Dani

A second large hand appears in the sky before shooting forward and ripping the top of the vehicle clean off, discarding the scrap of metal to the ground. The creature then reaches into the hunk of metal to aggressively snatch you up, squeezing you in a grip so tight you feel your shoulder come out of the socket with a gnarly 'pop' sound. Now face to face with it, you can see what seems to be a mouth ripping open through the blanket of white; it dislocates its jaw, a nasty crack reverberating throughout the whole being straight into you. Yellowing and cracked sharp teeth meet your stare, a long black tongue slithers around the jagged teeth then darts at an inhuman speed in your direction. With no second to react you feel the tongue, slimy and warm, envelope you and yank forward.

Your body shoots up, lungs on fire and hands gripping your chest. The nightmare had felt more than real, it felt like a message. A warning, even. Whatever it was had sent shock waves through your being, sweat rolls down your forehead at a furious pace.

You take in your surroundings, you were home in your living room on the couch. A blanket had been thrown onto the ground haphazardly, most likely having been tossed off you in your duress from the dream.

Everything seemed in place. The light glow of the TV illuminated the space just enough for your eyes to focus on the room. Your jacket is hung up on the wall hook next to the door and your shoes are placed directly under the garment. It was quiet in the home, not a sound reverberated through the walls.

Though the TV was on, it only bounced from the generic pre-set photos to show it had been idling for at least ten minutes, no sound or scenes of a show or movie were present.

You wracked your brain trying to remember how you got here. Flashes of the night prior flood your mind. Waking up uncomfortably in your drivers seat at the park, being late to work, the always weird interaction with the freaky neighbor, the raging headache, and the footfalls next to your head.

Oh God.

At the memory of hearing the clunking foot steps your body lurches forward in a sob, tears spill down your cheeks overtaking the sweat that laid there before. Wailing into the abyss of your apartment, completely erratic at this point, you're throwing your jacket on and shoving your shoes on. The heels of your feet slam down on the back of the shoes making for a make-shift pair of slides.

How the hell did I end up on the couch? Did I dream about being sick? What the hell happened? Your brain is scattered with thoughts of how's, when's and why's.

The door is swung open and you're bolting out of the now frightening room before you have any rational thoughts enter your brain, keys in hand and nothing else.

Your body is forcefully stopped by an immovable wall in front of you, you feel yourself stumble back and almost trip over your feet. A total of four hands land on different parts of you, pulling you towards them to steady you. Eyes widen at the sensation of strangers touching you and you forcefully pull back. You stand up straight to face your door, avoiding eye contact with whoever helped you despite half-knowing who they were already.

"Sorry," you mutter quietly under your breath, door lock clicking into place loudly.

"You okay, ma'am?" The all too familiar voice rings out.

'maybe it's not them, maybe I'm jumping to conclusions. Please don't be them. Please don't be them." You reason with yourself before you turn to face them.

Fuck.

A deer stuck in headlights a car barreling towards it, that's the only way to describe what the men saw on your face when you finally stood face to face with both of them.

You just stare. You weren't in your right mind. You were running on little sleep, a night you'd rather forget (more like the last few nights), and a dream that you felt would haunt you for years to come. You didn't have the time to deal with them on top of this.

"Miss?" The taller man from the night before has a concerned look on his face, you assume he had been the one talking to you.

"I'm fine." Your voice is clipped, distaste at the interaction evident in the way you speak.

The man's face spreads into a goofy smile, his teeth bared flaunting the gap that rested neatly front and center. "Looks like you've seen a ghost." he jests.

The other man seems to be staring too, maybe not directly at you. Maybe more just into space, his face blank and devoid of any outward emotion. Whatever he was thinking was a mystery to you.

Your eyes dart in between the two men, confused and still feeling a slight panic bubbling inside you.

