They Watch Me

By D. E. Michelle

A crinkle of a chip bag rattled from the little car, the prying woman now smacking on her crispy cheesy delights, watching the Allison show. Just ignore her; she would go away. But they never do.

 

Allison Fellman wants to fit in, but the people around her keep her at a distance. Always scolding and sneering, always… watching. Just like on the farm when she was a child.

 

Her mom doesn't talk about what happened. Allison is not allowed to ask why her dad won't ever come home again. An unspoken rule held between them since she was young.

 

The years pass in tense silence on the old farm as Allison tries to live a normal life. But she can't. She's afraid to sleep at night. Demonic shadows manifest themselves out of the corners of her mind, pointing to a place called Redden Lake.

 

After sneaking out of the house, Allison travels to the sinister lake with a few of her college friends. She meets some strange new people who knew her father but stay silent about the past. Undaunted, she keeps asking around but only gets the attention of a provocative masked man named Coy, who seems to know more than he is saying.

 

After a mutilated body is found in the forest, Allison questions Coy's intentions while also fighting back memories of what really happened on the old farm.

 

"They Watch Me" is an eerie horror story with touches of humor that lead you to the roller-coaster ending.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D. E. Michelle
• Release date: Mar 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201678142

D. E. Michelle

I’ve been a fan of the horror genre as far as I can remember. Reading a spine-chilling book is like experiencing an out of control dream, a place where you cross into the realm of the uncertain and battle demonic entities and bloodthirsty maniacs. Writing scary stories is a way I can envision my fears. Write them down, give them form, and hope others might relate. I also spend my days in the flat hills of the Midwest—writing, painting, designing graphic art and watching for tornadoes.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Allison, where are you?

I hear the pigs. My feet are so small I can barely walk. I’m just a little girl.

You are not a little girl anymore.

It’s here again.

What is there?

The pig shed. Why is it here? It was torn down years ago.

It’s only your memories.

I will get in trouble again. I want to hold one of the babies in my hands...

There’s nothing to be afraid of. Tell me about the pig shed.

Mommy loves them. I’m not allowed in here.

You won’t be punished, Allison.

I can smell the slaughter. Where is everyone? Dr. Bradley, is that you?

I’m here in the office.

It’s watching me.

What is watching you?

Daddy?

Is your dad there, Allison?

He went to the lake. Is he back? There’s a shadow standing by the barn.

Do you mean the pig shed?

No, it’s different... the red barn is a different place.

Tell me who is standing by the red barn.

I want to leave.

Who is there?

I can’t move. The rabbit is watching me.

The rabbit?

Daddy, help me!

What do you see?

The rabbit... the man... he watches. Like the others.

What man?

He is laughing. They all watch me.

Allison?

I can’t breathe. He won’t help me. It’s all red.

Where are you?

I want to be a good girl. Please don’t hate me.

Allison.

Daddy? Can’t you see the rabbit hiding in the shadows?

Wake up, Allison.

He stands by the barn at night. I saw it. Mom made friends with it.

Allison?

Daddy, he will get you. Please let me kill it. I want to kill the rabbit.

I said wake up, Allison!

Allison opened her eyes. Coarse white ceiling panels floated above her head as her body sunk into the cushions of the couch she lay on. Outside of the small window, rush hour traffic roared past the cramped psychiatric office as wisps of dream-like shadows escaped her mind. What happened? It didn’t matter. She needed to leave.

His face bent down into his notebook, Dr. Bradley wrote furiously on the pages in his lap as he sat on his worn leather chair. Should she interrupt?

She again looked to the window. The sun lingered on the horizon, its final beams blaring through the glass. Why couldn’t it just wait for her to leave? But the sun didn’t care about Allison’s suffering, and soon it would be dark. It might be waiting for her outside. She needed to go. Say something to get his attention. Anything.

The sun, it’s so bright.

DAMN SHITTIN’ LIGHT in my eyes.

With the evening sun low in the sky, Gus Rawling adjusted his mirrored sunglasses to block out the glare and keep a close watch on the road. He drove his thunderous eighteen-wheeler through the small Midwestern town of Plainsview, a place known for its wonderful views of jack-shit. Nothing but a few eaten up cornfields and derelict housing projects.

