(Prompt: North)

Machina’s Voyage.

The anniversary of the Allen Gallant’s disappearance passed quietly. Eight years ago, the most grand ship the small town had seen set sail into the Atlantic. At the helm of the ship, the esteemed Professor, Sebastion Machina set sail with one goal. North. For his whole career, the professor spearheaded nautical research, but always found himself stepping in someone else’s footprint. He could write about and cover hundreds of topics, but they would always be topics that someone else had discovered before him. He was no pioneer. 

However, one subject that eluded everyone in the field was the great land up north. The arctic circle. This undocumented land had been deemed too hostile to explore. But the professor knew if he could bear the trip and report back what he found, he would indisputably be the first to have done so.

 And so it was, on that fateful day, Professor Sebastion Machina set sail with an excavation crew. The journey was calculated to take about a month, with weather permitting. But a month turned into a year. A year into several. Eventually, the community stopped waiting for the ship’s return, leaving only a young boy standing at the docks. A young boy named Issac Machina. Issac knew something must’ve happened to his father, and begged the town’s head of office to go searching for him. As was expected though, no one paid any attention to the young boy’s plea. At most, they ran a short story in the paper in commemoration once a year. But these articles tarnished the late professor’s legacy, claiming he had gone mad with injured pride and abandoned his life to get his name on something. Issac couldn’t get the paper to stop printing the article, so Issac did what he could. He waited. He would bring his father’s book to the docks and wait. With each passing year, Issac sat, glaring at the horizon.  

The rest of town might’ve moved on, Issac thought, flipping through the pages. But I will not forget! 

Upon the eighth anniversary, the paper had stopped running its commemorations. Were it not for Issac sitting at the dock, there would be no evidence of the disappearance at all! But Issac wasn’t the young boy kicking his legs at the harbor anymore. With the inheritance his father had left him, he marched into the town office and declared he was buying a boat.

After taking a day to get his affairs in order and recruit dock-hands desperate enough for the money, Issac found himself on the same path towards the horizon. 

“What if his ship crashed?” A deck hand asked as they set out. “How are we gonna find a man who could be rotting at the bottom of the sea?” It was a valid question, and one that Issac had asked himself many times over the years. His response was equally simple.

“We won’t.” Issac took this time to gather the crew and speak about the nature of this course. He stood on a small wooden box and spoke like an oriador.

“It is without a doubt my father is gone. But his legacy hinged on his last voyage. If we can find out what he discovered, his disappearance will not have been in vane!” Issac stepped down from the box with a thud. “Sure, say we find an old ship goudged on a set of rocks with a skeleton holding a quill, then we will know for sure of my father’s fate,” Issac remarked sarcastically. “But my heart does not ache for his absence, it aches for what came from his absence. If we can show the world that his final journey had reason beyond hubris, perhaps that ache in my heart will settle, too.” 

Whether the crew on the ship believed in the message or not, they remained on the ship, maintaining the vessel as best they could.

 As the ship went further and further north though, it became harder to keep it in pristine shape. Issac stayed in his quarters for most of the journey, reading the various books his father had written. What few times he did leave his quarters, the crew mostly kept to themselves. Until one night, Issac noticed the boat had gradually stopped moving. At first he thought the ship was navigating through ice, but when he ventured out to ask, he saw the crew all standing in a row, a dazed look plastered across each of their faces. He called out to them, but got no response. He stepped forward to address them, but stopped dead in his tracks. Just out of his hearing range, beyond the ship's bow, a small effeminate voice rang out. It sang a sweet melody that made Issac’s heart throb. Before he could listen any further though, Issac threw himself backwards through his door. To his horror, his crew had all fallen victim to a siren’s call. As quick as his body would go, he slammed the door shut and locked it. He then stuffed his fingers into his ears and grit his teeth. There was nothing more he could do. One by one, his crew marched off the edge of the boat, splashing into the icy water. As the crew found themselves submerged in the freezing cold, Issac felt his heart ice over too. This whole time, he had assumed his father made it to the north and simply fell to whatever he found. But there was no chance of that now. It was clear his father never made it to his destination, and had fallen victim to the siren’s tune. 