"You work down at that gas station, yeah?" The other man's voice startles you, eyes shooting over to meet his eyes that now seem relaxed and focused on the situation. Seems a dumb question to you, of course you do. You know that they were aware of who you were, at least the man who said it had to have known. His smug words seemed purposeful to you.

If you were being honest you thought the men should go fuck themselves. Find a different gas station to frequent and leave you alone for the rest of time.

"Yep." Another clipped response. You were clearly in a rush, was that really not obvious to these two?

"That's where I know you!" The other man chimes in, cheery as can be. "I was just there last night, you'd think I'd remember where I saw you. I'm Brian." His outstretched hand greets your rigid self.

What's happening?

Your brain moved a mile a minute. You don't know them. There's no reason in your head that introductions needed to be exchanged. You were obviously busy and you didn't know them nor did you want to.

The other man swivels his head over at Brian, eyes ever so slightly widened. Brian's hand stays outstretched for a few more seconds before it drops back down to his side. His lips twist into a wince at the denial of his handshake. "We—We live next door, to ya huh?" His throat makes a small sound resembling a laugh. "What a coincidence! Tim you agree yeah?" The man—Tim—seemed annoyed at the swapping of names clearly not wanting the interaction to get that personal.

"Yeah, sure is Brian." He glances towards you and his mouth pinches into a tight smile. "It was nice to meet you, ma'am." Tim flashes one last look at Brian before briskly walking down the hall, leaving Brian in his wake. You watched his retreating form disappear out the doors and turn stiffly back towards Brian.

"Uh…" You start, not sure what to say now. You needed to go, you needed to make an excuse to leave. That's what you needed to say next, you decided. Anything to leave this situation.

"I should really go…" You trail off.

"Sorry, miss. Didn't mean to keep you held up. It was nice to meet you, neighbor." The last word rolled off his tongue with a hiss. It seemed less of a nicety and more of a reminder that he knew where you lived.

With that he was on his way, following in the same steps as his friend.

What the fuck. What the fuck.

You stare ahead, unsure of what to do next. Your brain felt muggy with the racing thoughts that have gotten only louder with every second you're awake.

Taking too long to make a next decision leads you to standing there in the hallway. You lose track of time, a friendly elderly neighbor hobbles up to you, unheard with the lack of awareness.

"You okay?" his gruff voice startles you, your skin vibrating over your skeleton at the fright. You whip around to meet his familiar voice.

"Good morning, Tom. I didn't see you there," Your voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. "How're—Uh— How're you doing?" Your question comes off awkward, unsure of what to say. Out of all the moments you could've seen Tom this past week, it was just your luck it would be at a time like this.

"I'm doin' okay. Quiet these days without Miriam, feel myself dyin' of boredom over here." His tone lies on melancholy. Her outgoing and talkative personality being gone has definitely made the apartments feel less lively, you had to agree with the man.

"I sure miss her too, Tom." He hums at the sentiment before the small space in between the two of you becomes a silent void for nothing but a minute. You can't contain yourself from asking the man, though you're not sure how much he pays attention to the complex these days.

"You see the new neighbors next to mine?"

Tom's eyebrows furrow and his head swivels to look at the two men's door. He stares at it for a prolonged few seconds, confusion plastered across his face. His expression makes you nervous.

"Huh? Guess I've not noticed. Nice neighbors?"

"Uh…" How the hell are you supposed to answer this question? Sure they were nice enough, they hadn't necessarily done anything egregious or evil but they freaked you the fuck out. Would Tom think you were going crazy if you told him about everything going on? Would his years of experience being alive shed light on whatever has happened in your life? Maybe it was time to see a professional.

"Sure you're okay, sweetheart?" Tom's worried voice rings through the air, snapping you out of your thought spiral.

"I'm just tired, Tom. Sorry to worry you."

"Bad neighbors huh? Are they bein' too loud? I can say something for ya, Hun." At his offer you find yourself smiling.

"I appreciate the offer, that's nice of you. I'll be okay, the neighbors aren't…loud. A bit strange, perhaps?"

