were completely numb by this point. There wasn’t a possibility of me swinging my arms to one side let alone put my hands back on the wheel. Crying had crossed my mind again, but as noted, the rising sun was giving me strength or at least that’s what it felt like.

 People would start driving on Jones soon, I figured. I did have my doubts though; the bridge over Hiker was pretty small, the creek only stretched like sixteen feet wide. My own hope was someone seeing the rip in the bridges side guard or maybe even see my car if they bothered to look out by the bridge.

 While practically praying for it to be over with, a soft sound made me jolt and snatched my attention. Sticks were being broken underneath what could be human feet. It sounded just as nearby as earlier in the morning but normal sounding and not yet menacing. I awaited to hear further steps to be taken in my direction and when I did, I was hesitant and afraid.

What was I going to do if it was the same thing I heard before I blacked out? Just trying to get me to speak up so it can reveal its true beastly self and devour me?

 Right…left…right…

 “Hello?” a man spoke. 

My heart, while still upside down with the rest of my body, jumped into my shoes when I heard his voice for the first time.

 “Yes! Hello!” I screamed. “I’m in here! I don’t seem to be hurt but I’ve been in here all night! Can you please get me out or call somebody!”

 Abnormally, there was no reply at first. Then he chimed back in like he had forgot he was even talking to someone.

“Oh, ha-ha, yeah. I can help you. What’s your name, honey?”

 “Kylee Richter.”

 Again, there was a long pause in our conversation.

 “Hello?” I called back.

 The silence dragged on and by the time he did speak back, I was close to thinking I was imagining his voice being there.

 He actually returned with a laugh prior to talking.

 “Yeah, I’m here, Ky. Don’t worry.”

 It went right over my head then but I’m certain I’m quoting him accurately. The man outside the car saying my family\friend nickname gave me the feeling I knew him, or maybe he knew my family, which wasn’t impossible if he was from the area. It was even kind of likely he did know me if that was the case.

 His voice was friendly and had a touch of the country in it, he definitely sounded like anybody else from Dillton. The whole Midwest tone and slang was hard to detach yourself from if you grew up here and its easy as hell to hear it in somebody’s voice. In the car, I couldn’t decipher his age, but he wasn’t too assertive like most grown men around Indiana like to be, he was more suggestive and supportive sounding.

 “You say you’re not banged up in there? You must be one lucky gal then, considering I’ve seen multiple bodies pulled out of wrecks in comfier positions than your car is in.”

 “I don’t feel so lucky right now but I’m glad I’m alive. Have you called someone? Or could you get me out of here? I’ve been like this for so long I can’t feel my arms!”

 Another lull in conversation came from the man. Every time he did so I would get annoyed passed my limits. I didn’t even bother calling out this time and I just waited for him to make his next move. I also thought he could be calling someone at any moment he wasn’t speaking to me.

 Waiting, I noticed the sun was starting to spread faster and brighter than before. From what I could see of the sky in my bent side mirrors, it was becoming blue and there were very few clouds. I predicted it to be a hot day with a small breeze. The day was assured to be absolutely beautiful from how I pictured it. I remember somewhat bargaining with God that if I got to live past that day, and continued on to have another chance at a different sunny day, I would never take drugs again. And as one could tell, I did get the day I asked for plus more, and I also kept my end of the bargain too.

 During my admiring of the incoming day light, a foot dressed in a brown sandal stepped directly in my view. The shoe was Velcro strapped to an ordinary sized male foot but longer toenails than most.

 “I’m comin’ in there to unstrap you and getcha’ out myself, all right? Try and get ready for me,” he said while I tried to look up at his face, but was only able to see his foot.

 On board with anything at this point, I agreed and anticipated my rescue.

***

Dillton, not unlike other small towns, has a tight community. Gas stations, grocery stores, and school events are constantly attended by mutual friends and even some family. It’s truly difficult to not be recognized if a native goes into town. Everybody notices everybody, at least once. With that being said, when I got to see the man who pulled me out of my totaled car at five in the morning under a local bridge, I knew right off the bat I had never seen him a day in my life beforehand. 

 He looked to be the age of retirement, or he was just sneaking up on it. Not a large man by any means, though he was taller than me and stood with great posture that displayed some sort of confidence. His voice also sounded sure of himself but when looking at him while he spoke, it was the type of confidence that could be mistaken for charm.

“You sure you feel okay?” he said to me once I got to my feet, looking directly into my eyes.

 His were a dusty green that assumingly were much brighter and clearer in his youth. Not to say he was brittle or a walking antique, because he didn’t really come off that way. He seemed active in his everyday life and possibly even worked out to some degree. All in all, he gave off a look that he was in pretty good shape for his age.

  To go with the sandals, he had khaki shorts on, and a vibrant red short sleeved shirt buttoned all the way to the top of his chest. The outfit was clean, lacking wrinkles, stains or tears in the clothing and it was complete by a grey John Deere hat that looked just as old as me.

 I didn’t say much when he first spoke to me once I got out of the car. Not only was I checking the man out, but I was still so downright astounded I was alive and even more amazed by the fact that like my car, there wasn’t really any glaring damage on me. The feeling in my arms took a while to recover but it did before I started being more social toward him.

 “Thank you so much for being here and getting me out. I honestly thought I was done for,” I praised him as he circled my dead car.

Starting to become something like a signature around this time, he chuckled before replying to me.  “Oh, no problem, dear. It was on my way.”

 That made me smile. “What’s your name anyway?”

He replied swiftly but not with an answer to my question, but with his own. “Did you grow up here?”

 “In Dillton?”

 “In America.”

 It was as if I didn’t comprehend his question.

In America? Clearly, I had. I didn’t look like I could be from anywhere else as far as I knew, and I surely didn’t have a foreign accent. The only thing I could think to do from his bizarre question was to stay silent while he looked for his answer.

 “Never mind. We have to get you out of here, girl!”

 I nodded back to him and assumed he meant by the ambulance or police that were on their way. Police potentially arriving did scare me though since they would probably have to investigate why I crashed, but after it was all said and done, I faced no sort of legal trouble for my actions.

 Watching my surroundings brighten from the sun, I thought I would be hearing the sirens at any second. Although, they never blared, we sat there with only the frogs and crickets cussing while he evaluated my car and occasionally turned his head to smile at me.

 “Alright, let’s get goin’.”

 Entirely bewildered, I looked up at him with curious eyes. “What do you mean?”

 “I’m going to get you out of here, just follow me.”

  “Wait, wait, where are you taking me?”

 “Well don’t make it sound like I’m kidnapping you now.” He smiled. His voice was still so calm and strangely persuasive, he talked so matter-of-fact like. As if he did this kind of thing often.