Gus slowed his truck next to a group of college girls standing on the sidewalk. He crept beside them so they could see the lettering on the side of the trailer. Most people laughed at the company name and let their guard down after reading it. Come on girls, don’t you want a ride from Golden Mile Mover?

There was too many of them. And not what he was looking for, anyway. He drove on.

Pressing the gas, gaining some speed, feeling like an opportunity passing him by, he rushed along the highway where darkness poured in. The cars facing him flicked on their headlights. He pulled off his sunglasses to see what might be coming at him. A white farmhouse with an old red barn. Nothing unusual about that, but something else didn’t quite fit into its surroundings. Gus was good at noticing things like that. Finally. And here we go.

He downshifted and put pressure on the brake and clutch. The truck whined to a halt, begging him not to stop. Gus wiped his sweaty palms on his pants as he heard the stranger’s footsteps approach, wanting him to be inside. Just a little closer.

A sucking pop. The passenger door opened. Weight shifted on metal. Firm steps climbed into the cabin and a man slid into the passenger seat, tossing a duffle bag at his feet. Breathing a sigh of relief, Gus eased off the clutch and pulled the stick toward his leg and then back, giving the truck some gas as he shifted into a higher gear.

You some kind of sissy for wearing that?

The stranger said nothing. The truck’s gravelly engine filled the silent void. Gus glanced over at the man who wore a leather mask from which two rabbit ears extended to the ceiling of the cabin.

Gus noticed immediately the quality of the mask. Hand carved leather with the edges beveled and polished to a glossy finish—this thing took some time to make. The mask ran around the man’s ice-blue eyes, but left the bottom half of his face exposed.

It was strange. It was as if the molded leather was fused to the stranger’s skin, changing him into something else, as if he were a wild human animal. Gus liked it, respected it—except for the dumb ears.

He put pressure on the stick, causing the gears to grind and moan. Damn it. Amateur mistake. The ears of the stranger’s mask scraped across the roof of the cabin.

Gus glanced over and made a quick study of the stranger. Lean with a muscular build, older than most of those cry-baby college students, about mid-thirties from what he could tell. More experienced, for sure.

Are you a sissy then? It’s okay if you are.

With a heavy sigh, the masked man shoved his duffle bag away from his feet to make more room to stretch his legs.

Gus drove on in silence as the seatbelt ground into his skin, the sharp pain in his stomach becoming more intense with his aroused anger toward the stranger. Soon the man would bear the brunt of it all. And to think he might have let him live.

He shifted into a higher gear and let his mind shift as well. Golok machete. That’s what the guy at the ammo fair called it. Badass blade, but not really his style. Looked like a damn pirate sword, but sharp as shit. Gus reached down to make sure it still stood in place beside his seat.

I asked you a question, son.

The speeding truck rocked them back and forth. The masked man showed no expression on his exposed mouth as he tapped his fingers one by one on his knee. Gus wanted to reach over and punch him square in the face right then and there.

A hidden road in the woods up ahead. Let this guy think he was smart until then, just like Travis Weis thought he was smart, not answering a question being asked of him.

It took nothing to slam that kid’s face into his prison food tray, the fork stabbing his baby cheek as he spit out blood and cried, Mommy, mommy, mommy!

Never seen a grown man yell for his mommy before.

He had a lot of fun with Travis over the next few months until Gus’s time was served up and they set him loose.

Gus nudged on the brake as he looked for the turn. There.

Short-cut up ahead.

Don’t let this guy panic, not while he’s driving. Gus turned the wheel hard and drove off the main road onto a wooded side road, their bodies jolting from the uneven ground of the new path leading only towards darkness. A place Gus had been before. A place they never found the body.

Branches scraped against the trailer, but Gus didn’t care; he didn’t get written up for shit, anyway. He drove on, stopping only when the trees had hidden the truck from view.

End of the road. What do you think about that, rabbit man?

The masked man glanced at Gus out of the corner of his eye. Good thing. He better not look me in the face. He hasn’t earned that respect yet. The man pulled his door handle and tried to open it. Gus laughed. Idiot. The passenger door could only be unlocked from the driver’s side. Gus made it that way. The masked stranger seemed annoyed, which made Gus laugh harder.

