Prelude

It seems that every place, big or small, harbors some sort of scary story. To see my point, one need only take a look at the US map and realize that each and every state has a monster, whether it be Bigfoot in Northern California, the Jersey Devil in New Jersey, or “Champ” in Vermont. Not only this, but each and every state also has one or more paranormal stories, and some cities, such as Charleston, South Carolina, have an entire hatful of ghost stories.

If we narrow it down even further, most neighborhoods tend to have in them a house that is avoided and whispered about. No one usually remembers how the house or the people in it really got their bad reputation, but that doesn’t stop the stories from passing along. Sometimes the stories are true, sometimes false. Sometimes they are believable, and sometimes they border on ridiculous. But no matter the case, children are always wary when walking past that certain house, and teenagers are always daring one another to ring its doorbell and run.

Growing up, my street had a house like that. It was at the end of the street, sitting at the far side of the cul-de-sac. We called it “that white house”, because it was a large white home, bigger than the other houses on the street. At night, especially, as the white siding reflected pale, blue moonlight, and the trees cast ghastly shadows on it, it looked like a haunted manor out of Scooby Doo, Where are You?, somewhere that some masked caper was hatching their next dastardly plan.

I do not remember how or why this house became the stuff of campfire stories and wild rumors. I remember some old couple lived in that house, but people in the neighborhood barely ever saw them. In fact, I’m not sure I remember anyone that even knew their names. What we did know, however, was that the lady was missing a couple of fingers. And when I say “we knew”, what I mean is that it was what us kids gossiped about. I think one of my friends was selling boy scout popcorn at “that white house”, and when the old woman came to the door, one of her hands only had three fingers. That’s what he said, at least. We used to say that she was a witch, and that she had been the one to cut her fingers off as an offering to the devil, or some such nonsense. At a certain point, kids even spread a rumor that the old couple kept mummified bodies in their cellar.

As far as the old man that lived in that house, I only remember seeing him once, when I was in either 3rd or 4th grade. It was a Friday or Saturday evening sometime in late autumn, at that time when it gets dark at 6 PM. A few of us kids were out late, riding our bikes around and trying to outdo one another’s BMX-style stunts on my bike ramp. We had been at this awhile, and the conversation was starting to become what do you guys wanna do now?, and gradually transitioned into let’s get into some trouble. This was our go-to, pretty much; play basketball or backyard football until it got dark, and then start doing stupid shit when we had the cover of darkness.

One of our friends suggest that we go around and ding-dong-ditch houses. So, we promptly cut through yards and went to other streets, ringing the doorbells of people that couldn’t snitch to our parents. Each of us rang a doorbell, one by one. Sometimes we’d get chased, sometimes just yelled at, and sometimes no one would answer. Some of the less boisterous kids in the group would try and weasel out of it by picking a house that had all of the lights off, the people obviously not being home.

Anyway, after a while, one of us had the bright idea of upping the stakes by ringing the doorbell of the scary house at the end of our street. Nobody wanted to do it, but everyone wanted to see someone else do it. Then, I recalled that rumor, the real nasty one, the one about the mummies in the basement. I suggested that we take a peak through one of the windows and see if those dead bodies were really there. Though a couple of the guys in the group questioned it, the majority ruled, and we soon found ourselves walking toward that scary house.

When we got there, we were relieved to see that the lights in the house were off. We sneaked around the side of the house. A few of the guys in our group were too scared, and hung back while the rest of us paced the side of the house, looking to find a window that would allow us a peak inside the basement. We had no luck for a few minutes. With the rascal in me wanting to at least see something scary, I peaked through one of the windows on the side of the house. This offered me a look into the living room, which was real dark, save for flickering light from the television. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness inside, I realized that the old man who lived there was sitting on the couch, watching TV. With his long and scraggly beard, balding head, and abnormally wide eyes, he looked like the type of guy who walked the streets and told everyone that the end of the world was nigh.

Suddenly, I heard the faint sound of a doorbell ringing, coming from inside the house. The old man’s head jerked to the side to look at the front door. My friends and I immediately bolted off. As we ran toward the street, we saw the couple of guys that had decided to hang back. They were running away, giggling, having just rang the old couple’s doorbell. As we continued running, I looked over my shoulder to see if they had answered the door. But the house was still and motionless. The door remained closed. We ran off up the street and quickly headed into one of our backyards.