For what seemed like an eternity, Issac sat with his ears plugged. The siren’s single voice had become a choir, calling out to him, pleading for him to join his crew. He could just barely hear them beyond his plugged ears, and pushed as deep as he could. But it seemed their voices were always just loud enough for him to hear. Perhaps Issac could’ve waited out the sirens, were it not for what happened next. A voice cut through the others and reached deep into his head. It wasn’t a pretty, effeminate voice like the rest. It was a deep, masculine voice that rang out. It was his father, the professor. Issac knew his father wasn’t really out there,but the siren’s curse had taken hold of him. All it took was a focused ear to catch the snare of a siren’s trap, and Issac had foolishly perked up when his ‘father’ called out to him. 

He stood no chance. As he opened his door and stepped out onto the deck, the choir had become a stadium, all chanting and singing for Issac to jump down into the water. His crew’s voices had joined in as well. But out of all the voices, Issac focused on his father’s as he teetered on the edge of the boat. The moon and stars were gone, Issac was cast completely in darkness. The roaring waves of the ocean were near silent compared to the howling of the sirens. If the boat wasn’t in the middle of the ocean, one would think the roaring wind was shaking it back and forth. 

With a shift in weight, Issac plunged into the darkness below.

Issac’s disappearance rang through the town more ferociously than his father’s. One sailor disappearing on a voyage was tragic, but nothing to glance at. But two? And a family no less? This caught people’s attention. After only a year, another group volunteered to go searching for the missing ship, like Issac before them. Then after THAT crew disappeared, another went out. After a few decades of this, it became a legend. Any hearty crew who wanted to cement their names in history could put down the money, hone their compass, and start the journey north.

 Embarking on Machina’s voyage.

Elvira sat with a wine glass hanging between her fingers like gallows while she glared at the photo of her daughter. Elise was only seventeen years old, but possessed a remarkable acquisition of skills that Elvira herself had only dreamed of achieving . She could read, she could sing, she knew nothing of what liquor and wine tasted, she could dance, she could do anything. Meanwhile, Elvira had the fluency of a drunken dwarf, the singing voice of a grindstone, the tongue of an irishman, and the feet of a lopsided giant. 

What a sick twist of fate, Elvira thought while sipping her wine slowly in a vain attempt to keep her facade of decadence, unaware that the empty bottles beside her betrayed this social veneer. For hours a day, Elvira watched the courtyards with a gargolian glare, eyes slanted on the flowy orange sundress wrapped around Elise. She had dozens of suitors reaching for her hand in marriage,meanwhile, at her age, Elvira had to settle for the man who earned his money through…coal mining! 

Elvira was destined to have a greater life! Or so told her mother, who with sharp bony hands brushed her hair with snapping fury to attract a good man since Elvira’s breasts were deemed too small to attract a man, and her eyes deemed too dull to catch a passing glance.  Elise though, with eyes that shined like the sun and a body that resembled a vale, had suitors galore. Elvira yearned to pick her daughter apart and stick inside the insecurities she had grown with, but unfortunately, Elvira’s heart was too big to sink down to her mother’s level. 

While the other girls her age were out frolicking in the fields, cooking with cast iron, or baring a child by time, Elvira sat looking at the wall, as she had grown accustomed to, while her mother sat, fiery eyes burning her dress. Why couldn’t you have taken after me, she would ask. Elvira would reply, with less and less rebuff each response, that she didn’t know why she couldn’t. How could you have been so brash to try and run off with someone unworthy, mother would ask. Elvira would say, after being punished for the actual reason time and time again, that she was impatient and greedy. How are you going to find a husband to settle to, mother would ask.  Elvira would say, holding back molten frustration boiling in her stomach with clenched teeth, that she simply didn’t know.

