by Betsy Flak
Fighting a grimace, you shrug Sammy’s hand off. “Yeah, I got it.”
“Great.” Sammy turns toward the closed door of the break room, already untying his Corner Coffee apron. “Bryce, baby, do you wanna get some dinner? It’s my turn.”
The door cracks open. With a narrowed stare, Bryce scrutinizes Sammy. “Yeah, fine.” Bryce huffs and puffs out the door, then heads for the exit with Sammy on his heels. “You’ve got the shop for the next hour,” Bryce announces.
Your fingers tugging through your hair, you shift back to Magda. “Um, if you wanna hang out or something, you can get one of those chairs over there.” Your hand waves toward the bar attached to the far wall. “They do fit perfectly under this counter. And it’s probably gonna be just the two of us for a while. I mean, unless you wanna head home. It is getting late.” You can’t resist giving Magda the easy out.
Magda’s fingertips brush against yours. “Hanging out sounds great.”
The butterflies nestled in your stomach riot.
Magda wends her way through the crowded—but empty—tables of Corner Coffee, selects a chair, then tows it back toward you. She scoots it under the counter and climbs onto it. “I take it your boss doesn’t mind?”
You snort. “I doubt he’ll have Corner Coffee on his mind for at least the next hour.”
Magda arches a sculpted eyebrow.
Your heart pounds. Heat blossoms over your cheeks. “Yeah, cuz, you know…him and Sammy…” Remembering your manners—even if it’s only a means of escaping this particular conversation—you gesture toward the chalk board displaying the menu behind you. “Is there anything you want this evening? Maybe another sugar-free milk-free coffee-free highest maintenance drink ever?”
Magda sticks out her tongue at you. “It’s not that high maintenance. Besides, I tipped you well, remember?”
“Speaking of which…” You retrieve the crinkled five dollar bill from your pocket. You slide it across the counter toward Magda. “You can have it back. Mags.”
Magda scrunches her freckled nose, but accepts the bill. “I don’t suppose there’s any sum that’ll call you off?”
“Let’s see…how much do I need to be independently wealthy? Five, six million?” You pretend to count it out on your fingers.
Magda crumples a napkin from the dispenser and tosses it at you. “You could have just said ‘no.’”
“But where’s the fun in that?”
Magda shakes her head with a smile. Her fingers fiddle with a stray paper menu.
You search for a new topic. “So, Magda, how do you like Fruitvale so far?” Keeping your hands busy, you straighten the items on the shelves beneath the counter.
With a shrug, Magda scans the back wall with its chalkboard, hanging mugs, and pounds of coffee beans in labeled paper packages on labeled shelves. “Um, I guess it’s all right. I mean, like I said earlier, I haven’t explored much so far. What about you? How do you like living here?”
“Oh…I dunno, I haven’t lived anywhere else. I mean…I guess, it’s okay. But I still wanna get out and see other places, y’ know?” You tuck a stray lock back into place.
“I do know.” After placing the menu back on the counter, Magda folds her hands. Her russet eyes meet yours.
Pleasant shivers sprint up and down your spine. “Okay, so, if you’re new to Fruitvale, where did you live before?”
Magda chuckles. “It’s more like ‘where didn’t we live.’”
“Why don’t you start at the beginning?” You drag Sammy’s stool over until you’re across from Magda, then perch upon it.
“Well, Davey and I were born in Houston, but I don’t really remember it. We moved to Maine when Davey and I were toddlers.”
You spend the next hour or so listening to all the places Magda and her family have lived. Although you try, you can’t pin down why they move around so much. Magda’s only explanation is something about how her parents don’t like to stay in one place. You’re on the second-to-last most recent town—somewhere in North Dakota—when the bells attached to the front door jingle. Both your head and Magda’s snap around.
A smug Sammy strides through it with Bryce behind him. They make a beeline for the counter.
Bryce’s fingers comb through his messy waves as they pass through the gate. His moss-green eyes skim over Magda, then settle on you. “Busy tonight?” “Not any more than usual.”