Tom nods at your reply. The silence spills over once again.

"I should… I should get going, Tom. If you need anything you know where to find me, okay? If you get too bored, pop over. I'll watch TV and drink beer with you, okay?"

You worry about him. With Miriam being gone you wonder if he's okay being on his own. Miriam seemed worried about his health and mobility while she was still here, you hoped he was okay living alone now.

"I will. Have a good rest of you mornin', darlin'" And with that Tom left back into his quiet apartment. Leaving you to stand alone in the hallway weighing your options again.

To work you went. You know yourself well enough to know that being at home would just leave you antsy until your shift tonight, no sleep would be had. You were also hoping that with you going in early to take over David's shift he'd stay off your back for the next week while you figured out what was going on in your head.

The bell overhead rings loudly, it's echo bouncing off the gas station walls.

"Welcome in." David's monotonous voice swims over to you, agitation at someone entering heavy in his tone.

"Hey David."

His head snaps up, lips already curling into a devious grin.

"Oh, hey…" He extends the 'y' at the end of his greeting, a mischievous tone laced throughout. You sigh heavily at his presumptuous nature, even if his presumptions were correct.

"I'm here to relieve you early. Nothing else to do today."

David is out of his seat and out the door before you even finish your sentence, a distant 'thanks!" following his being. You're glad to interact with him as little as you did.

Settling into the janky step stool, still warm from David's body, you flick on the TV to find it still on the news.

"As of right now there are no suspects. The police are advising the public to remain cautious, travel in groups and stay inside after dark."

The news reporter rattles on about a recent murder. You hadn't paid too much attention to the news story that had been breaking over the last week. You were pretty sure it was in a town a few over, some home invasion turned deadly. It was sad for sure, the family just ruthlessly slaughtered so close to home. You'd say business had slowed down since the murders but if you were honest it really hadn't. It's hard for a business that doesn't have customers to lose them.

That's where you sat for the next twelve or so hours. You didn't look at the time when you left your apartment so abruptly this morning. Hell, you didn't even grab your phone or your wallet. Keys and yourself, that was all. You found yourself watching the TV mindlessly all shift. The news played for about an hour and then some other talk shows featuring celebrities you had never seen before. It made for a boring shift, you were grateful for boring.

It wasn't until closer to closing time that things started getting strange. At first a few lights overhead the back few aisles switched off all at once. A few bulbs going out, a coincidence they happened at once, that's what you rationalized. Your ability to rationalize was held close to you right now when everything else was weird.

The TV went to static, none of the channels would flip on. Just a loud static sound erupted from the machine and frantic monotonous shades of black littered the screen. You slapped the palm of your hand up against the side of the box hoping to knock something into place.

You hit the button labeled 'power' over and over and the screen never changed, the screeching only becoming louder with every minute. You reached for the plug but felt a light shock to your finger tips at contact with it.

You start to imagine the worst case scenario. Your brain conjures scenes of the gas station combusting into flames, happening so fast you're left to burn until you're nothing but a pile of seared hair and bones.

It's not worth focusing on, that wasn't going to happen. You just needed to find the breaker box, flip some switches and the power would go back to normal. You needed to focus.

The static grows louder, attempting to dull your senses, perhaps a distraction.

The breaker box is somewhere out back, behind the building you think. You remember a key under the change drawer in the register. You hastily grab the key and the flashlight under the counter before exiting the building for your mission.

It was dark outside. The sky is filled with an inky black, stars freckle its surface. The night wasn't chilled or hot, no breeze swept by. A complete and utter stagnant night.

You trudge a path towards the breaker, hoping you can get this over with fast. You planned to fix this situation and then close up early again tonight. You promised yourself it would be the last time you closed early for a while.

