by T. A. Kunz
My heart melts into a puddle on the grass, and I just continue to stare into his intense expression. Then it moderates. No one has ever talked that openly with me before. But when the dust settles from his bold declaration, the rest of his confession sinks in.
“Wait, you took me upstairs? Not Trent?” I ask. He nods. “So, he was telling the truth about that then?” He nods again. My eyes narrow. “Wait. Why was I in my underwear?”
“You had an accident,” he explains. “I think you can come to the conclusion yourself of what happened with the alcohol. Lori was the one who undressed you.”
What the actual hell? Lori knew about this!?
“Wait, Lori helped you?”
“Yeah. She didn’t tell you?” he replies with a look of confusion.
“No … she didn’t.” My heart aches over this revelation.
How could she let me go all that time thinking it was Trent who did this to me?
Betrayal wrecks my gut and shreds my heart. I feel like I’m going insane. Dizziness overruns me like I’m stuck spinning around on one of those sketchy carnival rides at the county fair. I get lost in my mind and feelings for a moment until Harrison’s voice filters in again.
“I’m sorry. I thought you knew.”
“Are you telling me the truth?”
“I wouldn’t lie to you, Drea,” he says. “That’s the very last thing I’d do.”
“None of this makes any sense,” I argue. “Why wouldn’t she tell me about this?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. But it’s the truth, I promise.”
“Okay,” I reply in a daze.
I’m not even sure which way is up right now. My knees feel weak, like they’re going to collapse at any moment. Tears mist my eyes. When I look up at Harrison, the last scraps of anger have left his face. His eyes take on a blue hue in this light.
A sigh escapes his lips. “Are you going to be okay?”
I swallow hard, trying to stop the tears from falling. “I don’t know.”
The next thing I know, my face is firmly planted against Harrison’s chest. He just holds me. A warmth I haven’t felt in a long time spreads across my entire body as we continue to stand here.
“You should probably hit the showers,” I say, leaning back to look at him.
“Do I offend?” he asks with a smirk. “I’ve actually been told I have a pleasant natural smell of lemons.”
“Please don’t make me laugh right now,” I say, releasing a hollow giggle through the tears.
“That’s one thing I’ll never stop doing,” he confesses as he stares down at me. I hide my face in his chest again while swiping away the straggling tears.
We part, but there’s still the same warmth present that I felt while in his arms draped around my shoulders. Harrison’s jacket. He put it around me before taking a step back and moving away.
I drift into some sort of trance while watching him leave. All the facts whirl around in my mind like an emotion tornado. The farther he gets, the more my mood shifts to sadness, as if his presence provided some kind of calming positive energy through all the emotions coursing through me. A distraction. Then the remorse kicks in. I’m somewhat responsible for all of this. Every decision I’ve made. Every feeling I’ve felt. Every single one of the opinions I formed after that night at the party was wrong. Completely and spectacularly wrong. I’m the saboteur.
What have I done?
A pink glowing light catches my eye from under the bleachers when I turn around. A shrouded figure stands there watching me. They’re wearing some sort of mask outlined with pink neon lights in the shape of a fox head. The person waves to me slow and methodical, almost robotic.
I shiver at the creepiness of the person’s actions. They just stand there, moving their hand back and forth. Then it hits me. Donovan said he saw someone dressed like that at the bar, and the mask looks just like the outline on Carrie’s diary like he mentioned. I dig into my bag for my cell to snap a pic of the person, but when I look back up with the phone ready, they’re gone.
What the hell? Where did they go?
Donovan
Five texts.
That’s how many I’ve sent Connor that have gone unanswered. I’m trying to give him space, which is why I haven’t called him yet, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t itching to do that as well.
Maybe it’s just how dark it is on my ride home, or the fact Drea said she may have seen the same masked figure I did at the game, but I’m kind of wigging out right now. It’s deathly quiet, almost uncomfortably so. The only sounds I have to keep me company are my own humming and the strain of the bike chain as it clinks with every full rotation.
I keep thinking how wonderful it would be to be in a certain someone’s truck, but that certain someone isn’t even returning my texts.
Please let everything be okay.
This is yet another occasion where I wish I had a car instead of this bike that I love so much. There are no doors I can lock or windows to roll up tight. It’s an old bike. I’ve had to fix it a few times. The pedals in particular, but it’s been dependable … mostly.
The wind rips through my thin hoodie. It stings like an exposed nerve.
I should have layered up more.
Most of the houses along this street are dark. Lifeless. I take mental notes of the select few with their porch lights on and use them as checkpoints while trying to escape the ever-encroaching night. I can barely see past where the sporadic streetlights shine pockets of light onto the road. In the long stretches of darkness, I feel like I’m out in the middle of the ocean looking for the next lighthouse to guide me to shore, while at any moment I could be attacked by a great white shark.
My pocket vibrates, and I stall under one of the lampposts. I rest the bike between my legs with my feet firmly planted on the ground and dig in my pocket for my phone. I can’t dig fast enough, cursing my pockets for being so tight. There’s a text from Connor.
Sorry for my lack of contact. Been a crazy night. Still nothing from Shaun. Not sure what to do.