Bryce checks his watch. “There’s only an hour or so till we close. You can go if you want. Sammy and I can handle things from here.”
With your front teeth gnawing on your lower lip, you glance at Magda. Any other night, you would leap at the chance to skip out early. But not tonight. “Um, sure. Okay.”
“Yeah, I should probably head out too.” Magda tugs her chair back to the bar fastened to the opposite brick wall.
Your heart skitters like waves over a pebble-strewn beach. You gulp. Your fingers fumble with the ties of your apron. Refusing to so much as peek in Magda’s direction, you focus on Sammy. “Sammy, you workin’ Wednesday too?”
“Yupper.” Sammy grins at you, his lips twitching while he holds back laughter at your expense.
You scowl at him, then grab your backpack from the back room and shove your book inside. Exiting through the gate, you call to Bryce and Sammy over your shoulder, “See you later.” Only with a Herculean effort do you walk—and not run—to the door where Magda lingers.
The moment you reach her, Magda pushes the door open with a hip. She gestures for you to pass through first. As you do so, a stupid grin plasters itself across your face.
Once outside of Corner Coffee, Magda asks, “You want me to walk you to your car? It’s pretty late.”
You shake your head.
Magda’s tentative smile melts away in the light of the street lamp.
Stupid, stupid, stupid! “No, I mean, I didn’t drive. I biked here.”
Her smile returns. “To your bike, then?”
Even though you don’t need an escort to your bike—no matter how late it is, no matter the recent missing people—you accept her offer, “Sure.”
You lead Magda along State Ave, wishing that you’d parked your bike farther away so this stroll would last longer. “So, I think we were on the last place you lived before here?”
“Yeah, it was this little town named Juniper. It’s mostly fueled by a small college and a college prep boarding school and those who support them. It’s pretty close to Florence, if you know where that is.” Magda’s hand brushes against the small of your back, protecting you from a moony-eyed couple staring only at each other.
Goosebumps follow her fingers. You spit out, “That’s on the east side of the state, right?”
“Yeah.”
“And how did you like it?”
Magda’s shoulders rise into a shrug. “I mean, it was all right.”
You and Magda round the corner of the library. The overhead lights flicker at the alleyway’s entrance. Farther in, the lights are completely out, including the ones by the bike rack. Magda’s fingers twitch at her sides. Her eyes narrow in the darkness as if trying to see through it.
Your fingers trail down Magda’s bare arm. It’s hot to the touch.
“Afraid of the dark?” you tease, even as the hairs on the back of your neck prickle. What is it with today and the creep factor up a zillion and one?
An exhale bursts from between Magda’s clenched lips. Her furrowed brows relax. “No. I mean, not really. I’m just being silly.”
“Oh yeah?” Next to your bike, you swing your backpack around to find your phone and use it as a flashlight to unlock your bike. Paige’s bike is the only other one in the rack, which is weird. She should have ridden it to Julia’s house this afternoon. Even if she didn’t, Julia’s dad would have kicked Paige out well over an hour ago.
“Yeah, I just thought I saw something moving by the dumpsters. It’s silly, I know.” Despite her words, Magda faces the dumpsters, standing a couple feet away from
you near the middle of the alleyway. Her hands become fists at her sides.
“Mags, relax, it’s fi—”
A form hurtles in from behind the dumpsters. The movement is so fast that you can’t track it. Not a breath later, a figure with inch-long canines pins Magda to the ground. The dew collected on the asphalt sizzles around them.
Your jaw drops. Your fingertips pulse with adrenaline. How can you help her?
Magda wraps her hands around the man’s biceps.
He yowls and jumps off her. With his hands outspread on either side, Magda’s attacker stands ten feet away from her. His ebony eyes absorb every speck of light when they lock on Magda.
Tilting her head toward you, Magda growls, “Get out.”
The man circles toward Magda, away from the collapsed dumpster.
You step backward.
The man’s gaze flicks to you. A bloodthirsty grin twists his wormlike lips. He stalks forward.