It was typically pretty quiet out here at night, but tonight seemed even more so. You could usually hear crickets and maybe even some owls if you steadied your breathing to be almost non-existent. Tonight it was nothing. Not even a far off in the distance car rattling through to their destination. Being out here sometimes makes you feel like you were the only person left on earth.

You could see the breaker box up ahead, its once bright gray and shiny box was now dull and covered in cobwebs and dirt. You were surprised the thing even still worked, it looked ancient.

You had almost made it to the breaker box, you were only a few feet away.

But, at the sound of a second pair of footsteps following behind, you freeze. The second set freezes too. You take a few more steps and so do the second set.

A nausea overtakes you as you realize that unless the echoes of your feet were delayed there was somebody behind you. The footsteps sounded heavy, much more hefty than what you were capable of making.

At the notice of your lack of weapons, you curse at yourself under your breath. Who would go out into the dark out in the middle of nowhere with no weapons? Not even just a can of baked beans? You toggled the idea of using the flashlight as a hefty object to swing around but realize it was a surefire way of getting killed. The cheap plastic of the flashlight was bound to crumble into a million pieces upon impact.

You had to book it. Turn your ass around and run right back into that gas station. Yeah, that's what you would do, that decision was the only one you really had.

So that's what you did, you ran like your life depended on it. It probably did. You don't slow down or look behind you. You were better off not knowing what the person looked like or how close they were if they were following you.

Feet hit the ground with thunderous smacks, each footfall leaving dust behind you in your hasty escape. You could hear the footsteps behind you, following only a few feet behind. Fear drowned out any other feeling inside you. You focused on only running, getting away from the threat. Your lungs burned with the pressure of your rapid breathing, throat already becoming scratchy from the heavy breaths that came through it.

The dim light illuminating the front door of the gas station beckoned to you like a beacon of heaven.

Just get inside. Lock the door. You can do this.

The pep talk felt limp in your ears. You keep running regardless of your lack of hope.

The door is just within reach, just a few more feet.

"Hey!"

You ignore the booming voice, no time.

"Hey lady!" The voice comes once again.

You're about to whip open that door and lock yourself inside to safety when a hand reaches out, taking a fistful of your shirt in their grasp. You're thrown off balance, back slapping into the front of the culprit.

A large and tattered man stands behind you, a grimace gracing his features. The smell of sweat and cheap cologne assault your senses causing your face to twist in disgust.

"Hey lady, I was fuckin' talkin' to ya." The man growls down at you, his scraggly unwashed beard scratches your face as he leans down to speak directly at your face. The shirt tightens in his grasp as he twists the fabric. Breathing becomes non-existent as your body goes into panic mode. You kick your legs backwards hoping to kick the man.

"Fuckin' bitch." He curses under his breath at you, hand harshly releasing as he goes to throw you on the ground.

Concrete cuts into the flesh of your palms, pieces of small rock stick into the new wounds. Blood blooms only seconds later, a few drops slide down onto your wrist.

You don't remember hearing a car pull up, maybe it had been there the whole time. The man hadn't seen it coming either it seemed.

He had been standing, breathing, and bitching just moments before. Then, he wasn't. Blood stained the ground around you, the warm stench of copper floods your nose before you see it.

Your eyes are trained to the concrete beneath you, it didn't feel necessary for you to look at whatever grim scene it was that was happening behind you.

You feel yourself fade in and out of consciousness, the lack of sleep and rush of adrenaline now knocking you on your ass.

You do remember feeling the strong calloused hands grip your upper arms and pull you up to your feet. You were so tired of people grabbing you.

You're limping into the gas station, well, dragged more like. Your legs refuse to work properly, exhaustion taking over.

"Ma'am? You alright?" A semi-familiar voice speaks at a hushed tone next to your ear. He leads you over to your stool and sits you down, now bending down to meet your eyes.

Hazel eyes stare back worriedly.

"You passed out, thought you were a goner." he coughs a laugh away.

Now that your eyes had a chance to focus and your breathing could steady you recognize the man as being Brian. Great, just who you wanted to see.