She had thoughts of disowning her daughter, but Elvira knew she wouldn’t be able to get away with it. Besides, even if she did, bringing her into this world was strenuous enough to warrant herself voluntarily barren. She could harbor another child, this she knew. But the knowledge of whether she’d possess the will was beyond her.

 So she sat, sipping her wine. A slight lifting of her lips was enough to clear out some of the thoughts though. Even if Elvira was outdone by her own daughter, she could always afford to wash her sorrows away with wine, something her mother could not. Setting the glass upside down, she walked over to her liquor cabinet and inspected the lock. Elvira was a simple woman, but if there was one important lesson she took from her own mother, it was to not make the same mistakes she did. Elvira learned to settle, even if the man was below her standards. She learned to silence her voice, even if Elise needed the venom. Most of all though, she learned to always know where her wine had been. With a smirk, Elvira glanced to the very back of the liquor cabinet, where a half empty bottle sat with the beautiful display of a skull printed onto the label.

It was then that a single thought crossed Elvira’s mind as she looked back towards the photo of Elise…

It was late into winter’s unbearable cold as Father Auckland awoke from the ringing of his phone. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he slipped into his plain tan slippers and walked into the kitchen. Tiled floor shimmered like a still lake as a sliver of sunlight peeked through crooked blinds, dividing the room in two. On one side, Father Auckland stood, the hands of sleep still being beaten away by the incessant ringing of the phone. The counter space on this side of the room was pristine, with not even a trace amount of dust to be found. Various tins and jars lined the spot where the counter and wall met, all with handwritten labels announcing their contents. Not that Father Auckland would’ve needed them though, he had kept them organized in the same order for years. Ever since he moved in, they lined up as sugar, salt, garlic (cooking), Mother’s Spice, paprika, thyme, and ash.  

Maybe I’ll treat myself to a hearty breakfast, Father Auckland thought to himself as he walked past the fridge and plucked the phone off the wall. 

“Hello?” Father Auckland chirped, doing his best to sound professional, like he had been awake hours before, but with the sound of jovial  laughter roaring from the receiver, he knew he had failed.

“Greetings Father! I hope I didn’t wake you!”

“It’s quite alright Cardinal Manera,” Father Auckland declared as he scooted back towards the fridge. “I had meant to be awake by now anyway.”

“Up all night were you?”

“Yes…something like that.”

Father Auckland opened the fridge while precariously balancing the phone on his shoulder, pulling the cord under the door as he scavenged through his fridge. 

“Well I’d hate to cause you to lose any more sleep, but this isn’t a social call, Father.” Cardinal Manera’s voice dropped its jovial tone. Father Auckland clenched his teeth as he reached past various vials and bottles of colored liquids to grab the ‘Packodozen’ eggs in the back of the fridge.

“I figured not,” Father Auckland whispered, pulling the eggs forward with surgical speed.

“Have you an answer for the church yet? Any findings on Adam Levi’s…condition?”

 Father Auckland placed the eggs on the counter and shut the door in one full turn, wrapping the cord around his hand in the process. 

On the other side of the dividing light, a small table hid in the darkness, adjacent to a wooden door. A crucifix looked down on the various envelopes and photos spread across the table. The gold shone through the darkness of the room, but Christ’s figure on the cross was virtually nonexistent aside from the vague silhouette. 

“There hasn’t been much progress,” Father Auckland mumbled as he did his best to bring the phone with him to the table. The cord of the phone was doing flips as Father Auckland yanked to give it slack. In front of him, a set of photos were sprawled out. The first showed a family of three in front of a small house, with a young girl standing front and center and her parents behind her, hands on her shoulders. They wore matching cashmere sweaters and matching smiles. Father Auckland paid no mind to them though, creasing the photo in half so only one person remained. The man to the right.

Adam Levi. 

“I’ve sifted through everything I've been given, there don’t appear to be any abnormalities.” Father Auckland glanced at the other photos, all showing more of the same. The family posing for a portrait or photo, and everything looking uniform. Smiles wide enough to see the whole set of teeth, neat and tidy clothing, a clean environment, it all lined up. 