Nope, gotta get to the button over here to open your door.

Gus didn’t point to the knob needed to unlock the door, instead he wrapped his hand around the grip of his machete and stroked the curved handle. Look at you, pretty boy. You know what I like to do with pretty boys? I can tell you’re a heart-breaker.

The masked man’s tiresome eyes turned intense as he cast his view on all sides of the cabin. Amused, Gus joined in. Yup, that’s my dirty clothes in the sleeper. The masked man shifted his body to look deeper toward the back. Got some food and soda pop over there. The man looked at Gus’s feet next to the driver’s door. Found something. Gus pulled up his tightened fist and revealed the machete’s sharp blade. What do you have to say now? Wait, you ain’t got shit to say.

The masked man finally turned his sights onto Gus, the stranger’s icy blue eyes tunneling into his own, deeply probing his secrets, as if he could ever even know them—or would want to. Gus decided he would have to let him earn that later.

Come here.

Not even hesitating, leather crackled as the stranger shifted his body and drew his legs up toward the top of his seat. After balancing himself on his knees, he began to move forward with... purpose. Gus chuckled to himself, squeezing the machete handle tight in his hand, happy he picked up the stranger.

The masked man’s bare arm zipped across the seat as he made his way towards Gus, only breaking his view of him to survey the environment. His feet on the floor between them, the stranger edged closer, his legs gliding over the stick shift, his eyes snapping back onto Gus who returned the top of the pointed blade into its leather cover. He rested the weapon on his chest with both hands, one on the handle and one on the sheath, ready to use at will. 

Careful now, let’s be nice about this.

The stranger pushed his tense body against Gus’s side, grabbing hold of his robust arm and then sliding his leg across Gus’s legs, pushing his lean muscular frame on top of him, straddling him, his knees barely able to touch down onto the seat on either side of Gus. The stranger’s rhythmic chest worked against Gus’s bulging stomach as his weight pressed hard against his groin. The man sat motionless on Gus’s lap, staring into his eyes, unashamed and calm.

Outside in the darkness, a locust struggled along the wiper blades. Its pulsating wings beat against the glass as it suffered, adding to Gus’s pleasure. Just a quick look, Gus told himself, finally resting his eyes on the insect’s agony. The masked man jolted forward.

Clasping his hands on the machete, the masked man strained the muscles of his entire body to twist the blade toward’s Gus’s neck. Who does this masked fuck think he is?

Gus slammed the sheath back over the blade, which was making quick headway toward his throat. He struggled to keep control as the stranger pulled at the sheath, trying to uncover it while using his body weight to shove it forward. Skinny idiot, he’s going to be sorry. No one ever messed with Gus. No one.

Memories of a thousand fights since childhood—of teeth cracking, of blood pouring, of grown men crying—propelled Gus into a ruthless counter attack. Shoving the tip of the sheathed blade against the window, he held the handle tight with his strong left hand. Once secure, Gus released his right hand and clasped it around the stranger’s neck, finally finding the flesh he desired.

Still, the man fought to uncover the lodged blade. The sheath scraped against the glass under the power of the stranger’s determined hands as his neck blazed bright red under Gus’s clenched fingers. Gus squeezed even harder. It would only be a few more seconds until he could play with this guy’s dead body.

You like that, pretty boy?

The masked man sucked air into his heaving chest but did not pass out—not like all the others. He even managed to put more weight on the machete, turning it to a better position to expose the blade. Why wasn’t the man going limp?

Gus squeezed tighter around the stranger’s neck, his rigid grip working against the flexing of the man’s body. Gus could kill a man with one hand. That he knew.

Finally, the masked man relaxed his muscles, his legs releasing some of their tension as they slipped down. Gus didn’t want to kill the guy yet. Wanted to have fun with him first. He softened the pressure of his hold, but still kept his hand around his neck. The stranger gasped for breath and slumped over, but just a little. Gus could almost crack a winning smile—until he felt the sharp unsheathed blade pressing against his own neck.