 “I don’t know if I should. I don’t understand wh-”

 “Hey, kid, just trust me, and everything will be perfectly perfect again, okay? This is a hell of an accident you got yourself in and you’re in shock, I get it. But just follow me and I’ll work everything out.”

 I had no clue what he was talking about, or where he wanted me to go but I was beginning to trust him for unknown reasons. So, I followed him as he led the way down Hiker Creek.

***

Mr. Noname didn’t speak while he led the way, but he did stroll with a soft whistle. When I first heard the tune, it didn’t sound familiar to me, though now I can’t get it out of my head. The song gave off a tone that was dreamy and subtly melancholic like most old rock n roll songs from the 50s. Sometimes when I’m spacing out or just relaxing, I’ll catch myself whistling it the way he did.

 The sun was becoming more obvious than ever, shining beams of its light in between trees on the right side of Hiker, but not much of its shine got through. The creek was similar to how I remembered with its cool and generous shade. I could still feel the warmth coming in even with the shade, but it was just enough for it to be soothing. Despite the circumstances, it was sort of nice for a moment to take a hike down memory creek.

 As the night transformed into the morning, the more I started thinking for myself, the shock was fading.

What the hell am I doing? I asked myself. I have no idea who this is.

 He did save me though. I was out of the car because of him, and I was extremely appreciative about that. But where was he taking me?

 I bit my tongue on that question, even though I was becoming more resistant the further we traveled down the creek.

 On the walk, I hardly saw any water or puddles, but the weeds seemed to have no issue growing in its absence. All kinds of them covered the dirt in patches and some were tall enough to poke up my legs𑁋 or worse, what my legs lead up to. Small athletic shorts weren’t the best choice of outfit for my journey but then again, it was an accident that started it all.

 As much as the weeds were awful to walk through, they weren’t everywhere and every once in a while, there would be nothing bothering or touching my legs at all.

 I should have spoken up then.

 Eventually, we came across a large part of the creek covered with these huge and leafless bushes. Instead of being puffy with bright green color, they were just branches coated with black thorns that looked like decaying teeth from a small shark. I have never seen any plant like it. Most plants symbolize life or love in one way or another but the plants that were ahead of me, looked to symbolize death or pain.

I couldn’t believe my eyes when Noname started to walk right into it. And crazier than that, I couldn’t help but follow.

 Instantly they punctured my legs and arms, no matter how much I tried to maneuver around the thorns. Him on the other hand, his pace didn’t stutter. He kept his head up and his whistling still blowing.

 My patience faded and was long gone. “Hey, where are we going, dude? Is this really necessary?”

 He didn’t even stop whistling. That did it for me and I know that for others reading this, it’ll be a no brainer, but I finally realized that none of this made any sense.

 “Alright, fuck this.” I stopped about a quarter of the way into the field. Noname kept going forward.

 “Hello? Are you fucking with me? Where are you trying to take me?” I was beyond frustrated, confused, and scared while I spoke this, and I just wanted to be done with it and out of the creek for good.

 It was like I wasn’t there with him. He didn’t give me the smallest signal to figure if he was listening or not. So, I took matters into my own hands, and turned around.

That got his attention, and he evidently didn’t take my abandonment well.

 “Where do ya think you’re goin’?” he said, but in a tone beyond different from before. Now, he sounded angry, and his voice was starting to get raspy as if he suddenly developed a sore throat. “Ky, it would be best for you to come with me. So, keep walking. Right fucking now, girl!” he yelled.

“No,” I confidently said to him once I turned to him again. “I’m not going with you anymore! We’ve been walking for at least a mile and you haven’t said anything to me about where we are going, what the plan is, or even your name!” I turned back around. “Thanks for getting me out of the car. I’m going back to the road now so I can flag someone down. Goodbye.”

 A wild sharp pain came upon my entire right leg. I looked down and right before I saw them squeeze, I saw that the thorns were constricting up my right leg like pythons with an agenda.

 In no time it spread to my other leg and wrist to stop me from swinging my arms. Thick amounts of blood leaked from where the thorns stabbed me and louder than I ever did in the car, I bellowed.

My screams were high pitched, powerful, and as genuine as could be. When I think about the worst pain I’ve ever experienced, I still think of those thorns and when I think about the most scared that I’ve ever been, I don’t think about when I woke up trapped in a flipped car. No, every time that fear is brought into my head, I think of how Noname looked when I looked back up, and how he looked at me.

Looking like his skin was melting or sticking to his bones, his face began to resemble a skeleton with only a wax paper thin layer of skin on him. He looked at me and he smiled without showing his teeth, but I could still see them through his skin. His green eyes were swelling as well, and there were large dark bags under his eyes, the kind someone would get from lack of sleep or taking a downer drug like opium or Xanax.

 “You can’t go anywhere but with me,” he said in a voice much raspier than before. His hat fell off when he stepped toward me in the sea of thorns and some dark hair that was underneath shed off with it. The top of his bald head was bumpy or spiky, and as if he still had a head of hair, he ran his hand over the top of it. His fingernails were now long like his toe nails.

He got face to face with me, put his index fingernail to my chin and pointed my head up to his.

 “Listen to me and make no mistake, whore. You belong to me now. The life you lived and the world you inhabited have expired.” His smile returned but this time he showed teeth, broken, dirty, and unhuman like.

 “Your heart, your mind, your cunt, and your soul are all my possessions now, for I am your destination and fate, and you have arrived.” He went in as if he were going to kiss me and I had no choice but to watch him get closer. So, I closed my eyes.

 Suddenly, another voice spoke to me, but it sounded above, and it was a woman’s voice. “Hey! Are you awake down there? Help is on the way!”

 I opened my eyes to see I was in my car again. Upside down once more with my arms and hair dangling. Everything wasn’t the same as before though, the sun was completely out and there was glass and blood everywhere. My car𑁋even from the inside𑁋looked demolished. Was I bleeding? Yes, and a lot. My nose, my eyebrows, and my lip all had gashes but there was still a lot more blood to be accounted for; it couldn’t have all came from my face. Finally, I heard the sirens coming and I whined with them then passed out.

***

No question that I wasn’t quite as unharmed as I once believed. It turns out I suffered four shattered thoracic vertebrae in my back that night and the surgery was just a little over six hours. I still consider myself lucky to be alive and the doctors, EMTs, and my family considered that as well.

 My therapist, Dr. Langoria, told me it would be good for me to talk about my accident to others. ‘To release myself from that creek,’ he says. Like a big slap in the face though, no one listens to my story. They don’t buy it for one second. I can tell by their faces when I start talking about the footsteps growing huge or when I bring up Noname.

Although, they don’t tell me I’m wrong, they just suggest the following, “The Xanax was making you have bizarre stressed induced dreams.” Or “When you broke your back, you went into so much shock that you made up a dream or fantasy in your head to escape the pain while still being trapped.”