Deciding that was enough fun for the evening, my buddies and I called it a night and went home. I went inside, climbed into bed, and began reading, as I always did before bed as a kid. At some point, I guess I had to get a glass of water, or something. I walked downstairs and poured myself a glass. As I sipped my water, I thought of how we had rang those people’s doorbell. For some reason, I decided to take a look out one of the front windows of my house, and what I saw next terrified me: outside, slowly zombie-walking up the road, was the old man from the scary house. He was just pacing, his head on a swivel as he looked all around. He was looking for us. I ran back to bed, but curiosity got the best of me, and about a half-hour later, I went back downstairs to have another look. And to my surprise, there he still was, pacing up and down our street, looking for us damned kids.

 

FIVE-O 

by Jake Wiklacz

 

Maine, 1981

Sharon Cleaver pedaled her bicycle through patches of orange street light, keeping one eye on the road and the other peeled for sketchy folks. A nighttime trip to the park in this shady town was sort of like playing with fire, but Sharon needed it, tonight. Anything was better than sitting inside and rotting away, waiting for her husband, Gary, to come home with liquor on his breath and drunk sex on his mind. Gary owned a gas station on the sketchiest street corner in town, and Sharon was the lucky girl who had married into it, mainly on account of advice from her small-minded folks. Sharon knew it wasn’t for her, too. But something kept her here, in Maine, cooped up in her comfort zone, which was becoming decidedly uncomfortable.

Sharon was growing tired of everything, which was the only reason she could think of as to why she was craving cigarettes at nine o’clock at night. She was tired of her rude husband. She was tired of the small minds that influenced and zombified her every single day. She was tired of working at that rundown gas station and fearing that, at any moment, someone would hold up the place. But most of all, she was tired of this crappy town where everyone knew everyone, and everyone knew each other’s business and who was dating who and who’s kid had just turned one years old.

Sharon had thought about leaving on more than one occasion, but something always held her back. You’ll never make it in the big city, her parents would say. We’re not moving, her complacent husband would say. Better to stay in your element, her old-timer neighbors would say. But this town was anything but her element. She had never even been out of the country, and she had only been out of state as many times as the number of fingers on one’s hand. Sometimes Sharon would lie in bed, awake for hours, genuinely wondering what the hell was stopping her from getting up, packing her things, and walking out that door, never to return. It wasn’t any sort of love for Gary. No, she actually couldn’t quite stand to look at him. Marrying him had been pushed upon her by her parents some three years ago, and she had deeply resented them for it after the wedding. The fact that she didn’t have a college degree may have been keeping her stagnant, but then again, working as a waitress in a seaside burger bar would have been miles better than that gas station. Her parents had discouraged her about going to college a few years earlier. The reason for not leaving this small town was something that Sharon just couldn’t quite put her finger on.

Sharon arrived at the park and set her bicycle down in the shadows where it couldn’t be seen. If she didn’t, there was a strong likelihood it would have gotten stolen, of that she was certain. Her mind was craving menthols, but she wanted to sit down, first. I can at least wait until I sit, she thought, seeking to convince herself that she wasn’t addicted. She found her favorite spot, a bench on the side of the asphalt path, right across from a stone bridge. If she did leave, this peaceful little park was about the only thing she would likely miss.

Sharon lit up the first menthol and took a deep inhale of the relaxing smoke. She found it sad that this was what she looked forward to, but quickly ditched this thought upon a second puff of her cigarette. She leaned back and stared up at the stars, yearning to be able to whip out a jet pack and skyrocket toward those little, twinkling lights in the sky. She always used to love imagining what sort of worlds orbited those stars. In fact, she used to write stories about it when she was little, until one day her parents made fun of her for it. She threw her stories out and cried herself to sleep, never writing a single word of fiction ever again.

Continuing to stare up at the stars and the full moon in the sky, Sharon burnt through about three cigarettes. And then, she heard the scream. It was a male scream, but it sounded terrified, and it was coming from beyond the stone bridge, over near the creek. Sharon stood up and listened. It was deathly silent for a moment. But then, the scream happened again, this time a bit louder. There were words within this scream, now. “Please, don’t!” the man yelled. Her curiosity getting the best of her, Sharon walked across the bridge to see what was going on.