My heart goes out to him and his group. They just lost Lori, and now Shaun’s MIA.
Then something hits me that I could never bring up to Connor. The kind of implication that could cause a major rift between us.
What if Shaun had something to do Lori’s death and now he’s run away?
I begin to type out a reply. I pause at the sound of light rustling in the near vicinity. In the still of the night, it resembles someone pulling a rake through leaves. My eyes dart around, looking for the source, but can’t find it.
There’s a house to my right that has gone perfectly overboard with their Halloween decorations. It’s an elaborate cemetery setup with a full wrought iron gate façade. There are headstones of all shapes and sizes full of cracks and covered in grassy moss scattered about. A grouping of white sheet ghosts are gathered around the graves, but there’s also the subtle outline of a lone black sheet ghost amongst them.
My eyes drop back to my phone since there are more important things to deal with than taking in the spooky display. I continue stamping out my text to Connor. Leaves crunch nearby again and my head snaps up quickly in hopes of catching the source of the sound. But I still don’t see anything.
A feeling of being watched creeps in. It has me glancing all around, surveying my surroundings. Almost every house is dark except for the decorated one. My main source of light is the lamppost I’m currently positioned underneath.
A false cone of safety.
A heavy gust of wind sweeps by. It swirls through the trees and sends loose leaves tumbling along the sidewalk beside me. Then it falls silent again almost immediately. My eyes wander back over to the yard with the cemetery, and I take comfort in the fact nothing seems out of place.
Then I realize the black sheet ghost is gone. My eyes scan the yard feverishly, landing on two tall trees flanking the driveway. A figure resembling the ghost lingers there, just behind one of the trees.
&nb
sp; What the hell?
My fight or flight response revs up the longer I watch the still, shrouded figure standing there. Its featureless face feels like it’s staring directly through me. My phone vibrates again, scaring the ever-living crap out of me. It’s a message from Drea.
Made it home safely. Hope you did too.
I return my attention to the tree. The figure is gone.
My heart leaps into my throat. I struggle to slip my phone back into my pocket. A sharp clang nearby sends me into high alert. Dread sours my stomach. The wrought iron gate rattles, but there wasn’t a gust of wind to cause it. My eyes rise from my pocket to the gate.
The dark figure is standing there. But unlike it did from far away, this doesn’t look like another decoration in the yard. It’s a person. A flash of bright pink neon reveals their fox head mask as they take a step forward.
I place my feet back on the bike pedals to take off. My right foot slips and a sharp pain surges from my ankle up to my shin. The footsteps of the person grow louder the closer they get. I panic and push through the ache to correct my leg position. I press firmly on the pedal. It breaks clean off.
Fuck!
The figure is mere feet away. I see a glint of something gripped tightly in their right hand. I ditch the bike and shove it in their direction. I don’t stick around to see if it connected, I just start running.
My lungs burn like a furnace as I maintain top speed. It’s painfully obvious how out of shape I am even with my trim build. The pain on my shin from the bike pedal has become a fleeting memory as I just keep sprinting as fast as I can.
“Help!” I cry out, hoping to see any of the porch lights turn on. “Please, help!”
I peek over my shoulder and see the figure too close for comfort. The mask’s neon lights are dark. There’s just a shrouded form nipping on my heels. I pump my legs harder than I thought I could, counting on the massive amounts of adrenaline coursing through my system to keep me alive.
I take a sharp turn down a side street and cut through someone’s yard. After clearing two knee-high hedgerows like they were hurdles on a racetrack, I transition out onto the main road. My head whips around to look behind me and no one’s there. Just darkness. I struggle to catch my breath while surveying the area.
Where the hell did they go?
I draw out my phone and continue moving hastily down the street. I dial 911. Moments later, a person’s voice comes through. My response is cut short by the screech of tires on asphalt. Headlights blind me. I’m stunned still. I was so focused on making the call that I didn’t realize I’d stepped out into the middle of a four-way stop. I’m like a deer caught in headlights, staring at literal headlights. The dispatcher comes through the phone again, but I can’t muster the words to reply. They hang up. Yellow and green lights flash from on top of the vehicle, snapping me out of my daze.
“Donovan? What are you doing?” Deputy Owens asks as he steps out of his vehicle.
I hurry over to him, relief washing over me. A stream of rambling pours from my mouth, and by the look on his face I can tell what I’m saying makes little sense.
“Hold up, calm down. Just tell me what happened,” he says in a composed manner.
“Someone was chasing me. They looked like they had a knife or something,” I say, still trying to catch my breath after rattling everything off.
“Well I don’t see anyone here now, so maybe it was just some practical joker giving you a hard time,” he says. “Things tend to get a little crazy around here during Homecoming. Also, why are you out here alone? Were you walking home from the game?”
I shake my head. “No, I had a bike, but I ditched it a few streets over when the person started chasing me.”
“Here, get in the car. I’ll take you back to your bike. Then we’ll get you home. Sound good?”
“I can’t,” I reply. “The pedal’s busted. I wouldn’t be able to ride it home even if I wanted to.”