 Bullshit. He was there, I remember him vividly and when I go out into town, I’m afraid I’ll run into him sometimes. The version I had first seen of him, not the second. I don’t miss him or anything, but I guess I just want to be assured it wasn’t just my imagination like the doctors or my parents say.

 But it really doesn’t matter what they say, because I know the truth. I don’t know how I ended back in the car, but I know I got out before they got me out.

And when I look down to my wrist or my ankles and admire the scars the thorns left, it gives me closure.

 

Coupled with a yellow fade in certain areas on the walls that were originally painted tan, the apartment already stunk of cigarettes. The obvious former presence of a heavy smoker didn’t upset Jessica Carver like it would have others, though. On the contrary, it was part of the reason𑁋unbeknownst to Melissa𑁋she had settled on Stoneleigh and not the other affordable three bedroom in Lawrence they had looked at. Now she could skip out on the fee and still smoke in the apartment. Or with the window still open at least.

The other complexes were a little better looking than this one, but the location was closer to the university and work. The rent was also fifty bucks cheaper. And as college students and with Jessica additionally being a single mother, twenty-five bucks each was going to go a long way.

 Still standing at the doorway of her little family’s new home when she said she was just going up to unlock the door, Jessica took in the place privately for an extra moment. The living room was cut in half for a small kitchen with a bar, a space for dining, and a tight hallway that led to their rooms. The bedrooms in the back were the best-looking rooms and she felt that was fortunate for her son. Sean was at a commonly stubborn age of five but the kid he was shaping up to be told Jessi he wouldn’t care what his room looked like anyway. Though, it still mattered to her.

 Twenty miles north of Lawrence was the only other home her and her son had ever known. An old fashioned town by the𑁋most times𑁋inaccurate name of Pleasant is where Jessica’s own mother moved her when Jessi was five. When her mother was freshly divorced, and hungry for a good environment for her and her daughter. A mere reflection of what Jessi was doing now but with her son. Without a man and with her own hands.

 Looking toward her new kitchen, she began to think of Sean’s father, Sean Sr. She thought of the time when he had first moved into her mother’s house when Jessica had found out they were pregnant at the age of nineteen. It was a house full of hope back then, despite the natural and truth-based discouragement around their relationship.

 Jessica grabbed the doorknob and made sure it rotated, even though she was just going leave it ajar and kick it open while their hands were full. Still with a headful of her past, she continued looking back on what had brought her here.

She met Sean when she went through her “party” stage. He was younger but that didn’t matter to her. All their peers always thought he was so charming and funny with his careless antics and delinquent attitude. His whole family had contributed to putting a rotten reputation around the Carver name, including Sean, but she was still foolish enough to take the name and birth another.

 Nevertheless, Sean Jr. was the best thing that ever could have happened to her, and she truly did think that every day. So, by association, Jessi thought as she turned away out the door and closed it over, Sean Sr. was the best thing to happen to me too.

She was just about to start making her way down the outdoor steps when Meli shouted. “Damn, bitch, what are you doing up there! Your son is about to get out of the car and find friends if you don’t come down here and get him.”

 She laughed leaning over the guard rail watching Melissa walk up. The staircase of complex D had three levels and they were at the top with D5. Meli appeared at the second level holding three large bags on her broad shoulders and a box in front of her chest. Jessi quickly met her at the third staircase.

 She shivered and touched her own arms. “Why is it so cold out? The suns out and it’s April!”

 “I don’t know? Why did you approach me like I’m some kind of meteorologist?” She laughed with her arms full. “What do you want me to tell you? Kansas fucking sucks and knowing that, I’m sure it’ll be nice out tomorrow.”

 “D5 is ours! Just kick it, the door should be open,” Jess shouted over her shoulder, going back down to the car.

Right when she stepped off the stairs and into Sean’s view from the back seat, he smiled at her. No teeth showing, just his big cheek bones pulling up his puffy cheeks, encouraging his eyes to squint behind his glasses. She wasn’t exactly sure where he had got that smile from, but she smiled back just the same and gave him a wave.

 The car was still running and blowing hot air on medium, and while she appreciated Melissa making sure Sean was warm, it still half-way pissed Jessica off . What if someone just hopped in the front seat and stole her son and car? Meli got on Jessica’s nerves that way. Sometimes she was inconsiderate with how she wanted to raise Sean. She was nice to him, and they got along well, but sometimes Meli didn’t think twice about shit and you needed to with a small kid around.

 She shut the car off and attempted to cool herself down by taking a thoughtful breath. On the way out, Sean spoke to her in his wanting voice. “Mommm,” he called, humming the m.

 “Yes, babyyyy,” she mocked.

 “Does this new house place have a playground like Dad’s?” he asked. Jessica took some silly offense from the comparison between the two homes already.

 “I don’t think so, but your daycare does! It’s so big, Sean! Only two days left, and you’ll see it!”

 “Does it have a rock wall, Momma?” he enthusiastically asked, but the excitement wasn’t in his voice. His brown eyes and the way they seemed to glare told her he was excited about a dumb rock wall. And Jessica was smiling without realizing it because she was excited too, just to be able to see him that way. 

 “I think it might. Now, get out of this car and help carry some things inside the apartment. Follow me up there!”

 “Okay!”  He unbuckled himself, grabbed a small bag and a small box, then took off to the stairs.

 “Sean, wait!” Jessi called. He quit at the fourth step up and sharply turned around to her. She giggled at him and his little legs about to race up the steps. Oh, fuck it, he will be fine, she decided, but before the words left her mouth, her eyes were yanked away by a distraction in a near window in someone else’s apartment. Their blinds were shaking.

“Never mind, son. Go up there. Our door has the letter D and a five on it, honey. You remember what a five looks like, right?”

 “Yes! I’m five, Mom!”  Then he ran up the steps, leaping really but conquering them, nonetheless.

 The day was skipping out on them soon and Jessica could feel it through her light jacket without even looking toward the sky. There wasn’t much left in the car for them, most of the other stuff like the beds, furniture, and decorations were coming in a truck the next day with help from her mom. All that was left in their pathfinder was her giant bag with most of her clothes, her and Sean’s bathroom stuff, and a wimpy box that held last semesters textbooks. Meli must’ve had all her stuff she needed for tonight when she passed her on the steps.

 Jessi scoffed to herself, knowing she was about to attempt to grab everything at once. Melissa was bigger than Jessi, but not by much really, or that’s what she believed anyway, so why couldn’t she? She put the strap of her bag on her shoulder, then put the other bag on the opposite side. Jessi instantly felt unbalanced, but she was still confident. The box of textbooks was wider than her torso when she hugged it and picked it up.

 Within the first minute, the bottom of the box started to give. She could feel one of the books about to fall out. It was heavy enough as it was, but with her clothes throwing her to the left and the box falling apart in her arms, it was a near impossible to walk up the steps.