You tug your body back from his, gaining as much distance from the man as you could.

"Uh-" he starts once again, "You okay?"

"What the fuck was that?" You bite back at the man, ignoring his incessant prodding.

"Well, that's what I'm asking you." He breathes out a chuckle this time, not caring to hide the laugh from you now. You twist your lips up in distaste of the action. The scent of tobacco and something smokey wafts off the man.

"What're you talking about? What happened to that man?" You feel yourself getting riled up, tears springing to the surface and the dull ache of the scrape on your palms is coming back in full force. You turn your hands up to look at them finally. The scrape doesn't look too deep, but it certainly stung like it was. Rocks still cling to the cuts, bloodied and jagged.

"What man?"

Brian gently grabs a hold of your hands bringing them forward to inspect them closer. A failed attempt at pulling your hands back results in him grabbing onto your forearms. His grip is tight and you can tell he's not going to let you pull back no matter how hard you try to yank your arms out of his grasp.

"The man!" You exclaim. The sound of your teeth chattering fills any silent gaps between the two of you.

"He was chasing me! And-and-and," You stutter to a stop.

"You didn't see a man? That's impossible. He grabbed me!" Your voice finally lifts into a yell.

Brian stares at you, eyebrows furrowed and lips turned down into a frown.

"I didn't see a man. I saw you passed out. Now lemme ask you again, ma'am. You alright?"

You stare at the man, an anger now settling into your stomach at his denial of the other man's existence. You feel your heart race back up and your nostrils flare as you take deep calming breaths.

"There was a man." the sentence comes out clipped and annoyed.

"He grabbed me." Brian's eyes glance towards the front doors for barely a second.

"You passed out." He states.

He now looks down at your mangled palms. "And scraped yourself, we should get this cleaned up."

Your eyes travel from your hands up to his face. He has a stern expression on his face.

"Sit here." there was a vague threat laced in his words.

He makes his way to the back of the gas station towards a room that you hardly ever found yourself in, the office.

You stare back at his retreating form and then over to the front door.

"He was there." you raise your voice loud enough for him to hear. "He grabbed me. He threw me on the ground."

He reappears from the office holding a first aid kit that had to have been decades old. His face holds a sly smile as he approaches you.

"I'm sure he did."

Humiliation settles into your spine as you realize he's not going to believe you. Anger blooms bigger at the perceived embarrassment. You jolt upwards into a standing position.

"I'm going to prove it to you, you fucking bastard."

You knew realistically, nothing came out of calling the guy names. But it felt nice to do.

Brian sighs and reaches out to grab your shoulders, pushing you down until you sit back down.

"You should let me clean those wounds of yours first, darlin'" you let the stupid pet name slide this time, wanting to extend that leftover energy on proving your side of the story.

"I can do it." you grab at the first aid kit but Brian yanks the dusty white box from out of your reach.

"I'm sure you can. But, I think it'd be best if I did it for ya'." he kneels down in front of you, hand in hand before his knees hit the tile.

"Nasty scrapes," he murmurs under his breath, you almost don't catch it.

"Yeah, he threw me fucking hard." you snarl back at him, bitterness lacing your tone.

He doesn't justify it with a reply, just a sharp intake of breath.

The silence stretches until he finishes. The moment he finishes wrapping your wounded hands in gauze you're leaping out of your seat and attempting to pull him to the front door.

"Come on! Look!" he doesn't move, your pulling means nothing to the immovable force.

"I think you should go home, miss." his arms cross against his chest.

"No!" the word comes out louder than you meant.

"No! You have to see! He's there! Why don't you care?"

Hot tears now fall down your cheeks, dripping off your chin and splattering onto the dirt stained tile. Brian steps forward arms uncrossing and dropping down to his sides.

"Ma'am," you glare at him, tired of hearing him call you ma'am. You spit your name at him and he repeats it back to you, clearly getting the message.

