Page 4

FOUR

The alleyways are dark save for the lampposts overhead. The yellow light streaming down catches tree branches, casting claw-like shadows on the sidewalk.

The unmistakable sound of footsteps makes my heart leap into my throat. I turn around. Nothing but shadows and fallen leaves rolling against the pavement.

I walk faster, suddenly aware of the potential danger in the darkness.

Footsteps again. This time, more rapid. Someone is trying to match my pace.

Again, I turn around, but no one is there.

Still, something remains. A feeling, an aura, an entity.

I’m running now, my own footsteps pounding. The scenery changes, concrete swapped for wet soil, a carved-out gully in the ground beside where I stand.

Fingers clutch the back of my neck. I spin, wanting to face whoever is threatening me.

Still, no one. No face. No hands.

But I can still feel the fingers squeezing. The air leaves my lungs, the world around me turning slower, hazier…

When I open my eyes, my bed sheets are damp with sweat. My hair sticks to my neck. I’ve not had a dream so frightening, so vivid, in years. Around the time I dropped out of college, they were common, but that seems an entire lifetime ago.

I sit up straighter, putting a palm against my chest. My heart is racing. I reach for the glass of water beside my bed, but it’s empty.

The living room is dark. In the kitchen, an overhead light illuminates the stove, casting shadows that remind me of the claw-like phantoms in my dream. I raise a hand to my neck, imagine I can still feel the unforgiving fingers around it.

My nerves are so rattled the sound of water hissing against the sink makes me jump.

I fill a glass and begin chugging. Bad dreams are always unsettling, but there was something different about this one.

A night terror, somehow bridging the gap between reality and the imagined.

I’d hoped I’d never experience another one again.

I gulp the last of my drink and stare across the room.

I’m safe here, far removed from my nightmares and my past, from the ominous black hearts that exist outside these walls.

Nothing bad could ever happen here, in this drab apartment with the second-hand furniture and thick layers of dust settled into the corners.

My life is boring, just as I always wanted.

In the dark, the blinking light of my computer charger captures my attention. I stare at the laptop, trying to conjure up the emotions I felt only moments ago. The adrenaline. The terror.

I sit, unfolding the laptop before me.

My heart still racing, I begin to type:

The Mistake by Becca Walsh

She thought she was special.

She wasn’t, not even worthy of a name.

He leaned against the paneled walls in the downstairs living room, watching each new arrival.

Some faces he knew; others were strangers, invited to the party by the friend of a friend of a friend.

Anonymity was a must with a hobby like his.

If someone could pick out his face or his name, his plan would go to shit, so he was a fly on the wall, watching as the room around him buzzed, buzzed, buzzed.

When he saw her, he knew immediately she was the one.

Something about the way she carried herself, careful politeness, afraid of making the wrong move, saying the wrong thing.

She was a pleaser, willing to go along with anything and anyone to avoid being alone.

The fact she had arrived without friends, was desperate to cling on to something familiar, helped too.

They found one another by the beer keg, and he offered to pour her a drink.

She was hesitant at first, her eyes falling to her dress, the floor.

But the more she drank, the more she opened up.

Told him about herself. Her friends, her major.

All meaningless details that did nothing more than build a rapport between them, made her trust him. Not that he needed her trust.

The pill he slipped into her second cup of beer would do the trick. Always had before.

His heart pumped faster as he guided her upstairs.

He’d scoped out a room earlier, the busy partygoers barely acknowledging him as he wandered around the house.

When the door closed behind them, he switched off the lights and felt like he’d entered another world entirely, one where he was in control of everything that happened next.

This was the thrill he was after. Always.

The girl fell onto the bed, her body limp, her eyes closed. He reached out to touch her ? —

The door burst open, bright lights filling the space. A trio of women entered the room, and it only took a few seconds for them to piece together what they’d almost interrupted. If only he’d remembered to lock the door.

Such a simple, costly mistake.

In a matter of minutes, more people appeared outside the room. Some were checking on the girl, others were attempting to confront him. He ran down the stairs, away from the party and the angry crowd that gathered around him.

Somehow, he got away, disappeared, never to be seen again.

Until another night, much like the first, when he went hunting at a bar. A beautiful girl walked in, and this time, her name was impossible to ignore. It rang off the tongues of her friends like a melody, a secret song reaching out to him.

Layla. Her name was Layla.