Please, no, I—

The masked man’s head snapped up and his icy eyes blazed fire. He thrust the machete forward with such force that Gus could not control the panic which flared through his stunned body, causing him to grasp the air with the hand that once held the stranger captive.

His neck stinging against the razor’s edge, Gus blindly pushed his bare hand into the sharp blade, slicing his terrified flesh down to the bone, failing to slow the trespass of the knife into his own neck. The pressure unbearable, the tearing of his skin maddening, Gus continued to struggle. He only wanted to be free from the pain, but could find no shelter from his brutal attacker.

Dripping blood tickled his tender skin as the sharp metal hacked through stiff muscle. Gus sucked in his last breath, wanting to say sorry to his mom, sorry for all the bad he had done because he didn’t want to go to Hell. He needed more time. Mommy, mommy, mommy.  But none of that came out, only a gurgled breath full of blood.

ALLISON FELLMAN DUG her nails into her legs as she waited for Dr. Bradley to address her. Slowly flipping through his notes, his wrinkled brow nodded back and forth as he studied the cryptic writing on the pages. She could tell he was once an attractive man when he was younger. Would she grow older too, just sitting there waiting for him to respond?

Trying to relax her tense muscles, she sunk her body into the brown leather couch. To her side, a fly beat its head against the small window, wanting to be outside where the light post had flickered on. Where the darkness waited.

Something happened to you, Dr. Bradley said.

What?

A hidden trauma.

I don’t know what I would be hiding. My life is boring.

Dr. Bradley watched her, studied her, maybe just a little too closely. Was there something on her face? She adjusted her blouse and pulled up the neckline. Never should have worn this shirt. It hanged down too much, revealed too much. Slut.

Do you remember being trapped somewhere as a child?

Allison clenched her hands into tight fists. Dr. Bradley sometimes asked rapid-fire questions, so she didn’t have time to consider the answers.

I liked being alone, in my room, in the barn. I might have been locked in accidentally. I’m not sure.

The slaughter upset you, a big part of living on a farm.

It made me sad.

Who watched you? 

I wouldn’t know. It was only me most of the time.

Dr. Bradley violently scribbled in his notebook.

Do you remember anything about today’s session? he asked.

No, I just see shadows.

But the dreams you have at night, you can remember those?

Oh, yes.

How do you feel when you have those dreams?

Scared, overwhelmed and then so angry I want to... I don’t know.

You need to allow yourself to experience these feelings. Hypnosis is a great tool we can use to get to your core issues and work through them in a safe environment.

Allison gave another quick glance down at her shirt. Did he think she was pretty? Let the shirt slide down a little and see if he looks. The darkness could wait.

My dreams seem so real, like they’re trying to tell me something, but I can’t understand them right now. Allison said.

Dr. Bradley exhaled deeply and grabbed the clipboard from the last session they had months ago and snapped through the pages. Too much. Not the answer he wanted. Wasn’t the point of therapy to say anything you want? Not here. Must be more careful. Get the pills.

How real do your dreams seem to you? he asked.

Dr. Bradley looked up at Allison as though that wasn’t an odd question to ask. He controlled his facial expression as he waited for her answer.

I can tell the difference between dreams and real life. I would have said something... told you about it. Shut up, shut up. When I get migraines, I see red flashes. You already know about that, when I get mad. Please tell me I’m normal.

Let’s be aware of this as we continue your sessions. Dr. Bradley scrawled yet more notes into his notebook. Relaxing his hand, he pulled off his reader glasses and settled back into his chair, straining a reassuring smile on his face.

So what about this rabbit you want to kill? he asked.

Kill?

That’s what you said at the end of the session.

I’m afraid of rabbits. I can’t imagine getting close enough to kill one.

Have you considered the rabbit in your dreams might somehow be symbolic of your father?

No, my dad’s a pig. I mean... that’s the animal that comes to mind when I think of him. He’s definitely not a rabbit.

Allison glanced up at the window again. Still dark. It would be okay. It was only a quick walk.

You grew up on a farm surrounded by many living creatures. I’m not surprised you associate people’s characteristics with animals, but can you remember where this fear of rabbits came from?

Allison searched her mind for a memory she felt she knew well. I was about six. Mom and dad were arguing. I ran outside into the dark.