But she tried anyway, and all the books spilled out like water down a drain.

 “Shit!” Jessi shouted but in a library tone.

Suddenly a loud dead bolt unlocked and a chain started to rattle near her. Jessica quickly peered around to see where it was coming from. It wasn’t until D1’s door flung open that she gathered it was right in front of her.

 A very thin, pale, and snooty but good looking older woman came out with a slight hunch and peppered hair that was once healthy. The woman and Jessica made eye contact instantly and she froze and was sure that this old bitch was going to yell. She had light eyes and Jessi only saw them briefly before the woman spoke. “Let me help you, hon! I heard what happened inside.”

 She was genuinely surprised. She was certain that the light eyed woman was about to holler at her for being on the steps or something else stupid, but there she was, helping Jessica pick up the text books and place them in the box.

 “Thank you! You don’t have to, but I really appreciate it, ma’am.”

 “Oh, no, hush. It’s not any trouble and I’m always willing to help. I just sit inside all day and wait for something to happen, I suppose,” the woman said, handing Jess a thick textbook with a shaking hand and arm.

 Jessica saw it, then thought back to the shaking blinds. She clearly didn’t want to bring it up, there was no reason to, so she just thanked her more and introduced herself.

 “We just moved in today, my name is Jessica Carver and my roommate’s name is Melissa.”

 “The brown girl with the big shoulders?”

 Jessi smiled at her old-minded but American remark, she was used to it since Pleasant was full of it. “Yes, she’s Mexican.”

 “Ahh. I see. What about the little boy with the bowl cut you were talking to?”

 “My son. His name is Sean jr.”

 “He’s a cutie! But awfully ornery looking, isn’t he?”

 Jessica laughed but felt finished talking to her newly found neighbor already, plus the straps on her shoulders had begun to hurt. “He’s never that much trouble really. He is very sweet, and he won’t stop talking ever since he’s learned.”

 The mid-seventies woman looked at Jessica while she spoke like she was dying to know every detail. And when she finished, the woman had looked like she was waiting for more. Had she really been this lonely?

 “Where is Sean’s father, if you don’t mind my asking?”

 “We are divorced. He lives somewhere in Kansas City. We don’t get along too well outside of our son.”

The wrinkled lady smiled at her with empathy spewing from it. “I’ve been there, hon.”

 For a moment, she wasn’t shaking and then Jessi thought of how good looking she actually was for her age. Better yet, Jessi wondered how beautiful she must have been when she was twenty-three. She was probably stomping on hearts like cigarette butts in her day. When her hair was surely long and jet black, and when her breast didn’t sag and she was perky as well as threatening. Back when she was the full package, she must have been everyone’s favorite eye candy.

 “Well, it was nice to meet you…” Jessi realized she never got her name.

“My name is Linda Ortega, but please call me Linn.”

 “Okay, Linn.” She smiled and shook her again vibrating hand.

 Linn must have known she was thinking of her condition as she spoke on it, “It’s called essential tremors, dear. I’m okay, trust me,” she laughed.

 Afraid her looks might have come off as rude, but relieved to hear Linn laugh, she laughed too.

 She finally was able to turn away from Linn, grab the box from the bottom this time, and start back up the steps, but Linn was still out, watching her go up.

 “Oh, Jessica!” Linn shouted in what turned into a raspy voice midway.

 Jessi turned around to see her. Awaiting what was so important that she had to be stopped and could drop the books all over again. “Yeah?”

 “I know you girls are in school and you guys probably both have jobs too. So, if you need someone to watch little Sean sometime, I would be more than happy to do it!”

 She considered this but not for long. They already had everything covered. “Thanks! But we have a day care arranged here in town. The one-off Kentucky. It’s called Little Angels.”

 “Oh, I know it! Nice little building they have there. Well, offer still stands, ma’am.” She mocked Jessi with the “ma’am” part then winked and went inside.

 She made it inside without spilling the books again. Later, they ordered pizza and slept on the floor all together in the living room. Jessica didn’t tell Melissa about the elderly woman living below that she had met until they were just about to go to sleep.

(2)

Sunday was broad but went by as fast as a holiday. The day was packed full of moving stuff in, and afterwards, buying stuff to move in. They were in and out of their apartment all morning and afternoon, scaling the stairs from multiple trips up and down. Jess had anticipated her some-would-say, nosey neighbor to come out and say hello to Meli but she didn’t.

 Sean had a fantastic and hopefully memorable day with his grandmother, and Jessi gathered that her mother had missed him already. Not having to watch her grandson all the time was definitely creating a void she would have to fill someday, (though she regularly griped about having to watch him), and Jessi wondered what it would be. Maybe a vacation? She certainly deserved it. Around dinner time they finished moving in, and they went out to eat at Melissa’s work since the discount was significant.

 For about two months they planned this move, and it was coming closer to paying off tomorrow. Work was only ten miles from their apartments and school was even less than that. It was going to save them in gas, sleep, and time. Even if Jessica had to pay for Sean’s daycare now, it was worth it, and she would be picking more hours up at UPS anyhow.

 The daycare would be holding onto her son until five, then Meli would come and get him because Jessica’s shift started at two. She did trust her watching Sean when overlooking things that Jessi overthought on, and it really was a blessing she had such a good friend to volunteer to babysit when she was scheduled late.

 Unlike the first night, they had their beds the second. She set an alarm for 7:30. A good amount of time to get herself and Sean ready before her first business class started. Sean was tucked in and asleep by nine thankfully, and he was excited for his daycare and rock wall before passing out. Before she fell victim to sleep, Jessica thought more about how easygoing tomorrow was going to be.

(3)

The sirens, she couldn’t hear until she was right next to their door and when they made it to the parking lot𑁋the sirens being way more defined now𑁋Jessica saw the smoke in the sky. She didn’t think much of it. Meli had already left for her eight AM class and her own didn’t start until nine. Same with Sean’s ‘class.’

 Her anxiety for being tardy didn’t spike with the traffic leading up to Kentucky or when she unintentionally was driving closer to the smoke, but it sky-rocketed when she saw the Little Angels center puking orange flames and black smoke.

 The fire raging inside had clearly been burning for longer than the firemen cared to admit, and by the time she saw it, the once appealing white building was scorched a charred black. Jessica was baffled by its condition with all the emergency cars and trucks around the sight. They were attempting to take it down, but their hose seemed to be nothing but a tease to the fire burning.

 Police cars stood around and closed the right lane the accident was closest to. Along with some civilians and some of the people she recognized to be teachers, some kids were looking on, curious and/or terrified of the fire. Jessica was wanting to see if anyone was hurt and what had happened, but selfishly, she knew she couldn’t find out right now. No matter how furious or worried she may had been, Jessi couldn’t miss her class. Not even a mile away from the fire behind, she knew she needed a sitter close by and promptly.