Staying behind the tree line and keeping a low stance, Sharon crept over to the creek, following the sounds of the yells. She could see movement across the creek, on the asphalt path. Allowing her eyes to adjust, Sharon watched as a terrified black man slowly backed away from somebody. His hands were raised, and he was crying. Walking toward him, aiming a gun, was a police officer. Sharon couldn’t believe her eyes. This was not just any police officer. No, this was Jimmy Duvall, the beloved town sheriff. Sure, everyone in town knew each other, but no one was as loved and admired as Jimmy Duvall. Sharon had spoken to him plenty of times, as he frequented her husband’s gas station, always greeting her by name and with a warm smile. He was a sheriff’s sheriff, one of those all-American boy types. A few years earlier, he had become a local hero after stopping a mass shooting before it could happen. And now, here he was, aiming his pistol at a terrified man who was begging for his life.

“Please!” said the man. “Please, don’t kill me!”

“You done?” Jimmy replied in a cold and unsympathetic tone.

“Please, do not shoot me! I’ll do anything!”

There was silence for a moment. Jimmy stared at the man as the man continued to whimper like a frightened animal.

“Anything?” Jimmy asked. “Why would you degrade yourself like that? What would your wife think? Do you think she’d find that attractive? No, she wouldn’t. Because it’s disgusting.”

“Please!” the man shouted.

And with that, Jimmy pulled the trigger. It was about the sickest thing Sharon had seen in her entire life. Blood and brain matter sprayed right out the back of the man’s head. He fell backward and limply hit the ground with a sickening thud. Jimmy just stood still, staring down at his handiwork. A thin line of smoke trailed out of the barrel of the pistol. Sharon cupped her hands over her mouth before she could gasp. She couldn’t move. She was haunted by the way Jimmy just stared and stared at the man’s dead body.

After staring at the dead body for several moments longer, Jimmy reached behind his back and pulled a second pistol off of his waistband. He bent down and began shifting the position of the dead man’s arms, before placing the second pistol right near the dead man’s fingertips.

Sharon began thinking of an exit strategy, but she couldn’t move, even though she wanted to. The second she inched her feet in any direction, the leaves under them would shift and crackle. By now, she was really wishing she had just hopped onto her bike and pedaled home. But she was stuck, now. She figured she could wait it out, wait for Jimmy to leave the scene, but it was becoming apparent that he wasn’t going to leave anytime soon. He was turning this crime scene into a false narrative, and was likely going to call it in, soon.

As Sharon began to try and inch her feet back, Jimmy’s head began to turn toward her direction. Perhaps it was her breathing, or the crackling of leaves, or maybe just a sixth sense in Jimmy’s head, but something had tipped him off to Sharon being there. Jimmy stared in Sharon’s direction. Sharon held deathly still, not a muscle on her moving. But the thicket just wasn’t thick enough, the branches still stripped bare by cold weather. Jimmy had pinpointed Sharon among the trees, and had his eyes locked onto her like that of a hawk’s. He slowly began inching forward.

Overwhelmed by fear, Sharon quickly stood up, turned, and ran. Adrenaline coursed through her veins as her legs carried her across the park, toward her bike. She looked over her shoulder to see Jimmy, who was now standing on the bridge, watching her run away. He stood as still as he had after shooting that unarmed man. This was not the Jimmy she had seen come into the gas station time and time again. This was a cold, unfeeling fiend. Sharon quickly turned and faced directly in front of her, not wanting Jimmy to see her face, which he would have undoubtedly recognized. Her mind raced as she wondered if he had already seen her face. Jimmy knew where she lived. Sharon was pretty sure that he had come over one night to drink and gamble with Gary and some other guys. She remembered how he brought over an apple pie as a thank you for inviting him into her home.

Sharon dashed up the stone steps which lead to the archway park entrance. She picked her bike up off of the ground, hopped on it, and began pedaling away. As she did, she noticed a police car parked on the side of the road, ominously sitting beyond a patch of street light. The thing practically lurked back there, and even though it had no driver, it was not unlike a shark creeping through murky waters, probing around for an unlucky swimmer.

HONK HONK!

Before Sharon knew it, a station wagon plowed into the back tire of her bicycle. She flew up into the air, her knee knocking against the hood of the car. Having had been so focused on pedaling to safety, she hadn’t looked before crossing. The fact that the station wagon didn’t have its headlights on only made it less visible.