A scary place for a little girl.

I used to love the night as a child. Now I’m afraid.

And then what happened... that night?

A rabbit jumped out and scared me. I tried to run away, but there were others surrounding me.

What else do you remember about these rabbits?

They were mean as dogs. I never want to see anything like them again.

Could these rabbits have been something else?

Like what?

You said you heard laughing. Odd thing for a rabbit to do.

I did?

Who was watching you?

I... I don’t know.

You said he is still on your farm, watching you.

People cut through the farm to get to the main road, it’s not unusual to see someone walking on our property. It costs too much to buy a fence.

Let’s revisit this later.

That was easy.

What else do you remember about your dad?

He protected me. He would tell me jokes and make me laugh. And then he got angry. I can’t remember why, but it was my fault. Allison’s throat burned. Hold it together. That’s when he left us.

It’s okay to cry here, Allison. Dr. Bradley leaned over to a small side table and pulled a few tissues from a floral box, then handed them to Allison. Sitting back, his face winced as he brought his hand to his forehead. He stared into the yellow wall, seeming to search for the right words to conjure forth into the little stuffy office.

My cousin went missing when I was eight years old. Sarah was her name, same age as me... at the time. I could never understand it. How could someone disappear like that? Many years went by and we never discovered what happened, he said.

Oh.

Allison shifted on the leather couch as Dr. Bradley looked toward the window of darkness, his eyes misting and pink.

Two months ago, surveyors found her remains in the bottom of an old well off of Bixum Road. A horrible way to die, but, I felt relief to finally learn the truth. Sort of morbid, I know. Allison, what if you never find out what happened to your father?

Maybe he has a new family.

How would that make you feel?

I guess I would be okay with just knowing he’s alive somewhere.

Really?

Doubt covered Dr. Bradley’s mature face; but she was telling the truth, mostly. It was as if he had never died. And there was no proof to the contrary. She liked to believe he was a real person, out there living his life—not like the shadow in her mind.

I want him to come back.

I understand how you feel. Abandoned.

A tear floated down her cheek. Why doesn’t my mom hang any photos of us?

Maybe that’s her way of dealing with the situation.

Allison sucked in an uncontrolled breath as she snapped open her purse and pulled out a photograph.

I found this in an old box.

Allison leaned forward and handed the photo to Dr. Bradley, who grabbed his reader glasses to inspect the new document. Allison had the faded image memorized. Standing in front of the farmhouse, her mom, tall and sturdy, smiled with her arm squeezed around her dad, whose height ended at her shoulders. He wore slick black cowboy boots and a white dress shirt, her mom in a red and pink checkered dress with ruffles. About five years old, Allison stood in the foreground in a cute little yellow dress, her mousy hair tousled from the breeze. She was smiling big, as if to show the world how many teeth she had. A nice family photo. Her only one.

How very sweet. Look at those eyes of yours, Dr. Bradley said.

Allison scraped her nails across her knees. I would hardly know I ever had a dad if it wasn’t for this photo.

Dr. Bradley passed the small image to Allison and then quickly averted his gaze back down to his clipboard. The, um, dreams you have relate to a childhood trauma, causing you overwhelming anxiety. You hold too much in. It’s okay to express your feelings and make connections to other people.

Allison glanced down at her flimsy shirt. A jolt of bitter shock ran through her body. Her collar had fallen too far and her bright lacy blue bra gleamed in complete view. She yanked her shirt up and held it tight. She didn’t mean to do that. Slut.

I guess so.

Dr. Bradley gave a hesitant glance toward Allison, then relaxed back into his seat.

You are scared of learning to drive, asking a boy out and being on your own. These are all things someone your age should be experiencing.

Allison sunk into the cushions. There wasn’t anything she could do about that.

I know.

You’ve turned twenty-one. Have you thought about what you next plan is?

Next plan?

Higher education, bachelor’s degree, a job besides the library?

Allison wasn’t the only person she knew her age still holding out in community college, undecided.

I’m just taking it a step at a time. I get nervous if I think too much about the future.