 Following the detour, the police had arranged due to the fire, the answer came to her, and she told Sean what the change of plans were, but she had a feeling he wasn’t listening and was only wondering what was on fire outside.

 She was reluctant to give the door a knock, but nine AM was running toward her at a finishing speed. Sean stood next to her holding her hand confused to why they came back home with his backpack on. Jessica knocked rapidly three times and the door was opened without being unlocked first. Linn was standing at the door smiling with a surprised look with her eyebrows. She was wearing a flower printed button up shirt and jeans that she didn’t really fill out.

 “Yes, dear? Is something the matter?”

Jessica sighed and pushed her mostly blonde hair past her ear and glasses. “Well, do you remember when I told you about Sean’s daycare the other day? Well, it burnt down this morning.”

 She gasped and put her hands over her mouth. They were practically slapping her lips from how bad they were shaking, but they were painted with a fresh black coat. “Oh my, how!”

 “I have no clue. I didn’t have time to ask because I have class in less than a half an hour. So, that brings me to this,” she hesitated but knew she didn’t have another choice. “Can you watch him? Just until five, ma’am, then Mel𑁋“

 “Of course, I will! Come on inside, guys!” she exclaimed. “Oh, I guess you better get going.” Linn laughed and pawed her hands toward the Carvers. “Go on, everything will be fine and fun here. I’ve spent more than half my life babysitting. And he doesn’t look like too much trouble now that I’m closer.” Linn grinned and winked at a still nervous Sean. Though, he blushed and showcased a shy smile when addressed.

 Jessica hugged her son tight and told him she loved him, reminded him that Meli would get him soon, and that Linn was going to take great care of him. She prayed that was true when her son walked into a near stranger’s house.

(4)

She had pulled some money out for Linn right after work then did close to fifteen over the speed limit to get to Stoneleigh. She was already so paranoid about Sean’s situation when Meli made it much worse by her reaction when Jessica told her what had happened with the daycare and what she had to do with Sean. Her eyes went wide, and she gasped, “You what?”

 She thought of borrowing someone’s phone at work if someone had one or using the offices to call Stoneleigh’s manager to check on them but that seemed to be untrusting. He’s fine, she said, she’s been baby-sitting all her life. She left the idea of ever calling. Why didn’t we get a fucking home phone yesterday!

 Complex D was quiet. She raced up the stairs to hopefully see her son sleeping, but if he wasn’t, she wouldn’t get upset. Jessica just wanted to be sure her son was safe. She went to their door and barged in hoping it was unlocked and it was.

 Melissa was sitting on their new couch with none other than Linn. “Where is Sean?” she asked, first thing. Noticing she probably sounded controlling asking that sharply.

 “He’s sleeping, Jessi, damn,” she laughed, and Linn shared in the laughter.

 Relief cooled her body. “Ugh, I’m so sorry. How was he?”

 “That boy,” Linn started, and shook while she paused. “Is so talkative.” She giggled. “I could not get him to stop talking about this show he likes on TV. The Ninja turtles, I think?”

 Jessica better late than never, joined in with a laugh. “Yeah, Don is his favorite because he has glasses like us.”

 Linn nodded and Meli scoffed.

 “Well, I better get back to my own place. I just wanted to let you know with my own words that everything was perfect today and any time you need me to do it again, I’m downstairs.”

 “Oh, here I pulled out some ca𑁋 “Jessica started.

“Please, don’t worry about it. I’m just happy to help.”  Then Linn exited out the door and when the door closed and latched, Jessica ran to Sean’s room to see him tucked in his bed like he was last night. His lips looked puffy when he slept, his cheeks colored red.

 “She’s a pretty chill lady, Jess.” Meli snuck up on her and startled Jessica. “I think you have a sweet setup with Linn watching him even if the daycare didn’t burn down. By the way, did you ever find out if anyone was caught in the fire?”

(5)

Toward the end of April, the weather heated up and finally got to its expected spring feel that most Kansans were only tickled with since mid-march. With School coming to an end within the next month, finals were only giving Melissa and Jessica very little air to breathe at a time and that was with work included. Jessica𑁋more so than Meli𑁋would go to school tired, then go to work right after exhausted, get off, go home and be able to see her son sleeping already, and then repeat it all over again.

 Her motherly duties, she felt, were unachievable with how hectic things have been lately but she was becoming more confident that her son was in good hands over the last month. They hadn’t had a day to their selves since they moved in, but Jessi was sure that once summer hit, she would be able to spend a great amount of time with him and Linn wouldn’t have to watch him. She had done good living up to her offer to watch Sean as much as needed though. In time, the four of them had developed a routine every weekday that consisted of Jessica dropping off Sean before class and Meli picking up him from Linn’s around five if she didn’t have to work.

 Every morning Sean would wake up excited to go to Linn’s as if she had her own rock wall in the living room. Sean and Linn had become an adoring duo. Whenever Jessi did get to speak to her son𑁋not often𑁋he would mostly talk about Linn. Never about starting school soon, about his dad, or even the ninja turtles. He would just go on and on about Linn, and what she made him for lunch, her apartment, or things they crafted together. Every once in a while, Jessi would actually feel quite jealous of their relationship. Not long after the feeling, she would laugh at it but that didn’t mean it wasn’t legitimate.

Things became regular by a late point in the month, and with school tightening around their throats, it was making things as comfortable as possible. But, around the same time, on a non-particular ordinary night, things got a little more uncomfortable.

 She came home around 11:20ish; Jessica knew that because she glanced at her Pathfinders clock right before she turned the engine off. Stoneleigh was pretty dark, and nobody’s lights seemed to be on, which was fair for a Tuesday night.

 Meli didn’t have work tonight so she told Jessi that she would get Sean right after class. Being use to the routine, she thought she would come home and they’d both be fast asleep with the apartment would be utterly silent.

But as she finished the second level of steps, Jessica saw a troubling sight.

 Her front door was wide open.

 Numerous explanations ran through her head, most of them mistake oriented but it still didn’t calm her. She creeped carefully up the third rack of stairs and peeked into her apartment.

The lamp in the living room was on like usual𑁋Jessi had told Meli to leave it on so she could see when getting home so late. She peered around the corner, behind the door, in the kitchen and all around. She closed it soon after, not completely sure what she was looking for. Sean! she internally screamed. In a short sprint, she ran down the hall and pushed open his bedroom door. Asleep like every other night with red cheeks and fat lips, he lay there glowing in the moonlight. She smiled, closed the door, and thought about how she was going to ask Meli about incident in the morning.

(6)

The following morning, Melissa apparently left earlier than usual. Jessica got out of bed about the time Meli would leave the house to catch her before she left. Although, with a night’s sleep behind her, she had cooled down from the open-door incident but still felt the need to address it.