Sharon found herself lying on the hard asphalt, trying to take in even just a little bit of air into her deflated lungs. A woman got out of the station wagon, an accusatory look on her face. Everyone around here was like that. Nothing was ever their fault, it was always yours, see. Even when they hit you with their car, it was always chalked up to “is there a dent?”.

“Are you okay?”, the woman asked as she knelt down to check Sharon. Sharon couldn’t speak, however. In fact, she was still trying to figure out how to breathe again. After a few more tries, she was able to inhale a bit of oxygen, and her voice came out as a weak whisper.

“I… I think so,” Sharon stammered.

The woman looked up and squinted at something on the side of the road. Sharon looked to see what she was looking at. It was the police car.

“There’s a cop around,” the woman said. Sharon began to panic as she thought of Jimmy.

“No, really,” said Sharon. “I’m fine.”

“What happened, here?” said a nearby male voice.

Sharon and the woman turned their heads to see Jimmy, who was emerging from the archway. He looked concerned for Sharon, and his concern looked as real as his kindness had at the gas station so many times before.

“She pedaled out in front of my car,” said the woman. “I don’t think she’s injured.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” said Jimmy as he walked up to Sharon and the woman. Sharon stared up at him with a frightened and wary look about her. Jimmy smiled down at her and extended his hand. “Here, take my hand,” he said.

Sharon hesitated, staring at Jimmy’s hand. After a moment, Sharon noticed a small drop of dried blood on Jimmy’s knuckle. It made her grimace.

“I’m fine,” Sharon said. “I can get up.”

Sharon slowly pulled herself up to her feet. Jimmy brought his hand back to his side, his sweet smile gradually fading. The woman, meanwhile, looked hopeful, but not really out of sympathy for Sharon. More out of concern that she would have to pay some medical bills.

“You sure you’re okay?” Jimmy asked.

“Yes, I’m fine,” said Sharon. “Just knocked the wind out of me, but I’m okay. I didn’t bump my head, or anything.”

“You should wear a helmet.”

“Yes, that’s good advice.”

There was a pause that felt like forever. Time seemed to stand still as Sharon felt Jimmy’s eyes staring right into her. Options flipped through her head like a deck of cards. She thought about warning the woman, but then feared they’d both end up dead. Jimmy had murdered that man without a sign of remorse afterward, and Sharon was sure that he’d do it to them.

“It’s Sharon, right?” asked Jimmy as he stared into Sharon’s face.

Sharon hesitated, but what could she do? Jimmy knew.

“Y-yeah,” said Sharon.

“That’s right. You work at Waughtown Market. I see you almost every day.”

Sharon nodded, her eyeballs sheepishly lowering toward the ground. Her eyes slowly panned over to the woman, and she began to open her mouth to warn her. As she did, however, Jimmy must have noticed, because he casually placed his hand on the handle of his gun, warily eyeballing her.

“Yeah, I remember I came over one night,” Jimmy continued. “Your husband and I played cards with a few other guys. Gary’s got the best damn poker face I ever saw, let me tell you. Wouldn’t be surprised if I see him at the World Series, one day. For poker, I mean.”

Sharon uttered a weak chuckle as she nodded her head once. Jimmy just kept on smiling that all-American smile. The guy really did think he was Superman, or something, but now it was becoming increasingly apparent that it was all a cover-up. The whole hero thing was just a brightly-colored veil that hid an unsightly monster beneath it.

“Well, I…” Sharon uttered, her voice quickly cracking and then trailing off. Jimmy stared at her, expectantly but patiently waiting for her to finish.

“I’d better get going,” said Sharon. “Goodnight.”

“You’re sure you’re okay?” asked Jimmy, this time with a slight tinge of menace. The nearby woman even seemed to pick up on it, as she began to slowly back up toward her car.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“All right, it’s just, you know…wondering what the big hurry is.”

Sharon’s blood froze when Jimmy said this. He looked at her as if he was waiting for an answer. It wasn’t just an offhanded remark. Jimmy was genuinely looking for a response.

“I just…” Sharon stammered. “I just need to, uh, to get back home. Husband’s waiting on me.”

“Good old Gary,” Jimmy said with a smirk. “Tell him I said hello.”

Sharon hopped back onto her bike, but another remark from Jimmy sent chills down her spine.

“And Sharon,” said Jimmy. “Remember to look both ways, yeah?”