Magda blocks the path to you. Glaring at the man, she scoops up some of the garbage littering the ground near her flip flops. She whispers, “I told you, get out of here.”
Your heart pounds. You can’t breathe. You can’t think.
Your eye catches on a dented metal bat on the opposite side of the alleyway. It shimmers in the flickering light from the alley’s mouth.
Your fingers twitch at your sides. Should you ignore Magda’s order and take the bat and fight with her? Or do you listen and run for your life?
If you take the bat and fight with Magda, click here.
If you leave Magda and run for your life, click here.
You struggle to peel your dry eyes open. It’s like you’ve been sleeping for days, weeks even. But you’re not well-rested in the least, not after all those nightmares stalking you every minute.
Your fingers massage your throbbing temples. You try to swallow, but your mouth is drier than dust. At last you pry your eyes open.
A pockmarked ceiling greets you. You shift to your side, then push yourself up into a seated position. Your hands rest against the rough material of a cheap cot. You scan around you.
Even though it’s dark as night, you see everything in horrifying detail. You’re in a long, low room. A shadowy hallway is centered on a whitewashed wall opposite you. Its paint is peeling, revealing the russet color of the bricks beneath it. At the far end of the room are sliding doors with more than a few glass panes broken. They’re shut, although there’s no lock. The remaining two walls are blank. No windows, no hallways, no doors. No way out.
Dirt and rodent droppings litter the cement floor underneath you. Termites munch on the rotted wood panels at the base of the walls. Rooted into the ground are steel rings, through which ominous chains are looped. They aren’t attached to anything…yet.
A voice booms from the hallway. “Hello there.”
You launch to your feet. Your hands curl into fists. Talons press against your palms.
“Calm down. I’m not going to hurt you.” The figure from what you thought was a nightmare emerges from the shadows. He chuckles, then adds, “Not more than I have already.” Inch-long fangs flash in a terrible grin.
Your gums throb. Canines of your own jut into your lower lip. Your fingers dart up to touch them.
“Yes, they’re real,” he answers your unspoken question. With measured steps, he approaches you.
You watch him, but you don’t attack. When he sits on your cot, it creaks under his weight. He folds his hands together and places them on his lap.
Your fists loosen. “Who are you?”
“Khan. But that’s not the question that matters.” He offers you a thick hand.
As you shake it, your eyes narrow in thought. “What are you?”
Khan’s sausage-like finger wags an inch from your nose. “Uh-uh-uh, my new friend. Close, but no cigar. Try again.”
“What are…what am I?”
Khan beams at you. “Feisty and smart. Seems like I hit the jackpot this time.”
At Khan’s praise, pleasant shivers cascade down your spine. You sit down next to him on the cot, patient for his explanation. Trusting.
“You’re a vampire, as am I.” Khan slides a phone out of the pocket of his worn jeans. His black eyes glance at its screen. “I can tell you more—about what that means, about how it happened—but we should go. I’ve already done too much damage here.”
“Go?”
“Away. Leave Fruitvale.”
Your mind stutters over Khan’s sentence. Leave Fruitvale, your home town? Sure, you’re not tied to it, but you hadn’t planned to leave for a couple of years. Even then, you don’t know if the move would be permanent.
The way Khan phrased it, it sure sounds like this move will be permanent.
Khan stands, then gestures for you to join him. You obey without a second thought.
Why is that?
Do you shrug off your concern? Or do you flee out the far doors while Khan is busy folding up the cot?
If you shrug it off and stay with Khan, click here.
If you run away from Khan, click here.
Spinning on your heel, you sprint away from the figure and back toward the entrance of the alley. All those reports from over the summer—all those missing people—bounce around your mind. You push your legs even harder.
The silhouette’s footfalls come faster.
You beat it to the opening. There, you’re faced with a choice. Do you turn right to race to Julia’s house, a few blocks away? Or do you turn left and hope that Sammy and Bryce haven’t closed Corner Coffee early?