Dr. Bradley shut his notebook. He sat deep in thought, as if wanting to say something but couldn’t. Go ahead, call her a loser. He looked at her earnestly.

It does get better.

It does?

After you go to Hell.

What?

Intense needles seared into Allison’s back as she waited for Dr. Bradley to respond. Maybe she didn’t hear him right. He pulled the glasses from his face and rubbed his fingers across his tired eyes, sighing heavily as he placed the scribbled notebook on the side table. Please say something.

Getting well sometimes feels like suffering. It’s going to the dark places in your mind and letting your secrets rip you apart. It’s like going to Hell. But with some hard work you can make it back again, into a whole and healthy person. Reborn.

Oh.

It’s a self-sacrifice in a way. You must do it willingly. We can accomplish that here safely in the office with regular appointments. Are you willing to surrender yourself to the process and make that journey?

Allison tensed. It felt as though she was agreeing to something she didn’t understand the rules to.

Yes.

Then let’s continue the hypnosis sessions and your medication. You need to take your pills regularly.

I have a hard time getting to the appointments, but I won’t miss them anymore, believe me. Please give me the pills.

You haven’t filled your prescription in three months.

I didn’t mean to.

I understand you’re busy, but this is important too. You will make time for your appointments, right?

Yes.

Standing on shaky legs, Allison’s eyes fastened onto Dr. Bradley as he wrote in his little prescription book. She needed to hurry before the pharmacy closed for the night. Then she would go into the darkness.

Two times a day, every day.

His hand swiped forward, holding the flimsy paper. Allison snatched the precious sheet as the sleeve of her loose blouse floated down again. Just leave. Just get out.

Thank you so much. I’ll pick up my pills... my prescription, around the corner. Thanks.

Grasping the fabric of her blouse, Allison backed up to the door as Dr. Bradley sat contently in his chair, pulling out his cell phone to check his messages. Please don’t say it, please don’t say it, please. Dr. Bradley looked up from his phone as if remembering a final word.

Oh, and one more thing.

Yes?

Anger is hurt. Anger is sadness. Let’s make sure you express those feelings in a safe way.

Yes, Dr. Bradley. Thank you.

Allison?

Yes?

They are only dreams, and dreams can’t harm you. Okay?

Yes. Thank you.

Allison backed through the door and into the safety of the dark hallway.

THE MASKED MAN STUDIED the long sappy smear leading into the forest as he held his new machete. Should have left the body in the truck.

He returned the blade into its leather sheath and set it into his duffle bag. A metallic money clip he pilfered from the trucker sat on the ground beside the bag. He picked it up and tossed it into the long grass. Cheap gold-plated shit.

He had a job to do and needed to go back and get it done—but the facts weren’t lining up. Demanding answers from the lady, he got none. Just needed a few days to think about it. It seemed wrong. The mom deserved it more.

After swinging the duffle bag over his shoulder, he made his way to the dark road where he began to whistle a long-lost show tune. 

Chapter 2

ALLISON swallowed hard against her dry throat as she stood on the sidewalk of the brightly lit plaza, reading the torn sign taped to the surface of a soda machine.

Out of order. Shoot.

Before closing for the night, she was just able to make it to the pharmacy. Enduring dirty looks from tired employees, Allison made her purchase of one bottle of little blue pills, now held secure in a small white prescription bag in her hand. Pills for her anxiety, nothing more. She would be happier with some water for her dry mouth.

Inside the main hall where Dr. Bradley’s office resided was a water dispenser with those little cone cups. No time for this. The campus bus would leave in a half hour, the last one for the night. Quick, run, run. I can make it.

Allison hurried to the door and pulled the handle, but it did not give. Locked. Pressure seared across her back, ashamed for having tried. Someone watched her.

Sitting in an orange electric car, a lady stared at Allison through a dirty windshield.

Allison did not want to turn and face the woman. Instead, her eyes drifted to the metallic words on a small plaque beside the door. S. Summerfield. Allison’s babysitter from a past life, too long ago to remember. Blocked it all away and put it on a bookshelf.

A crinkle of a chip bag rattled from the little car, the prying woman now smacking on her crispy cheesy delights, watching the Allison show. Just ignore her; she would go away. But they never do.