 After dropping Sean off at Linn’s, she had already planned to talk to Meli the next morning. Most Wednesdays, Meli worked later than Jessica and those were the days Linn had Sean the longest. Trying to find her on campus during the day wouldn’t be a promising effort with Easter leave coming in and delayed classes before the actual finals.

 While she drove and sought out why Melissa might have left the door open, Jessi wasn’t surprised. Her best friend and roommate had become interested and invested in a classmate lately. A liberal arts major, who was obviously liberal in more ways than just the arts. The two seemed to be spending a lot of time together over the last week or so. Jessica was excited for her, thrilled actually, but sometimes when Meli found another girl that actually liked her back, everything else in her life became of less value, making life outside of the liberal art student white noise. So, it made sense if she did mistakenly leave the door open.

 If?

What else? Or who else would it have been?

 Ms. Carver shook off that thought right before getting out of her car to get to class.

(7)

Her alarm clock still beeped and buzzed annoyingly at 7:30 with no class to attend. Jessica felt relief of not having to get up, so she hit the off button on the clock and let her eyes stay shut for a little longer. Meli was off class today as well, but Jessica had expected her to leave at any moment, if she hadn’t already. They both had work tonight, therefore Sean had to go with Linn at two and Meli was probably set to leave and hang out with her girl before then.

 Throwing off her comforter, she swung herself out of bed and got to her feet. The room had a golden, sweet, and warm tone of lighting in it from the rising sun peeking through her blinds. Picking up a pull over jacket out of the dirty hamper, she left her room with a cool and level head about the other night.

 That was until she took two more steps around the corner of her utility closet and saw sunlight blasting through the living room door frame. Inside smelt like outside, there were a few moths above kitchen bar, and the front room felt dewy and cold. 

 All fucking night, she marveled.

 Livid, she clenched her fist then looked at anything quick to hit. Only finding the wall, she resisted throwing a punch and put her fist to her forehead. Jessica took a moment to collect herself. She opened her eyes and saw that Meli’s door was closed. She imagined charging in with a mighty boom, scaring Melissa awake.

 For some reason, likely to spare Sean the trauma or experience of them fighting𑁋God knows he saw enough with Sean sr.𑁋 she didn’t act on her vision. Attempting to cool down, she unclenched her fist and continue to the living room, shut the door tight, and make breakfast.

Melissa came out fully dressed and ready to go by the time the last pancake was ready to take off the skillet. She was walking at swift pace and turned to wave Jessi goodbye when Jessi stopped her at the door.

 “Hey!”

 Jessica instantly snagged her attention. Meli looked obedient, but happy and prepped. Her outfit was a clean white zip up jacket with dark jeans and white adidas. She stood there waiting, genuinely curious to what her best friend had to say right before she went out the door. And suddenly, Jessica didn’t feel so paranoid or as angry. Most importantly, she wasn’t so sure it was Meli who left the door open now.

 Then what? Or wh 𑁋

 The thought was short lived as Meli looked at her.

 “I made some breakfast.”

 Meli scoffed, and then let it roll into a full-on laugh.

 “Bro, you straight scared the shit out of me. Ha-ha you used that voice you use when Sean gets into something.”

 “Yeah, I guess I did sound kind of bitchy,” she said. “I’m sorry I’m just a little on edge.” Then she just decided to ask. “Hey, um, did you maybe leave the door open two nights ago? I know you wouldn’t have on purpose, but it just worried me.”

 “The door was open at night? When you got off?”

“Yes. Wide open.”

 Meli thought back, Jessica could see it on her face. “Hm.”

 “That’s fucked. I even remember shutting and locking the door after Linn stopped by.”

 Jessica lifted her brow slightly in small confusion.  “Linn stopped by?”

 “Yep. She knocked on the door and asked if Sean was awake. She had baked some peanut butter cookies. He was asleep. They were fucking great, though.”

 Jessica’s confusion was stroked but not scratched. Although her mind went back to the door. “Well, I, um.” She stepped on her own words trying to find something to say that would put her worries of the door to rest. “Just make sure you close the door tight, I guess. Lock it too, both of them.”

 “Will do,” Meli finished, made her eyes big and went outside.

 Meli closed the door behind her and left Jessica in their subtly smokey kitchen. Jessica thought more smoke wouldn’t hurt, she then lit one of her cigarettes, and wondered if she had offended Melissa somehow.

(8)

A crash that was not only loud, but powerful sounding, made Jessica open her eyes. At first, she assured herself it was merely part of the dream that came with her sleep that night. However, she couldn’t recall a whiff of a dream if there was one. The more and more she delt with the crash in her head, Jessica became certain there was no dream at all, and that crash was real. She then felt fresh fear from the noise in the night. She looked at her alarm clock. The time was a quarter after three A.M.

 Puzzled, and hardly awake, she still was aware that Meli sometimes came home this late in the past. It calmed her down just a notch.

 She never woke me up coming in before, though, Jessi critically thought.

 With a blanket hanging over her shoulders, she got off her bed and ventured to her bedroom door. She stood still and tried to listen for any movement on the other side, good or bad.

Quiet as a moment of prayer.

 A sudden dose of courage struck her, and swiftly, she opened her door, then walked out in the living room.

It was just as black as her room; all the lights were off. She could only see what she knew was there, like her furnitue. On the wall by the ulitity closest there was a back up switch for the top light in the living room, she found it with her hand and flipped it.

She woke up quickly when the lights exposed the front door as open as it could be.

 She was at a loss for words. Though, she didn’t care much for words anymore, now it had to be delt with swift action.

 Jessica, without taking a breath, stomped to Meli’s room and uselessly twisted the knob then shoved the door open with a painful shove of her palms. She simultaneously turned on the light as the back of the door slammed into the wall it was attached to.

 Meli jolted and shot up in defense mode and panic. Her eyes grew large but not in a annoyed or playful way. Her eyes now told Jessica she was shocked and scared, but also that Meli had been in a heavy sleep before she came in. 

 Jessica felt like the biggest bitch in the mid-west at that second, but then she stomped out the thought and returned to the door issue.

 “What the fuck, dude?” Meli said, aggrivated and not at all in a kidding manner.

“Why is the front door wide open, Melissa? What the fuck is with that? This is the third time I’ve seen it like that and it’s fucking three A.M!” Jessica shouted, not as loud as she could since Sean was still asleep.

 “Yeah, it is three A.M! So, why are you in my room screaming at me about the fucking door, Jessi?”

 “Because you keep leaving it open for some dumbass reason.”

 “I didn’t leave it open, bitch!” she snapped.

 Strangely, in the heat of the argument she believed Meli when she said that but felt she couldn’t back down. She was in too deep, and Meli really was the likely reason it was open.

She fought back. “If not you then who, Meli? The fucking wind? Just shut and lock the fucking door when you come in and out!”