“Right,” Sharon said as she hurriedly pedaled away. She looked over her shoulder several more times, and each time she did, she saw Jimmy standing there, watching her pedal off. She prayed that she didn’t fall off of the bike again. Gotta get to the telephone, she thought. Gotta get to the telephone. But then, Sharon began to wonder who she could call. What if others down at the police station were like Jimmy was? What if that whole place was crooked and corrupt? On one hand, it didn’t seem logical. This town was not a hub for organized crime, which was where crooked cops were usually plentiful. But on the other hand, the town hero actually being some brutal killer was anything but logical.

Sharon’s eyes were especially peeled as she biked through this small and quiet neighborhood. It was about a ten-minute bike ride from the park back to her house. At any moment, Sharon felt that Jimmy’s police car could just come out of nowhere and blast into her. Each and every time she looked back to see that his car was not there, she was surprised that it wasn’t.

Sharon pedaled up to her house. Gary’s car was parked in the driveway. She rolled her bike onto the lawn before hopping off and leaving it there. She began hurriedly walking up to the front door, but stopped dead in her tracks when she noticed something a ways up the road. Parked on the side of the road, several houses down, was a police car. It was parked in the shadows, but Sharon could see it clear as day. There didn’t look to be anyone inside. Sharon quickly backed away from the front door and went back around the corner, in front of the garage. She pressed her back up against the garage door, but quickly realized that this wasn’t the safest place, either. Thinking fast, Sharon rounded the corner of the house and sneaked over to the side yard. Pressing her back up against the wall, she shimmied over toward one of the windows on the side of the house. She was afraid to move and afraid to breathe. Each breath came out as a shaky sputter.

She held her breath as she inched closer and closer to the side window. Jimmy wasn’t in the police car, so where else could he be? Sharon’s eyes immediately began to dart around, scanning the yards of the neighbors. She expected to see Jimmy hiding behind a bush, or something, ready to pop out and tie up loose ends. Make no mistake, that was what Sharon was, a loose end.

Sharon was now just a few feet away from the side window, the one that looked into the living room. The more she inched toward it, the smaller her steps became. She was stalling, still trying to work up the guts to peer inside. She began to imagine taking one peak through the glass, only to have a bullet rip into her face. She began to wonder what getting shot would feel like. If she would feel the bullet actually enter and feel the actual pain, or if she would just suddenly see darkness. Or would she see darkness at all? Was that just a way to describe death? After all, death obviously could not be described by those who have felt it.

Taking a deep breath, Sharon took a final step forward and slowly inched the top half of her face in front of the window, peaking through it like a frightened rabbit might peak out of its burrow. The lights were all off inside, which was strange considering Gary’s car was there. Her eyes started adjusting to the darkness inside. Once they fully adjusted, she noticed two legs, lying on the floor, poking out from behind the sofa. They were Gary’s legs. She could tell by the brown boots on the feet. Those legs were limp, still as stone. Sharon tried to gasp for air, but her lungs felt shrunken once again.

Suddenly, Sharon heard the sound of the back door opening and closing. She didn’t even pause to think. She just turned and ran. Jimmy came barreling out from behind the house, robotically sprinting after Sharon. Sharon began to scream as loud as she could. This, in turn, caused Jimmy to quicken his pace, becoming more and more desperate to catch Sharon and shut her up.

“Somebody help!” Sharon screamed at the top of her lungs. “Help me, please!”

Sharon dashed across her front yard. Her first instinct was to run to the neighbor’s house and bang on the door. Jimmy would have no recourse if she got neighbors involved. Sharon ran to the neighbor’s door as fast as she could. But Jimmy was not gonna stop. In fact, he was looking like he was gonna tackle her before she could even touch that door. Sharon started to time it in her head. Jimmy was about twenty feet behind her. There was no way she could stop and bang on the door without Jimmy flooring her. She had to get out of dodge, first.

“Help!” Sharon shouted this right at the neighbor’s house, hoping they’d hear it.

Jimmy was gaining on her. She had to make some sort of evasive maneuver, and fast. Sharon hung a right and dashed through the side yard of the neighbor’s house. There were some woods back here, but an open field in between the forest and Sharon. It was her only option, though, as far as she could see. She had to find cover. Jimmy was fast, and trained to catch fleeing criminals. The irony was that Sharon was no criminal. No, the real criminal was Jimmy, the town’s police hero.

