There, beneath a frosted canvas of autumn dusk, I saw her. I had just finished a hectic day at the small bookstore I worked at. The cold of the evening reached down my back as I made the brief walk back home, my mind flashing with the idea of a delicious meal and a quiet night. To my surprise, this evening turned out to be the worst moment that changed my life forever from the following day.
I took the usual route, a narrow, dark alley, shelved by swaying trees with branches that swayed in the breeze. As I walked, I noticed a figure at the far end of the street, a girl standing beneath one of the old street lamps. At the start, she was almost invisible, its shape dissolving in the dark, but it was her presence that held my attention.
Fixed upon me, with features lost in shadow, yet what did those eyes do, those eyes—they pierced through the darkness. They were artificially illuminative, i.e., artificially high, to make people disoriented in complete darkness. I increased the spurge to clear my senses but the girl continued still in the twilight, silently inspecting me.
I didn’t think much of it at first. It may have been that she was lost, or simply waiting for the return of another person. If I walked by, then I was unable to detect she was there, behind.
I glanced over my shoulder.
She wasn’t moving.
However, as if noticing my eyes on her, she moved closer by one step. Slowly, deliberately.
I tried to rationalize it. Maybe she was just walking in the same direction. Maybe it was a coincidence. But as the minutes ticked by, it became clear that she was trailing me, her treadmills reverberating in the hush behind me, a constant companion (yet ever absent), a specter. My speed increased with a single, bright tap vibrating in my breast. The whole of my spine tingled and hairs on the base of my neck shot up.
I kept turning towards the corner, hoping that I could get away from her in the maze of streets at the center of my street map. But on reversing direction, she was abandoned, a phantom trailing her. My mind raced. Why was she following me? Was she in trouble? Was she dangerous?
I didn’t want to find out. I increased my speed, and now I am running, the afterbreath of a deep breath every time I reach the street. As soon as I did the sight of my house appeared in the distance, and a feeling of relief took place in me. However, that is precisely the time the girl decided to make my heart stop.
She stopped at the corner.
I froze, glancing back over my shoulder. Just watching me, with her gaze, serpents blazed in the dark. Next at that moment, she turned her head towards one shoulder, ever so slightly, and a strange smile played upon her lips.
It was a smile that should not be reflected on a human’s face.
I careened straight to the front door and slammed it shut behind me, hobbling against it as if trying to close off the world beyond. My heart beat like a drum in my chest, my brain buzzing like a printer. Who was she? What did she want? Why did I feel so… uneasy?
I shook off the thought. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe I was just tired, overthinking things. I snuggled up in my favorite chair, changed into my jammies, made a cup of tea, and prepared for some mindless television watching. However, despite all I did to distract myself, I could not get rid of the sensation that something felt wrong. The picture of her face, those shining eyes, continued to haunt me.
With time, however, I became dismally aware of the disconcertingly quiet nature of the house. Too quiet. There is that kind of quiet, in which you guess every step, every groan on the stairs, every draft through the loose windows. Just then, just as I was about to lose consciousness, I heard it.
A knock at the door.
It began in a very mild way, almost tentative, but then it came back. A little louder this time. And then again. Knock. Knock. Knock.
I sat up, my pulse quickening. Who could it be at this hour? I wasn’t expecting anyone. My mind is gone to the little girl—had she discovered my house? Was she out there now, waiting?
I stood up slowly, my legs shaky. I approached the door very sly and gave an agonizingly slow creak as I tried to peer through the peephole. My breath caught in my throat. Perspiring in the soft, diffused glow of the porch light, the girl lay down.
She was completely focused on the peephole, dead center, pupils constricted and she did not blink.
I staggered backward, my heart racing wildly. Opening that door wasn’t an option. No way. I backed away from it, my mind racing. I wanted to make a call to the police, for example, but I physically could not move. Just the idea of escaping from the comfort of my living room felt like a death sentence.
The knocking stopped. An unnatural, almost weightless, silence hung in the air for what felt like forever. Next, I received auditory input, a sound that produced an experience of terror in me.
A whisper.
At first, it was, extremely weak, barely noticeable but it grew louder, clearer, and eventually sounded as if it was outside the doorway.
“Let me in.”
I froze. The voice was rather subtle and childish, however, there was something amiss. It was as if the words weren’t spoken by a human at all. My heart skipped a beat. I didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t able to get her in, but neither could I just sit around in the house “lying about” with her “running all over the place out there.
I stood frozen by the door, then slowly moved toward the staircase. Perhaps if I shut myself in the bedroom, I would be safe. However, before I could get there the door violently hitched.
I spun around, panic rising in my chest. When, of all things, I heard a child’s fist pounding on the door, up sprang the doorknob, and the doorknob in turn came apart. There occurred a stop moment and the voiceless tell again.
“Please… let me in…”
It was close now. Too close. I thought I heard her breath almost.
My mind raced. Was this some kind of prank? No. This felt too real, too sinister. Fixating on the space, my gaze swept looking for anything, anything, at all to help me. And that’s when I noticed it.
There, in the back, a silhouette detached itself and materialized, partially and purposefully yet visible. It wasn’t merely a charming illusion or a result of light. The figure loomed in the shadows, unmoving but intensely aware of me. I got this jolting sensation of terror when I happened to realize the girl wasn’t out in the street. She was inside.
My breath caught in my throat. I turned slowly, my legs trembling beneath me. The shadow moved an inch and I saw her there her ghostly face, the glowing orbs, the lips curled with that unnatural grin.
I made a squall and, running away, I crashed through the glass, wrecking it to escape. But instantly, as soon as I moved out the door, it was night.
She was gone.
I don’t know what happened that night. Perhaps it was, all made up in my head, perhaps it had been invented in my imagination. However, that fear, that terror, was real. From that fateful night, I’ve been living with an unshakable sense of loss.
Every time I leave the house, I have a freakish sense that am monitored/stalked. And every time I take a corner, I don’t know that she’s hiding in the dark, behind the corner. I can’t get rid of the feeling that she’s still on my tail, watching for the moment I run afoul and let her in again.
Also Read: Someone’s Already Inside
But the scariest part? It’s unclear whether I’m being pursued or if I’m the one doing the chasing.
I guess I’ll never know.