"I think you've had a rough night. I'm sure there was a man, maybe he left before I saw you there." he tries his best to reason with you, though you can see through his placating.

You know you hadn't passed out, at least not in between the time when the man grabbed you and when Brian saw you. And you saw that blood, you couldn't have imagined that. The scent still lingers in your nose.

Brian seems at a loss of what to say, his eyes darting back and forth at you and the front door you were so desperate to drag him to.

"Look," he starts his negotiation hesitantly.

"If I look outside and make sure the man is gone,"

You interrupt him, "It's not just the man! Something happened to him. He grabbed me and then suddenly he had let go of me and there was blood everywhere. How did you not see the blood?" Brian holds a breath for a second longer before exhaling out another sigh.

"and that there is no blood," Brian continues now adding your other complaint.

"do you think you could get home and get some rest? I can take ya there." he offers.

You shake your head, distaste at the idea present in your face.

"Okay." your voice is quiet.

"Okay?" he repeats.

You nod your head.

"I'll be right back." Brian reassures and walks towards the door, grabbing the keys from behind the counter on his way out.

The hum of fluorescent lights above fill the silence of his absence. You count the seconds he's gone, waiting for him to run back inside and profess that you were right all along. It never happens.

Brian's gone for no more than 3 minutes. He saunters into the building, locking the front door with the keys he had grabbed and turning back towards you.

"Well?"

"Their was some blood,"

"Ha! I told you!" You jump out of your seat. A hand shoots forward to point at him, fingertips press into the bandages on your palms and you wince, bringing them closer to your chest.

"an animal's blood." he shuts you down. You shrink back down into the stool, confused by his statement.

"What?"

"an animal's blood." he repeats. "Some jackass was hunting and left a deer hanging over the bed of his fuckin' truck. Leaked everywhere. Fuckin' gross." Brian sounded irritated. Irritated at you or the dumb ass hunter, who knew.

You squinted at him, "How do you know that?"

Brian rolls his eyes at you, "a guess. Wouldn't be the first time I've seen something like it."

You look away from him, annoyance settling in at his irritation.

what the fuck does he have to be annoyed about? I'm the one who should be annoyed, not him.

The thought entered your brain before you could stop it.

"and the man?" you prod at him to give you any indication that you weren't crazy but he just shakes his head and hikes his shoulders up into a shrug.

"I'm going home." you announce as you stand up for the final time.

"Lemme take ya," he grabs a hold of your upper arm like he did previously and you shake him off.

"No thanks." you snatch the keys out of his hands and walk towards the back door flicking the lights off on him. You hold the door open and motion your hand as if to usher him forward and out of the building.

The ghost of a smile spreads on his lips and he starts forwards toward you.

He stops in front of you, just in the way enough so where you couldn't close the door.

"Have a good evenin', sugar" the pet name sears a burn into your chest, stealing the air from your lungs. You're frozen in place and he's walking out of line of sight before you can process what is said to you.

It's not until you hear the sound of tires crunching on gravel that you snap out of it. You bolt towards the car and lock yourself in it, checking your backseats before you stepped inside.

A flash of lightning outside your window lights up the room catching your attention, your head swivels over to glance outside. A deafening crackle of thunder follows closely after the flash. Hands shoot up to clasp around your ears, shielding yourself from the sound on instinct. You turn over in bed away from the window, ears still covered, hoping you could find some much needed comfort in a fetal position. Your eyes open once you settle into your spot, a final look before forcing yourself to sleep. A dark corner meets your sight, the previous spindling shadows had expanded down the wall no longer contained to just the ceiling. The corner is completely taken over by the inky void, branches of darkness shoot off from it.

Your eyes are fixated on the corner, brain unable to process the scene in front of you. The shadows move separately from each individual branch, each one seemingly having a mind of its own.