Sharon sprinted toward the woods. She was about one hundred feet away from the tree line, and she had put a bit of distance between herself and Jimmy after hanging the turn. She was beginning to pant heavily, but her legs would not let up. They moved independently of the rest of her body, just carrying her toward cover.

“Stop now!” Jimmy shouted. “I’ll shoot!”

Sharon’s heart stopped for a moment upon hearing those words. Soon after Jimmy shouted at her, Sharon could hear the sound of a gun cocking. She instinctually began running in a zigzag formation, and just in time, too, as Jimmy began firing off shots. Sharon yelped with fear, but did not let up one bit. Bullets struck the ground in front of her. There was only about thirty feet now between her and the forest. On a normal night, the deep and dark void of the forest would have looked frightening, but tonight, the real danger was outside of the forest. Hopefully, it did not follow her in. Wishful thinking, indeed.

Sharon burst through the tree line and into the dark depths of the woods. After about five seconds, she could hear Jimmy crashing through the undergrowth, as well. Sharon began to weave around trees, heading for the thickest part of the forest that she could see. It was so dark in these woods, but Sharon kept on going, nearly tripping every ten or so steps that she took.

Sharon must have been running for longer than she realized, because she soon found herself deep in that forest, not knowing where she was or where she had come from. She could no longer hear Jimmy’s footsteps behind her, so that was good. But it only presented new challenges. Jimmy had the cover of darkness, now. He probably had a flashlight, too.

Sharon hunkered down behind a large tree, figuring she could wait Jimmy out. Her breathing slowed down, but it remained shaky as ever. Deep breaths, she told herself. Her hands, like her breathing, shook like a shivering dog that had just been taken out of the bathtub. As she camped out by that tree trunk, she began to think of Gary. Sharon didn’t quite know how to process his death. She had never loved him all that much, but it was still a shock. She felt more for the rest of his family than she did for herself. She was still thinking of the fact that she was not yet out of this situation. A gleam of Jimmy’s flashlight further reminded her of this.

A glimmer of blue light hit the corner of Sharon’s left eye, which was enough to tell her that Jimmy was somewhere to her left. She quickly shimmied around the tree trunk, watching as the streak of light from Jimmy’s torch swayed left and right across the forest floor. The streak of light was thin right now, but with each passing moment it grew slightly wider, which meant that Jimmy was getting closer.

As the ray of light grew wider by the second, Sharon carefully inched further around the tree trunk. The crackle of a stick, however, brought her to a screeching halt. That ray of light came to a halt, as well. Sharon held her breath for about ten seconds. The flashlight beam began swaying again, accompanied by the sounds of Jimmy’s crunching footsteps, which were now getting uncomfortably close.

“I see you.”

Sharon clenched her teeth when she heard these words uttered about twenty feet behind her. She tightly shut her eyes and prepared for the end. She thought of her parents, and wondered if they would have ever gotten over her death, if they’d ever be able to move on and live normally again, or if the loss of her life would ruin theirs, too. Sharon wondered if her own body would ever even be found. Would she just be labeled as a forever-unsolved disappearance? Perhaps she would have become another creepy episode of Unsolved Mysteries.

But the end didn’t come. About thirty seconds had passed, but there were no gunshots or anything of the sort. Sharon carefully opened her eyelids, expecting to be looking straight at the pearly gates of the afterworld. She still found herself looking into that same endless forest. Jimmy’s statement had been a bluff, a means of trying to get Sharon to take off running.

Sharon looked to the side. The beam of light was shining on the trunk of a nearby tree. Jimmy was now very close, likely standing directly behind Sharon’s safe haven. She began to hear the crunching of Jimmy’s footsteps again. This time, they sounded like they were coming from Sharon’s left. Sharon held her breath and began to inch around the tree trunk a bit more. A moment later, and she would have been discovered, as Jimmy began to walk past that very same tree.

Sharon peeked to the side to see Jimmy walking through the forest. He was frantically shining his flashlight in all directions. The irony of it was that he looked as frightened and paranoid as Sharon was. His fear, however, was mixed with a sprinkle of desperation. After all, he had quite a reputation on the line.