(9)

The only thing that Melissa said to Jessica the next day was that she wasn’t going to be home all weekend. She also felt she needed to add, “So, don’t worry about the fucking door,” before she left in the morning. Jessica wasn’t upset for her leaving, or the comment about the door, she was quite the opposite really.

 She had the whole day off work, school, or anything that would take her away from time with her son. Which is exactly what she intended to do with her time; spend it with the boy of her dreams. They had plans to go rent two movies from Blockbuster, get something to cook together𑁋whatever he wanted, of course𑁋and she was going to surprise him later on in the night with a brand-new Game Cube. Jessica couldn’t wait to see her son’s reaction when he saw his game and be contagiously happy all night.

 The best part about it was that it didn’t just end with the first night. With Easter on Sunday, she had the whole weekend off as well. Her mom was hosting a dinner that day and Sean was already beyond ready to see his grandmother again. Lucky for Jessi, her mom was currently on vacation prior to the holiday and was coming back late on Saturday. Therefore, that meant she had Sean all to herself. It’s what she needed. No schoolbooks, no work, no Meli, no Linn and no grandmother to steal her son away.

(10)

Sean’s reaction to the whole night had flown by her expectations. He cuddled his momma all day, told her he loved her more than once𑁋especially when he got his new game𑁋and also ate all of his hamburger helper she cooked up.

 She was beat tired now. Sean had crashed out around ten and she put him in his bed right when his controller fell out of his hand. Jessica was on the couch now, smoking a cigarette and watching one of the movies they rented again. As she lay her head down on one of the sofa pillows, she tried to think of what they could do tomorrow. She did have plenty of money right now with all the work she had been doing. Work but hardly any sleep, she thought, and yawned.

 Her cigarette had only been burning for a couple of minutes but Jessi felt she couldn’t finish it. She grabbed her glass ash tray off the coffee table and smashed it out, then put the tray at the edge of the table.

 Jessica told herself she should turn all the living room lights off and go to her own bed, but she couldn’t. Well, she could, but she didn’t want to. The couch had been keeping her warm and felt good on her back. She closed her eyes with her head toward the celling. In her last thoughts of being conscious, Jessica had her ex-husband in mind. She wondered how things would have turned out if they just stopped fighting over their son, and then, she was out like the moon was.

She woke up but not as tired as she would have felt waking up in her bed. Jessi had to recall how she ended up on the couch from just being asleep for about an hour or two. With some groans that were fitting for a woman much older, she stepped to her feet and went to the kitchen. The oven had a clock and it read 3:33. Longer than I thought, she saw.

 From the living room, she heard a klink. It didn’t startle her nor frighten her, but it did get her attention. She exited the kitchen and saw her ash tray had fallen off the table somehow.

“Fuck me!” she exclaimed, as she saw the ashes in the carpet. After grabbing a rag that she had dampened, Jessica went to the mess, knelt down, and tried to clean it.

 The title screen of the movie was on loop and playing it’s score at a modest volume. Still, Jessica found it obnoxious and dropped the rag to turn it off with the remote. It was now eerily silent. Though, only lasting a few moments, the quiet was disturbed by the clashing of small metal and a dragged-out screech that followed.

 The front door was opening slowly.

She felt frozen with horror and Jessi’s sinuses cleared up while she didn’t even know they were blocked. Her heart was pounding in her head as she watched the door open.

 “Melissa?” she guessed, hoping it was her with any spirituality she had.

 She stood to her feet from the floor. Against her will, her brain started to think of the horrible things that could be on the other side waiting. A lunatic with a cheap, thin mask but thick blade, a robber or rapist who had been stalking her apartment, or a starving, murderous beast that had more eyes than fangs.

 Grinding her teeth together, from a teeming of suspense pacing in her head, she began to rapidly plot her next move. Was she supposed to just wait and watch? Call out and hope it’s a joke? Or slam the door before the sight behind it could be seen? The latter seemed the safest. Slam the door fast, then lock it and back away. Maybe call the police as well? But what would she say? The door opened?

 Jessica took a step to the door and in the two steps, she was intending to kick the door shut. She took her next step and lifted her knee to her midsection to shoot her foot forward.

 However, she froze with her foot in the air when door-opening culprit revealed themselves.

It was her son.

 Sean was still dressed in his Disney Pjs she put him in while he was sleeping. She saw him but he didn’t see her, his head was straight ahead while he crept to the hallway. The way he walked with wide steps and mute footing looked like he was sneaking in. But why would a five year old sneak out? she asked herself as she analyzed the scene.

 “Sean?” she eventually choked, untrusting of her own eyes. The momentarily loss of words faded, it was like she had been watching a TV show or movie but then remembered she could interfere.

 He stayed quiet and remained on path.

“Sean!”

No good, still walking. She caught up with him, then cut him off, and squatted to his height. And That’s when Jessica Carver felt as if she could vomit her own heart out.

 She hadn’t noticed that his pajamas had been tugged and torn moments ago but if she would have, Jessica knew she would have reacted faster. He had a stunned, dumb look on his face that was colored with blood, bites, and burns. His cheeks looked like a hot fork had been pressed on him, maybe some lighters too. On his neck and right ear there had been teeth indentures. Dripping down his chin, his lips had been lathered in blood from a cut right down the middle.

 “Oh my god,” she cried. Her eyes were shot with water in a second. “Sean! Baby! Tell me what happened? Are you okay? Who did this to you!”

 He kept quiet and looked through her. It then hit Jessica that for the first time in her son’s life, he had been sleepwalking.

 But sleepwalking and attacked? She put her hands on his head and touched his hair while she hyperventilated. Examining him further, she pulled up his long sleeves and saw other burns that were destined to turn into blisters, scratches that looked like they could be from a mean house cat, and full-on bite marks that were no doubt from a person.

She wanted to scream, and nothing was going to stop her from doing so.

(11)

The police officer called to the scene arrived in under ten minutes, and in the meantime, Jessica tried and tried again to wake her son.

 He had a doped look on his face that indicated laughing gas or some kind of pain medication. She was starting to think he might have been drugged, until the cop’s knock at the door spooked him awake. He awoke with high energy and consciousness but with questions all around him and new lasting pain within. He wouldn’t stop crying and spazzing for a while. Jessica tried to tell the policeman what had happened, but she knew little herself.

 She spoke of the open door on more than one night, her roommate, Linn and the loud noise she heard the other night. Of course, not all the information given seemed useful or relevant to the officer but Jessica insisted on telling him. The door being wide open repeatedly seemed far too significant.

 Officer Hawkins called an ambulance for the boy and he was evaluated all night. Once the doctors told her everything they knew, she felt a little better.