“I’m looking at the photos now, and there’s nothing that would necessitate our involvement,” Father Auckland flipped through photo after photo, his brow furrowing at the stagnation these photographs induced. “I’ve got photos of him and the Misses, him and his daughter, a few of just him, and they all don’t suggest any paranormal interruption. Besides, he’s been in my custody for a few days now, and there have been no signs of possession or corruption here either.”

“You must look harder,” Cardinal Manera interrupted. “What happened that night was vile. Wicked. An affront to God. We cannot allow this to continue .” 

Father Auckland sighed and began sifting through the photos to try and find a photo from that night. They have one for pretty much every day, they’ve gotta have one for that night, Father Auckland thought to himself. He tossed each photo aside as he listened to Cardinal Manera speak.

“If you don’t have an answer by the end of the week, we will have to take matters into our own hands, and this includes debriefing and relocation on YOUR part, Father Auckland.” There was a moment of silence between Father Auckland and the phone.

“Do I make myself clear, Father?”

“Transparent,” Father Auckland groaned, letting go of the phone and letting it fling across the room and into the cabinets. Dread of his livelihood being on the line outweighed dread of the phone possibly being broken as Father Auckland plucked up photos and held them between his finger and thumb like a poker hand. It didn’t make sense. Adam Levi showed no prior signs of spiritual imbalance nor witchcraft of some sort, and his home was found clean of any voodoo or outside interference- yet there were up to five witnesses who claimed to see Adam Levi ‘participating in feats beyond mortal capability’- as the dossier put it. Father Auckland slid the vanilla folder sitting on the edge of the table over and flipped it open, strewing aside misalanions papers until he had gotten to one with the header NIGHT OF THE INCIDENT.  Perhaps one more read through could spell something…

NIGHT OF THE INCIDENT 

It was on the night of 12/15/1989 when church officials were documenting upticks of sanctus energy from the eastern side of DETROIT. The energy seemed only to grow as time moved on, and the local sanctum lieutenant requested permission to investigate immediately. Given the nature of the anomaly, permission was given by the on-sight captain and an investigation commenced-

Father Auckland rubbed the bridge of his nose as he flipped to the next page.

Upon arriving at the location, Father Josiah was sent to investigate as the on-site-team (OST) waited on standby. As is dictated in the NATO-SANCTUM treaty, Father Josiah knocked on the door and requested the subject (Adam Levi) give permission to enter the premises. It was at that moment when the subject pulled Father Josiah into the house and slammed the door. By the time the OST had mobilized and kicked in the door, Father Josiah's condition was far too severe to render aid.-

Father Auckland shut his eyes for a moment, shivering. He never had the heart to be a missionary in normal circumstances, but to be on the ground during a breach exorcism? The very idea turned Father Auckland’s blood to ice. Flipping through this dossier, Father Auckland scanned page after page, trying to find a photograph included within its thin vanilla walls. About one-third of the way through, Father Auckland stopped at a picture that was taken during the initial breach. It was blurry, but details could still be picked from it, if you were desperate enough. Adam Levi stood at the end of a hallway, staring horrified at the team as they made their way into the home, the flash from the camera casting a long, scraggly shadow on the wall. He wore a white button down with khakis, thick square glasses, and black church shoes.

Strangely enough, his outfit was completely clean, despite the visceral carnage that had taken place just out of frame. Father Auckland brought the photo closer to his face, squinting at every single grain of color in the photo like a cat staring down a mouse. Something wasn’t right. In this photo, Adam Levi was moments away from being seized by the on-sight team, and yet his focus remained on something else. It took him a moment, but Father Auckland eventually discovered what caught Adam’s eye (and his own). 