Allison turned and walked toward the darkness. The lady stopped eating mid-chip, adjusting in her seat for a better view as Allison hiked past the vending machine and then in the road’s direction.

Gravel crunched under Allison’s shoes as she strode across the familiar asphalt of the parking lot towards Breckam Road. Allison felt independent in a strange way. She was in control. She was not on a bus being led places, not in a class being told what to think. The darkness wasn’t so bad after all.

In the distance, a gas station glowed. No help to her, she needed to get to the Plainsview community college, a place she studied for free because she was poor. Poor little Allison who lived on an old rundown farm, just give her a Pell grant.

It had taken fourteen minutes to walk to her doctor’s office from campus earlier that day. She pressed the small button on her new wristwatch with a worn strap she found in the library a week ago. Lucky find. The time seven-fifteen glowed back at her. Fifteen plus fourteen. Twenty-nine. Then catch the bus home at seven forty-five. Plenty of time.

The leaves clapped in the dusky trees as she trudged towards the woods. No cars drove past, working in Allison’s favor. Would they invent another name to call her if they saw her walking alone at night?

All she wanted was the pills. Talking about her private feelings was the humiliating procedure to get them. Was she an angry person? Allison could never be angry with her dad, and she could never think of him as missing, only out there in the world somewhere, keeping an eye on her, like she imagined him sometimes.

An electric buzz echoed in the quiet wooded enclosure and perverted the natural surroundings. The orange car from the parking lot zoomed toward Allison. A male passenger stuck his head out of the open window.

Get a car, Jack!

The thunder of the man’s voice punched the breath out of Allison’s chest. She stood, legs shaking, as the car zipped ahead on the dusky wooded road. Idiot. But could she really blame them for pointing out her odd, lonesome trek on a dark road? Why can’t I be like everyone else? Because you’re not.

Allison looked at her watch. Seven twenty-two. Halfway there.

As if racing for the gold medal in a speed-walking competition, Allison quickened her pace, thinking about anything to keep her mind off the shameful situation she had found herself in.

Dean Hagan.

Tall and stunning, Dean Hagan dominated her still-life painting class with his gothic charm. Black clothes, chains, leather and clasps—he clinked and clanked whenever entering a room. Even the instructor, Miss. Peters, seemed to have a crush on him. He brooded over his dark canvases with serious intent, but always had a smile for anyone brave enough to approach him. It looked like he wore eyeliner sometimes, but she could not tell yet, not having worked up the courage to talk to him.

Twenty-one and never even kissed a boy. Time was running out.

Allison stopped.

Something wasn’t right.

Stretching her hands in front of her, the tips of her fingers disappeared. She quickly pulled her hands back in, making sure her fingers were still there. Of course they were.

Did she go blind?

Above her, the metallic flicker of a dead streetlamp tried to light itself. She wasn’t blind; the streetlight had gone out. Why wouldn’t the city fix this? Because people shouldn’t walk this road at night, that’s why. How stupid was she for doing it? It’s all my fault.

Allison lodged the white bag under her sweaty armpit and pressed the little button on her digital watch. Her feet illuminated with a dim glow. At least it was something.

She kept her pace while trying to ignore the windy forest clamor surrounding her. One sound in particular held her attention. Whistle, whistle. The wind must have been hitting against the branches, for sure, to make that sound. It was interesting, really. Allison could almost hum along, which in fact she began to.

Shards of broken glass crunched under her shoes as she recalled the walk from earlier that day. A few roads connected to the main road, so she needed to be careful not to turn on one of them or she would go deeper into the woods.

She wasn’t alone. The moon’s light flickered off a glint of metal in the black trees. There was someone parked in the woods, people making out, probably. The moon hid behind the clouds, not wanting to help Allison find her way out. But it was okay; there was a streetlamp in the distance.

Pointing the glowing wristwatch to the ground, she noticed how only a small section of the road seeped into existence under its narrow illumination, the spattered mud making it difficult to see where she should walk. Was she even on the pavement? Just go toward the light, Carol Anne. Enough of that.

Allison stopped. Yes, she did exactly what she told herself not to do; she turned onto a side road and walked deeper into the void, always wanting to go in that direction. No problem, just turn back to the main road.