If you turn right and head to Julia’s house, click here.
If you turn left and head to Corner Coffee, click here.
You ignore Davey’s order and dash to the bat.
The man becomes a blur surging at you.
So does Davey. He tackles the man. They tumble over the damp asphalt, away from you.
Your breath hitches, but you bend down and grasp the naked handle of the bat anyway. The metal is as cold as ice. Blood pulses in your fingers and toes. A frenzied energy flows through your veins. The bat shakes in your hands while Davey and the creep grapple on the ground.
The man thrusts Davey into the asphalt, then climbs on top of him. He pins down Davey’s arms and legs. His hands wrap around Davey’s throat.
Time slows. An inner voice whispers Now!
You launch the bat into the air. It whirls end over end toward your attacker’s head.
He ducks.
Desperation engulfs you. Your nails bore into your palms. You beg the bat to move with the man.
A gust of wind sweeps down the alleyway. It pushes the bat down and to the side. Straight into the creep’s temple.
The man drops like a rock.
Davey wriggles out from beneath him, his coffee-brown eyes wide with shock. Rushing to your side, Davey grabs your limp arm and drags you toward the flickering lights.
A few feet away from the alley’s mouth, you stumble to a stop. Your jaw falls slack. Your tongue trips over your words. You can’t believe what you’ve done. “D-Davey…I…I k-killed him.”
A callused thumb caresses your cheek. “No, you didn’t.” Davey’s brawny arm drapes over your shoulders, pressing you back toward the alley’s mouth. “C’mon. It won’t stay down for long.”
Your muddled mind can’t comprehend his words. “It? Won’t stay down?”
Only a frown answers you.
“But what about my bike?” You twist around.
Davey’s arm tightens around your shoulders. “We’ll get it tomorrow, okay?”
“But how…” Your brain freezes, replaying the incident in the alleyway on a loop.
With gale-force winds blasting your hair every which way, you and Davey turn onto State Ave. It’s dotted with people fighting to keep their shopping bags, their light sweaters and jackets, their purses—anything the least bit aerodynamic—from blowing away.
With his free hand, Davey types something into his phone. As he slips i
t back into his pocket, he pulls you beneath the awning of the long-closed bookshop. His fingers tuck a lock of your disheveled hair back into place. Ducking down, he catches your gaze. “You’ve got to stop, okay?”
“What do you mean?” Your hands clench and unclench at your sides.
With furrowed brows, Davey cocks his head. “The wind.”
“Yes, I know, it came out of nowhere.”
“Not out of nowhere.” Davey juts his chiseled chin toward you.
You pair Davey’s implication with the sudden arrival of the wind, timed perfectly to move that bat into your attacker. “Davey, you can’t mean…that’s crazy…”
The click of familiar heels against the sidewalk interrupts you. You swivel around. Paige strides toward you from the direction of that alleyway. Her birdlike features twist into a scowl. Her hands close into fists.
You go to her side. “Paige, what’s wrong?”
Her hand captures yours. Her grip crushes your fingers. “C’mon, we’re leaving.” She glares at Davey.
Crossing his arms over his broad chest, Davey glowers back.
You wheedle your hand out of Paige’s. “No, Paige, Davey was just…” Your voice trails off as the wind buffets you. The more agitated you get, the wilder the wind blows. Is it just a coincidence?
Paige tilts her forehead toward that creepy alley over a block away. “Walk me back to my bike?”
“Oh, um…” Heat curls up and around your neck. Paige will never believe your story.
Paige reaches for your hand, ready to lead you away like a naughty child.
Do you allow her to do so, trusting in your years of friendship? Or do you dodge Paige’s hand and choose Davey?
If you go with Paige, click here.
If you stay with Davey, click here.
Paige’s fingers clamp down, clutching your hand. As she tows you down the sidewalk, you peek back at Davey. He’s chewing on his lower lip, watching. You mouth “sorry.”
“Be careful,” Davey calls after you. His forehead wrinkles with concern.