It was miniscule, almost imperceptible, Father Auckland was surprised that  he managed to find it. In the reflection of his glasses, there was a faint outline of a man staring back at Adam. Father Auckland couldn't make out much, after all, he had about a quarter of an inch to look at, but he could see the unmistakable outline of a man in some kind of suit. This wouldn’t stand out, were it not for the fact that no record of such a man was documented in the dossier. There were thirteen or so men in the team, and not one spotted him. Placing the photo back on the table, Father Auckland took a breath. The sudden boost in paranormal readings and Adam Levi’s ‘deer in headlights’ look had an explanation now. There was no possession at all, Father Auckland deduced, rushing to his room. 

With the revelation of what had transpired that night, Father Auckland felt his blood run cold. Digging through his bedside table, he pulled out a small golden crucifix. The reason Adam Levi showed no signs of possession was simply because there WAS no possession! Father Auckland steadied his heart as he entered back into the kitchen. The room was frigid, with Father Auckland’s breath wafting through the air like the exhaust from a car. He eyed the door adjacent with the table, gripping his crucifix with a white knuckled fist. The influx of energy with no trace of interference could only mean one thing, Father Auckland thought to himself as he twisted the brass knob. Adam Levi was being coerced! A demon acting on its own allows it to have a lot more range and ability, at the cost of losing direct control over its victim. But what made Father Auckland’s hair stand on end wasn’t the chill of the basement stairs he descended, nor was it the sub-freezing temperature of the basement itself. If a demon is acting on its own without any prior obligation, it can appear at any time. And anywhere.

The basement was in complete disarray, with books scattered on the floor and the furniture completely shattered. Adam Levi had been restrained on a small bed for a few days, but now the steel framed bed was snapped in half and upturned. It was completely black thanks to the single light bulb being shattered, and all Father Auckland could see past the sliver of light from the upstairs were two silhouettes. Adam Levi stood back to him, and was completely silent. His clothes were ragged, resembling mummy cloth more than the khakis and button up he donned when he was brought in. 

Father Auckland raised his crucifix when he saw who was standing beside him. Almost completely hidden, aside from his crimson suit, was the demon present in the photo. He wore a blank expression, and seemed more bored than malicious. Still, this did not deter Father Auckland as he stepped forward and delivered a command, barking it like a rottweiler.

“Reveal thy name to me, demon!” 

The demon in the suit raised its eyebrows. Although it looked completely human (aside from the fact it had to bow its head to fit in the basement), it gave off an aura that would melt the confidence away from even the bravest soldier of Christ. 

“You needn’t worry about me, papist, I was about to take my leave.” The demon looked down at Adam Levi and put a hand on his shoulder. 

“Come, Adam, let’s get you back to your family, then we can continue our discussion and-”

“Be silent! I will not allow you to taint this man’s soul and doom him to eternal damnation!” 

Father Auckland took another step forward. He was now mere feet away from the pair. 

“Adam, we mustn’t doddle. Grab my hand and I shall take you away from this place.”

“Do you not hear me, demon?” Father Auckland gritted his teeth and took another step. By now he was within arms length of the demon, and he could almost feel the energy the demon gave off like static electricity. Father Auckland’s confidence was stripped away though, as the demon simply glanced down at him and snatched his crucifix right from his hands.

“Yes I hear you, your voice carries like screeching winds.” It crumpled up the crucifix like it was made of paper before tossing it aside. The shock of having his only form of protection batted away like a cat with its yarn ball sent Father Auckland sprawling backwards. Before he could scream out in protest, the demon had grabbed Adam Levi’s hand. The two began glowing a bright crimson as the demon nodded its head at Father Auckland. Then, within a blink of an eye, the two blipped out of sight. 

Father Auckland stumbled up the stairs, tripping over the lip of the doorframe and falling hard on his knees. Wincing, he crawled over to the phone and put his ear up to the receiver, punching in the phone number he was given when he started his priesthood. After a few rings, the familiar voice of  Cardinal Manera rang through.

“Oh, Father Auckland! That was rather quick, have you found the source of Adam Levi’s condition so soon?”

“ Cardinal Manera… we may have a problem.”

You cannot rely on anything to keep yourself safe. Not a gun. Not Yourself. Not a lock. Nothing.  Despite how hard you may try, you can never really keep yourself safe. 