Jimmy soon came to a halt, about thirty feet beyond Sharon’s hiding place. His back was turned to her, but this didn’t ease her anxiety in the least. She so desperately prayed for him to keep walking, but he was stuck on pause, seemingly thinking things through. Jimmy proceeded to bend down and pick a rock up off of the forest floor. He reared back and hurled it at some nearby bushes. The rock made a loud knock as it connected with a tree trunk. He paused and tuned his ears. The wind was now whistling. Sharon was considering bolting off while the wind howled, as it would have momentarily covered up any noise she might have made. But just before she decided to do it, the wind’s blowing came to a stop, and the woods were deathly silent once again.

Jimmy again bent down and picked up another rock. To Sharon’s horror, he turned slightly toward her direction, tossing the rock. The rock landed about five feet in front of Sharon, but she kept her cool and held still as stone. Jimmy held still, too, tuning his ears like a wolf on the hunt. After a few moments, Jimmy bent down and picked up another rock, hurling it in the same direction. For some reason, he had become hung up on this spot. Perhaps Sharon had unknowingly made a noise, after all. This rock landed just a few inches in front of Sharon’s feet. Again, she sat still, but her heart began fluttering like a crazed bird’s wings. A new form of panic, stronger than the form she had been feeling thus far, began to sweep over Sharon. She could not handle it anymore. Jimmy had successfully wormed his way into her mind.

Like a frightened jackrabbit, Sharon sprang out from her hiding spot and dashed through the woods. About five gunshots followed. None of the rounds hit Sharon, but she could hear the bullets tearing through nearby brush.

“Help me!” Sharon screamed. It was no use. Nobody was out here, and if anything, it was only giving her position away.

Sharon hopped back onto the main path of the forest and ran. She could hear Jimmy running behind her. He had just emerged onto the path. He was likely aiming right down the path at her, and so Sharon veered back into the woods. She was now at the edge of the forest. Just outside of the woods, here, was an abandoned shack that had been sitting there for quite some time. Sharon began running toward it, figuring she could hide there. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could run for, and besides, Jimmy was gaining on her.

Taking a chance, Sharon dashed toward the shack. She rounded the corner so that she was on the side of the place, out of sight. The windows of the old, rotted place were all without glass, so Sharon quietly climbed inside. She could hear Jimmy’s footsteps crunching on leaves. From the sound of the footsteps, he had slowed back down to a walking pace.

Sharon tiptoed to the back of the shack. She could hear the sounds of mice crawling around in between the wooden panels. The place was musty and smelled like old hardboiled eggs. Sharon hunkered down in the back corner of the shack. An old baby doll lied on the ground at the opposite end of the shack, and seemed to stare into Sharon’s eyes. It made her think that if she didn’t get out of this, she would never know what it was like to have a baby. Sharon then began to not only look back on her life, but also on the life that she hadn’t fully lived. She had never left the country. She had never had a child. Even at age twenty-four, she had never truly been in love.

Sharon thought of how she had always wanted to see the Greek Islands. She remembered how she had once seen photos of that emerald-like water and those breathtaking landscapes. She wondered what it might be like to slap on a pair of goggles and dive into that water, swimming amongst the fish and experiencing another world. Sharon soon realized that if she didn’t imagine these things right now, not only would she never experience them, but she would never be able to picture them again.

And so, that is exactly what Sharon did. She imagined being out on a boat by the Greek Islands, looking out at that greenish blue water in all of its crystal clear glory. She imagined putting on goggles and a snorkel and diving headfirst into the blue, and as she did, hoards of fish scattered, only to regroup a few seconds later.

Sharon then began to picture falling in love. The man she fell in love with was a mystery man, no one in particular. He looked a bit like Brad Pitt. She imagined what her wedding day looked like. Sharon had been to too many weddings that were held at small churches in Maine, so she decided that if she had had a wedding, that it would have been on a hilltop, in front of a beautiful blue sky. When the priest announced them husband and wife, and they kissed, it was the happiest moment of her life. And they honeymooned, as you probably already guessed, at the Greek Islands.

And then, Sharon imagined joyfully telling her husband that a baby was on the way. They would have waited to find out if it were a boy or a girl. If it were a boy, she would have named him Derek, and if it were a girl, she would have named her Daisy. And then Sharon imagined giving birth and, even though it hurt, feeling a sense of joy that she was bringing new life into the world. And she imagined hearing both it’s a boy and it’s a girl, and naming her newborns respectively. Then, she and her husband brought the baby home and placed it in its crib. And, yes, of course her baby kept them awake for many sleepless nights, and yes, she did have to change diapers, and yes, she did have postpartum depression…but it was a life well-lived, and as Sharon heard Jimmy’s footsteps outside grow closer and closer, she wished so badly that she had been able to live it.