Your heart races faster with every second that you lay there, unable to tear your eyes away; unable to move. A loud buzzing in your head starts to overtake the sound of your heart beating in your ears. You're locked in place though you feel something is tugging at you. If you didn't know any better you'd think you were about to sit up, swing your legs over the side of the bed and begin a saunter over to the corner. See what it had to offer, what it called out to you for. The shadow glides further along the wall, only inches away from reaching out and grabbing a hold of you.

CRACK

The earsplitting sound disrupts the moment, you shoot up in bed as you gain the ability to move again. Your eyes find the window where the sound seems to have come from. No other sound follows, just the sound of a torrential downpour drowning out any sounds that try to compete.

Thunder, that's all.

A small sigh leaves your lips, hands coming up to press your palms over your eyes in an attempt to bring your brain back to your body.

The paralysis you found yourself in when staring at that corner was something you've not experienced. Doom, that's the only word you could describe the feeling it instilled in your chest. You felt that something bad was coming, that it was already there. In your room, staring at you.

Looking away from the window and hesitantly back over to the corner, the scene had changed. No shadows overtake the corner, no foreboding entities feeding off your fear. Just the overly decorated walls with chipped paint in various places.

Your heart beat is back to its normal rhythm, the foggy haze that clouded any logical thinking has fully dissipated now. You finally accept defeat that sleep may not come tonight.

Unable to be whisked away to dream land, you find yourself in front of your front door. Shoelaces grasped firmly in your hand and bag tossed over your shoulder, you need air. You need to get out of these walls, the walls you were so desperate to get back into less than twelve hours ago.

Thankfully, you had finished your book at the beginning of your shift yesterday and had an excuse to escape to the library. The library was almost your second home at this point, if the gas station hadn't already taken that spot. Outside of work and at it, you were nose deep in a book. You know you should invest in a second hobby, preferably one outside the home with other people but your thoughts are if it's not broke you will not be messing with it.

You're at that small brick building twice a week at this point. It's occurred to you that maybe borrowing one book at a time isn't a very efficient way of going about it but it's the one of the only places you go so you think it's best if you go as often as you can.

Stepping outside the air is chilly, a brisk breeze hits your skin. A shiver shoots down your spine at the change in temperature. Hands stroke your arms to warm yourself up on the short walk to your car.

You used to reserve Thursday mornings for calling your parents. The mornings would consist of you waking up at 10 to a phone call from your mother who never knew what to say to you; the things she did say left you with a bundle of frustration at the base of your skull. Your father was ever absent from the calls, likely caught up in work or some other affair—marital or otherwise. You didn't mind he wasn't on the calls, it was better like that anyway. Easier.

It was two months ago when you realized you didn't have to pick up the phone. The thought had occurred to you one sleepless night after an argument with them. That Thursday morning, dad was on the call. He was only ever there when he had something serious to talk about, a topic usually handled with verbal put-downs and nonsense ramblings. A topic that he only cared about so he could get your mother to shut up about it.

It had started the same as any other call with your parents. Awkward hello's and how are you's that were never answered truthfully. Your father wastes no time breaking the ice, his stern voice taking over the call now.

"We need to talk."

The timeline of the conversation was fuzzy. One second it was about how you were disappointing them by moving so far away and not having a real career—nothing to show for yourself, nothing to show off to their friends. It quickly devolved into their typical abrasive behavior. Tossing words around only intending to hurt and speaking over you, belittling and disregarding your whole being.

You remember yelling at them, saying something about them not actually caring about you, that you're glad you left. You think you said something about how they can pretend to each other they were good parents but not to you. You can't remember. The phone line hangs up after your comment, you think you hung up on them. Or did they hang up on you? It was hard to tell in the moment.

Now on Thursday mornings you're free to do what you please.

Other than the three librarians that are always working, the old building seemed pretty empty, a small win for you. You can hear the distant clacking of a keyboard off in the distance, alerting you to the presence of at least one other person.