Despite having been told this all her life, Mae never paid the philosophy any mind. Sure, she was aware that danger existed, but she had been on this earth for nineteen years, and within all that time, the most danger she had ever been in was a car crash at fifteen. Why should she spend her whole life constantly looking over her shoulder?  She wanted to enjoy life for what it was, not abhor it for what it could be! So when she finally moved out and got her own apartment, she didn’t feel the looming sense of dread her friends all felt when they first moved out. I’ll just lock my doors and I’ll be fine, she told herself.

 The lock in question was a thin chain with links that looked more like paper clips than brass. But Mae treated it like it was the drawbridge to her castle. Along with this drawbridge, there was the small doorknob with the built in lock. However, Mae rarely put any thought into this one, as the previous tenant had worn it out so badly that it didn’t even work, and just spun on its axle, serving only to remind her to eventually talk to the landlord about getting it repaired. The rest of the apartment was more of the same, with a living room small enough to harbor a couch peppered with cigarette burns, a cheap flatscreen Mae had brought from home, a microwave precariously balanced on a pile of boxes that still remained packed, a dingy bathroom, and a coffin sized closet. 

And for a few months, that was where Mae called home. The boxes eventually got unpacked, welcoming a few shelves worth of clothes (mostly ugly sweaters and faded jeans), a bedside table, and a couple paintings and decorations she had brought to spruce the place up. Waiting tables earned a bit more money than she thought it would, especially with tips, but not nearly enough to have any extra cash to spend. So when she read about the gas station right down the road needing employees to work the night shift, she immediately applied. One hasty interview later, and she had the job. But the graveyard shift wasn’t the easy cash grab Mae thought it was. Up until this point, she had almost forgotten the warnings she had been given, still neglecting to look over her shoulders. But when she first stepped out of the apartment door and saw how dark it was outside, an unfamiliar dread sank into her heart. The familiar streetside became a foreign path devoid of life, the warm Lillyrock air now had a biting chill to it, and the supposed unnecessarity of looking over her shoulder revealed just how necessary it really was. It was easy to feel safe in the daylight! There were always people around, you could look out and see where everything was, you could enter into any shop and ask for directions if you really needed to! But at night while walking briskly down the side of the road? There was no one around (or at least no one you felt safe around), you were practically blind without a light, and almost nowhere was open, except of course the gas station Mae found herself stumbling towards in the dead of night. By the time she had made it in, Mae was huffing and puffing as she ran between the automatic doors. 

And despite the terror that gripped her while walking that half mile from her apartment, she kept the routine up for another few months, eventually growing confident in her strides to the gas station. What were once bone chilling treks became quick jaunts. What was once a near unbearable chill became a comforting breeze. And the lack of people became a blessing rather than a curse, with no one to annoy or distract Mae as she made her way to the gas station. But with this newfound bravery, Mae once again found herself neglecting to look over her shoulders like she had been warned to, and tonight, that negligence would have consequences. It was half past eleven when Mae found herself behind the counter, scrolling on her phone to make her shift end faster. The store was dead quiet, and not a soul had entered since she punched in at eight. She eyed the analog clock stationed above the beer cooler every so often, praying the hour hand would suddenly lurch forward to one, but to no avail. Sighing, she looked out the glass windows. It was snowing. Although light, the snow had been building up for the past few hours, piling up on the ground outside. She would’ve shoveled the walkway to the door if she could, but to put in a lot of effort for something ultimately no one would notice seemed unappealing to Mae. So she sat, waiting out the clock, endlessly scrolling on her phone. 

It had almost been a full hour when the electronic ding of the door rang out through the store. Jumping, Mae looked up and parroted the greeting she had been taught.