She moved past an area where portions of long reeds were pushed down in a purposeful way, a sign that humanity was once there. She dabbed her fingers into the sticky mud. Pushing her hand across the surface of a tree, she drew three sharp lines with a swirl underneath. Her mark.

What would people think of the emblem when they drove past? Who was A? Was A for A-hole? Anarchy? The scarlet letter A? Who knew, but Allison Fellman was there.

Help me.

Allison swung around as a desperate whisper gurgled in her head.

Hello? Who’s there?

A tree branch cracked and fell to the ground. Must have been the wood giving way. But another sound, different from the falling branch, sped in her direction.

Hello?

The unseen force scurried towards Allison, dead twigs cracking like bones underneath its shifting weight. Allison jumped back, but a tangled vine seized her ankle, stopping her escape.

She tore her fingers into the barbed coil as the rustling continued, closer and closer. While her hands grasped out in confusion, she wondered how a simple vine could have knotted itself around her leg so many times. The noise stopped. She stopped. Glass eyes peeked out from the tall grass, watching Allison closely, waiting for its chance to attack. Allison frantically kicked her legs, but the clinging plant still would not let go. The shadowy form jumped at her.

Reeling back, she cried out to no one. Aware that if the monster killed her, she would not have to face her mom to know that, yes, it was all her fault. "You’ll wreck the car, you’ll fail college, just stay home and don’t even try."

No!

Rocks stabbed her skin as her back slammed onto the ground, the small white bag ripping from her hand and soaring into the darkness. The dim light of her watch picked up the glint of a large rabbit’s eye. She screamed out, clawing her hands into the dark air. Anything but that. Don’t let the rabbit kill me!

TRIPP LEARDI STUDIED the gas selection under a bright dome. Such different choices since he was a kid racing around in his Thunderbird. Those were the days where you didn’t have to worry about the depleting ozone layer and carbon footprints. A simpler time.

He pressed the button with the yellow corn icon and pushed the nozzle into his lime green Toyota. Nervously looking toward the road, he waited for the tank to fill, wiping his hand across his eco-friendly cotton t-shirt that barely covered his protruding stomach.

A young lady had walked into the woods, and it was dark now. A college student, for sure. They were always walking, trying to save the world and not pollute it. Dangerous.

A few side roads led into the main road. Who knew who could grab her and disappear with her. Made little sense. Maybe she liked to walk. Tripp was all for exercise, well, the concept of it anyway. He would see if she needed a ride, probably to campus. Tripp pulled back his thinning hair to adjust his ponytail before returning the nozzle to the pump. He turned to leave, but then stopped.

Lost my damn med card and now I can’t find Mary anywhere. Need my smoke. A young man wearing a soiled knit hat and a tie-dyed t-shirt leaned against Tripp’s car. The scruffy man looked as though he might have been talking to the gas pump, but Tripp felt compelled to answer him. Maybe there was a chance for a sale.

I’ve got something that smokes all right. Looky here. Tripp motioned to a couple of mountain bikes secured to the roof of his car. This will leave everyone in your dust. Cross-country with a lightweight carbon fiber frame.

Wicked, but I’m looking for something a little more... green.

Tripp pointed to the second bike on the rack.

Well, this here is a trail-bike, it has a longer wheelbase for more stability. You can take it up into the trails at Redden Lake. A lot of green there. Nice place to have a trip on the weekends. I have a cabin there.

Trip, yes, I want to go on a trip, but without actually going anywhere.

Did I introduce myself? Tripp Leardi. Yes, I must have. Well, I don’t have any stationary bikes, these are meant for speed and adventure.

The unkept man stared ahead with vacant eyes, not seeming to be interested, but Tripp still wanted to explain the almost religious experience gained from mountain biking. Like I said, those bike trails up at Redden Lake are a no-miss opportunity for excitement. I would stay off the Northside, not for beginners, but on the Southside you can race past the glimmering lake where wood ducks and spotted turtles swim. Then the trees, don’t get me started on that—box elders, red maples, the speckled alder—

Cool, I—

"And you know what? The miracle of nature just melts away all the mental roadblocks that