The deputy smiles. “You’re in luck. This vehicle just so happens to have a bike rack on the back. Come on, let’s go collect it.”
“Sure, I guess.”
As we approach the scene of the incident, my bike it not where I left it. It’s lying on the sidewalk.
“You stay here. I’ll handle this,” Deputy Owens states before heading outside.
I watch him roll the bike toward the rear of the vehicle. The car shifts slightly as he mounts and secures my bike to the rack. He returns to the driver’s seat and settles in before handing me the broken pedal.
“I thought you might want this back,” he says.
I nod. “Thanks.”
“Oh, and I found this wedged in the spokes. It might explain your little run-in with the person from before.” He hands me a flyer for the Neon MasqueRave Ball. “Not to downplay what the person did to you, but maybe it was some extreme publicity stunt.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so,” I say, reliving the fear I felt as I stare out the window at the creepy Halloween yard display.
It most definitely felt like a real threat.
Drea
I made a promise to myself that I’d avoid social media like the plague after Lori’s death, but here I am breaking it a second time after snooping around for Carrie last night. I find myself searching through all of Lori’s pictures for any trace or mention of Carrie. Or really any answers at all. After tonight’s full disclosure moment with Harrison, I’m at a loss for how to feel about anything. To say my trust in people has leaned heavily into negative territory is putting it lightly. It’s as if I’ve been sleepwalking through life for the past two years of high school, just accepting everything at face value. But life sure as hell has a way of waking you up.
I dive into her photos from eighth grade and begin sifting through picture by picture. Lori sure did take a lot.
One photo catches my attention, not because it has Lori and another girl dancing together, but it’s the third girl in the picture next to Lori that piques my interest. The original tags were Lori, Carrie, and a girl named Nancy, but they’re no longer clickable. She looks like the girl I met at Lori’s house who was babysitting her little brother. Older now obviously, and a different haircut, but similar enough.
Should I message her? She seems to have known Carrie too.
For a moment, I contemplate sending her a message. Then I realize I have to be friends with her first.
Well crap.
I shoot her a friend request. Now all I can do is wait. But this is the least of my worries. I still have no idea why Lori never told me about what she and Harrison did the night of that party. Why did I pass out in the first place? Did someone actually put something in my drink? My head begins to throb with all the thoughts assaulting it.
The other element I’m at odds with is whether Harrison’s actions were sweet or weird. In a way, I kind of feel like this strange prize he and Trent were fighting over, but then his recent behavior and his admission of liking me has me questioning that line of thinking.
Maybe Harrison is the real deal.
My eyes trail over to his black and red windbreaker lying on the end of my bed and a contemplative sigh parts my lips. My phone pings next to me on the desk. It’s a text from Donovan. I’ve been waiting on a reply for a while now, and I’m relieved he finally sent me something.
Can I call you? I need to speak with you ASAP!
My first reaction is to reply back with of course, but then I just decide to call him myself. It rings once before he answers.
“Drea, I was attacked tonight,” are the first words out of his mouth.
Worry clutches my gut at the desperate tone in his voice. He sounds serious.
“Are you okay? Who attacked you?” I reply.
“I’m okay as I can be, I guess. It was someone wearing that fox mask,” he says.
A sudden chill spirals all over my body. My hairs stand on end and numerous goosebumps form over my arms and legs.
“Did you report this?” I ask.
&nbs
p; He releases a sigh. “Yeah. Deputy Owens was the one who helped me get home. My bike’s out of commission for the time being though. He’s aware of the situation, but thinks maybe it was someone just messing around. He found a flyer for the Homecoming dance on my bike and thinks this may have been a stunt or something.”
“You don’t actually believe that, do you?” I ask, not completely convinced myself.
“With all the things going on, I have no idea what to believe. I even thought maybe this person left this on my bike to say that something big is going to happen tomorrow. Am I being too paranoid?”
I can tell by his voice he’s anxious. “Who can we tell that will believe us?” I ask.
“I have no idea. There’s no evidence that anything has happened other than what I witnessed. But what if Deputy Owens is right and this was just a sick prank? Like, let’s prank the new guy or something.”
“I honestly don’t know,” I say. A moment of silence falls between us. “Have you heard any updates from Connor?”
“Yeah, in that there are no updates. They still can’t find their friend. And when I told him about what happened tonight, he freaked.”
The power cuts out, plunging my entire room into darkness except for the streetlight pouring through the open curtains of the solitary window in my room. A small gasp escapes my throat.
“What was that?” he asks.
“The power just went out.” I look out the window and it seems we’re the only house that’s been affected. “It’s probably the damn breaker. We’ve been having issues with it lately.”
“Are you home alone?”
The quaver in his voice sets my nerves on alert. “Yeah. My parents are a couple houses down having drinks with our neighbors for their Thursday night couples’ gathering, and my little sister is at her friend’s house.”
“And you’re sure it’s the breaker?”
“I hope so.” The gravity of my situation finally settles in. “You don’t think this could be for some other reason, do you?”
“Where’s the breaker?”
“The basement. But my dad showed me how to restart it in case something like this ever happened.”