“Welcome to the quick stop, how can I help you today?” she chirped. Walking through the doors, a man with graying hair stepped in, smelling of cigarette smoke. He ignored Mae and slowly shambled to the counter, the silver streaks in his hair glistening against the fluorescent lighting. Mae felt a chill up her spine. The fear which she had been ignoring had returned, but this time, she couldn’t lock herself away or run. The man’s shadow completely shrouded Mae. He didn’t seem that big when he walked in, but now, only a few inches away, he seemed like he was three times the size of Mae. Once again, Mae tried speaking to him. “Hello? Do you need help finding something?” The man said nothing. Instead, he leaned down, staring Mae directly in the eyes. His eyes were cloudy, with a hint of blue that matched his skin. Before Mae could ask again, the man lifted his head and shuffled out the door, ducking his head under. The way he walked made Mae feel sick. He shook like a newborn deer, but lumbered around like a bear. Mae brushed this off as him letting in the cold, but ever since he had come into the store, a chill had encroached into the store. A chill so strong, even her thick ugly sweater didn’t keep her warm. 

It was a few minutes after that Mae had made an executive decision to take off early. No one is coming in anyway, I don’t wanna waste my time, she told herself, trying to justify leaving early. The chill that clicked away at her spine with needle point claws only worsened as she stepped out into the cold. The snow still fell, slowly but consistently. It seemed even darker than usual, with not even the town’s nightlife peeking out to offer some semblance of light. But it wasn’t the unending darkness or the beastly cold that made her stop. There were no footprints in the snow. The chill got worse, and Mae felt her breath tighten. How could there be no footprints in the snow? She just had someone come in not too long ago! Sure, it had been snowing since he left, but there weren’t even any indents anywhere in the snow. It was as if he had never shown up. With a panicked yelp, Mae began making her way across the parking lot and began her jog back to the safety and comfort of her apartment. It was hard to run in the snow, with it going up to about her shin, but she bit down and kept pushing, listening to the crunching of the snow beneath her boot to give her comfort and something to focus on. The repetitive but consistent crunch of her boots kept Mae connected to the situation and allowed herself to think as she waded up the street. Maybe he took a different path and I just didn’t see. Maybe there were footprints, and I just didn’t see them! Maybe I’m just letting fear get to me. Mae flipped through each excuse she could, trying to do what she had done before and conquer her fear, but she just couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Something beyond feeling caused Mae to stop and listen, as she kept up her pace. Crunch… Crunch… Crunch… 

She could hear snow crunching, crunching that didn’t match up with the pace of her jogging. Something deep inside Mae rang out. Advice that Mae had been ignoring all her life. Advice that even now she didn’t want to trust, but instinctively knew was right. To look over her shoulder. To be afraid. Quickening her pace to a full run, Mae looked back and felt her heart jolt. About ten feet back, walking as fast as Mae could run, the man from the store followed, matching his feet to each footprint Mae left in her trail. Mae didn’t know how he was keeping up with her despite only walking, but she knew she needed to get away from him. As she turned back forward, all the fear and anxiety she had been repressing suddenly started flowing through her. With everything she had, she began sprinting, her shaking breaths echoing loud in her ears, but just quiet enough to let her hear the crunching behind her. By the time she had made it to her apartment, the crunching sounded like it was right on top of her. She threw herself into her door and jolted around, locking the door with the chain. She took a moment to catch her breath. She was safe. 

Or at least she thought she was. The door started rattling violently, and the chain lock already looked like it was about to snap in half. Quickly, Mae scrambled to her closet and slammed the door shut, propping her foot against it in a last ditch effort. A sudden crash echoed through the apartment, punctuated by the sound of the clattering chain hitting the linoleum floor. Holding her breath, Mae silently prays that whatever’s out there doesn’t find her. She could hear it shuffle through her apartment in that unnatural, animalistic way. She heard it stomp into the kitchen, she heard it make its way to the bathroom, she heard it trace every inch of the apartment. Until it stopped in front of the door. Everything had gone quiet. Mae cursed in her head. The lock was supposed to keep me safe! As the closet door began rattling, Mae recalled the advice she had ignored one last time. With a sudden realization of what she hadn’t realized before it was too late, Mae looked at the closet door wide eyed, as she felt her foot slip.