 They assured her that there was no trace of molestation on Sean, and that the worst to come out of this was scarring, both physically and𑁋the part they feared more𑁋mentally. But since he didn’t seem to remember anything, doc was willing to bet Sean may just forget about the entire thing with being so young, and especially, since he was technically sleeping when it happened.

 By ten A.M, she was ready to take Sean home and it took an hour to convince some of the personel at the hostpital to let her.

 Sean fell asleep (again) in the car on the way home. She carried him up when they got to stoneleigh. On the way up, she saw Linn’s door closed over.

Jessica had already called whoever she needed to call to let know about Sean. She called her mom first, she cried hideously, and it made Jessica cry the exact same. Jessia’s mother said she would be right over as soon as her plane landed. Next, she called Sean sr., and he didn’t answer but she was certain he would call back later and blame her for everything. Meli answered on the third ring and her voice still echoed of anger regarding Jessi but went speechless when she heard and surpringly sounded like she was about to cry.

 Once Sean was back in his bed, Jessi had the urge to tell Linn what had happened. Although, she was uneasy with the idea of leaving her son alone now—and probably for the rest of his life, she thought, looking down at her son’s burnt and bit face sleeping.

 Going against her natural insticts just for a minute, she went out of the room and then quickly outside to the stairs and down to Linn’s door. It was still falsely closed, so, she put her fingertips to it and shoved lightly.

 She stuck her head in and called out. “Linn?”

 She chose to step in, and Jessica instantly felt naïve, for this was the first time she had seen Linn’s apartment. It was nice and very cozy. Filled with delicious and nostalgic smells and artwork. The crafts and paintings had mostly to do with night or nature. Above her wooden entertainment center with a bulky TV, Linn had a framed poster of Vincent van Gogh’s Starry Night.

  The symbol on top of that, she didn’t recognize from anywhere. It was a piece the size of a kitchen plate and was assumingly made of black material. It was mysterious to say the least. She could see it being an animal or a plant, or maybe something to do with a different country. She had one more idea of what it could be, but she wasn’t able to finalize her thought. There was a commotion in one of the bedrooms.

 It sounded like the opening of a dresser. Jessi called out again, “Linn!”

Feeling like she had already been here for too long, she wandered speedily to Linn’s Hall where the noise came from. She heard the roar of the drawer once more standing at the end of the hall. Two of Linn’s doors were closed completely, but the third was merely closed over like the front door was.

 She knocked on the door three times gently.

“Linn?”

 The door opened a little more but not all the way from her soft knock. She could now see opened and empty drawers with a suitcase on the bed. Also, Jessica heard a pleasant and experienced humming of a woman inside. Jessica put her hand on the door and was just about to push it open. Though, beating her to it, the door ripped open, but the person looking back at her wasn’t very familiar.

 A woman opened up, about her height and size, dressed in dark Jeans and a flower shirt and she was, as a side note, agelessly gorgeous.

 “Hello, there! That’s funny, I thought I heard someone at the door, but I guess I’m just getting old ha-ha,” she said and smiled wide after. Her teeth were the kind that could be accused of being fake, but Jessica could feel this woman’s confidence radiating off her like a strong perfume. They had to be real, this woman was legitimate and someone could look at her for seconds and know that.

 Her hair, black as coal and her eyes were as bright as spring grass. She was much more attractive than Jessi believed herself to be, but strangely, she had a hunch that she was younger than the woman before her. She projected this woman to be in her early forties but that guess wasn’t from any age showing in her body or face. She just carried herself differently than any younger woman she had ever seen. This woman spoke and looked like she had been through it all and knew every single trick.

 “You all right, doll?” the woman asked.

 Jessica, collecting that she was just staring after she spoke to her, shook her hair and refocused. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m just looking for my neighbor, Linn. I ha𑁋”

 “Oh,” the woman said quietly. She looked to the carpet, bit her bottom lip, and then her engaging eyes flooded. “She actually passed last night…”

 Jessica’s jaw, heart, and eyes seemed to fall. “What? How? What happened?” 

“A heart attack I think, but I don’t know. They just got her body out of here not too long ago,” she said, rubbing her own arm and not looking at Jessi.

 She then went back to the dresser and put more clothes in the suitcase.

 “Oh my god… this morning… I just can’t even…”

 “Yeah.”

 “My son was attacked in the middle of the night.”

 The stranger in Linn’s apartment cupped her mouth. “My god!” Her nails were painted black and sharp. Much like Linn’s were. Actually, seeing the lady do that in that fashion, revealed an uncanny resemblance between the two. She figured she must have been related. Jessica felt like she wanted to cry for Linn. It upset her that she would never be able to tell Linn thank you for watching Sean all those times. 

 “I know, but I think he will be fine, I hope.”

  They nodded together and kept eye contact for the longest they had so far. Then, as if she were hearing a joke, she thought she knew before, Jessica caught on to the punchline before it was delivered.

 This woman had the same exact eye color, eye shape, and eye everything as Linn. And even the mole next to her mouth. Everything was the same as Linn. The fucking clothes she’s wore were Linn’s.

 “Who are you?”

 The woman smiled at Jessi and it far from warmed her this time.

 “My name is Veronica. Linda was my aunt.”  She stuck out her delicate and smooth hand for the introduction.

 Jessica mindfully looked at it and stuck her own hand out to shake Veronica’s. Her hand was firm and steady when she shook it, but she couldn’t extinguish the feeling she had shook this same hand once before.

 She felt so suspicious, it made her nauseous to keep digging into the idea.  But suspicious of what? What exactly was she going to say or accuse her of? 

 Veronica saw the look of loss, or of being lost on Jessi, and spoke again. “I’m sorry if you and my mom were close. But I promise you, she is in a far better place now,” she finished with her hands in praying style. 

 “I thought you said Linn was your aunt?”

 Veronica stood motionless and looked to her right shortly. “She was. She just raised me the whole time. I’m sorry, I’m just a big ole mess right now.”

 Jessica only looked at her, questionably.

 “Well, I better get all of her things packed up.”

 “Yeah. I guess I should leave.”

 “Yeah.”

 Veronica and Jessi looked at each other one last time. Jessica turned her back first and walked out the way she came. Before heading out under the sun, she looked behind her again. The beautiful and chilling woman was watching her walk out with the bedroom door in hand. She said, “I’m truly sorry to hear about your son. Take care.” Then she closed the door and so did Jessica on her way out.

 She put her back to the door and started to sob. Nothing had made any sense to her in the last seven hours, yet it happened so fast like it was planned. The young mother didn’t know how to deal with the trauma that had been left for her son and her family. She prayed she wouldn’t have to, and Sean would just forget. Then they would all forget. She never wanted any of this shitshow to resurface again. This was the first time and what she hoped to be the last time, that she was unable to keep her son safe. 

 Lifting her glasses to her forehead to wipe her wet eyes, Jessica then looked at how bad her own hands were shaking now.