BAM! Jimmy kicked down the door of the shack. Sharon yelped with fear. Like before, Jimmy stood there for a moment, staring down his prey. Sharon just laid there in the corner, wide-eyed and frightened, yet somehow still accepting her fate. After a few moments, Jimmy marched forward and grabbed Sharon’s wrist, yanking her up off of the ground.

“First, we gotta make this look right,” said Jimmy.

Jimmy yanked Sharon out of the shack and tossed her to the ground. As she scrambled to her feet, she took a deep breath of the crisp evening air, knowing it would be her last. She turned to face Jimmy, who raised his gun. He was mumbling to himself in demented fashion.

“I’ll tell ‘em I chased her out here,” he muttered. “Yeah, yeah, that’s what I’ll tell ‘em. And she pulled the gun on me…yeah, that’s it.”

Jimmy then pulled the safety off. Sharon took a deep breath. This was it. A gunshot filled the air, and just like that…darkness.

Rudimentary thoughts began to enter and exit Sharon’s mind. As they did, she began to wonder how she was still having thoughts. She could have sworn she had just been shot, but her consciousness still lingered. She could not see, or hear, or smell anything, but conscious thoughts still bounced around inside her mind. The thoughts were primitive, like the simple impulses that a reptile might feel, but they were most certainly there.

After several more moments, the reptilian thoughts gave way to more human thoughts. Her five senses were still caput for the time being, but her consciousness began to grow in sophistication.

Sharon’s eyelids then began to slowly open. She was staring up at the night sky. Her nostrils began to take in air once again, but very slowly and in shallow breaths. It was like she was coming out of sleep paralysis. She couldn’t move, and she wouldn’t have been able to speak, even if she wanted to. She could feel where the bullet had entered her abdomen, but more in the sense that she could simply feel that it was there, not so much the pain. Her body had numbed most of it, by now.

That changed, however, after a few moments. She was able to curl her toes and her fingers. As her fingers jolted, she came to realize that her right arm was outstretched. Not only that, but Sharon could also feel something metallic at her fingertips. Once her neck regained its ability to move, Sharon turned her head and saw that Jimmy had planted a pistol by her hand, just as he had with the man he shot before.

Sharon then heard footsteps in front of her. She looked past her feet to see Jimmy, who was pacing around about ten feet away. He was not looking at Sharon. He was simply pacing around, talking to someone on his walkie.

Sharon had to act fast. Gathering all the strength and willpower she had, she began to reach for the pistol. It was like a dream in which one moves at a turtle’s pace, as if some force is holding them back. Sharon could barely move her muscles. She clenched her teeth as she tried harder. She eventually was able to grab the handle of the gun. Now she needed to get her finger in the trigger well. Easier said than done.

Sharon’s index finger kept on slipping out of the trigger well. She tried to keep her movements concise so that Jimmy wouldn’t notice her. So far, so good. Her finger slipped out a few more times, but then it finally lodged itself in the trigger well. Sharon took a deep breath. She picked up the pistol and held it with both hands. Jimmy noticed her, now. He dropped his walkie and quickly reached for his gun.

Sharon pressed down on the trigger, but nothing happened. She then realized that she had to pull the safety off. Again, easier said than done, and now, Jimmy was raising his pistol. Sharon moved both of her thumbs up to the safety of her pistol, using all of her strength to pull the hammer down. Just as Sharon heard Jimmy pull the safety off of his own pistol, she began firing at him, completely emptying the clip. With bullet holes in every corner of his body, Jimmy stumbled backward and fell limply to the ground. And with the threat of Jimmy no longer looming overhead, Sharon’s bullet wound began burning with pain.

The rest of the evening was a blur. Sharon sort of remembered being lifted up and carried away, all the while wondering if she was being carted off to the afterlife. About forty-eight hours later, Sharon awoke in the hospital. On the news, everyone all over town was devastated over the truth about Jimmy. Many people were in denial about it. Reporters visited the hospital to try and get Sharon’s thoughts, but Sharon sent them away each and every time. Everyone wanted to know what Sharon had to say, but the truth was, she had nothing to say. All that was left to do for her was to pack up and leave town. For Sharon had a life to live.