"Hey! It's good to see you. How've you been doing, sugar?" Your head jolts up in the direction of the voice. A feeling of dread creeps into your chest at the pet name that now leaves you feeling gross instead of endeared. Sara stands brightly behind the counter, waving enthusiastically. Your face lifts into a relieved smile upon seeing her, Sara wasn't here last time you stopped by. You were glad to see it was her, after the restless night you had you were grateful for the bubbly woman.

"Hey Sara," Your smile is strained and your eyes droop. You'd seen better days and Sara noticed immediately.

"Oh my God girl. You look dog tired. Rough night?" Her southern twang deepens with her worry.

You half chuckle her worry off, shrugging your bag off your shoulder onto the library's counter.

"I'm fine," You start to root around in your bag, searching for the book you need to exchange and to subtly avoid eye contact.

"Didn't sleep at all last night. I'll probably take a nap before my shift tonight," You softly lay the book down after finding it, finally looking up at the other two ladies behind the counter.

"Good morning, Miss Kim. Good morning, Georgia. How are you ladies today?"

The ladies look up, smiling instantly upon seeing you. "Hi dear"'s are echoed from the two. You didn't think they were related but they were always so in sync. It sometimes was startling.

"I actually had a book on hold come in, so I'm in and out pretty quickly today, sorry ladies." A chorus of ugh's sound from the three.

"Okay, okay. Well let's get you outta here. You need to go home and take a nap. Sara orders. And you can't deny a Sara order." A small smile spreads across your face, softly nodding your head at her demand.

Home wasn't exactly comforting right now. You tried to drive home and follow Sara's orders. To get inside, curl up on the couch and pass out until you're almost late leaving for your shift.

You just kept driving past the parking lot, circling back around just to do it again. Repeating 'just one more time' every time you drove past. Maybe it wasn't in the cards for you, going home that is. You knew sleep was a necessity, and it did cross your mind you could get away with sleeping at work on the account of no one ever coming in. The thought quickly disappears when your brain travels back to the men from the day prior.

Instead you keep driving to a destination not even you know.

You find yourself pulling up to an unfamiliar park. You didn't know there was even a park out this way, so hidden and out of town.

The park seemed empty, no cars in the lot and an abandoned jungle gym. The only sign of life are two deer at the edge of the dense woods far behind the playground. The deer are turned away from the lot you had just arrived in, they seemed to have been mid eating when something caught their attention. Their heads low to the ground yet turned over to look at whatever it was in the woods.

Pulling up to a parking space in a far corner facing away from the streets view, you click the door lock three times and slam your drivers seat back until it lays flat. A perfect place for an uncomfortable two hour sleep before your shift.

Your nap runs longer than expected. You had set an alarm for two hours, hoping to have extra time to sit in your car before your shift to collect yourself. At some point within the two hours the alarm was supposed to go off, your half charged phone died. Your phone was old, it was to be expected that the battery would start to act up. You brush it off, though annoyed and now late to work.

A pounding settles behind your eyes and trails over to your temples. You're hoping the headache won't turn into a migraine, though you're not confident in your hope. The lack of sleep and other basic human needs you had been neglecting the past couple days was catching up to you.

The bell above the gas stations door rings loudly at your entrance, the shrill sound causes you to wince.

"Thought you'd never show up." The annoyed voice of the day shift guy, David, fills your ears in place of the bell. He stands behind the counter, arms crossed and eyes glaring.

"Good to see you too, David." You reply sarcastically. "Thanks for covering me these last ten minutes, I'll get you ten minutes earlier tomorrow as a sorry." You propose, already finding the place behind the counter where David had swiftly abandoned at the sight of you. You already regret the offer but you're willing to say anything to get him to leave as soon as possible.

His face lifts instantly, a shit-eating grin now taking over the annoyed frown's place and a sudden pep in his step makes an appearance as he makes his way towards the door. He's always been a hard guy to read.

"Really? I mean it's not problem, I've got you. But if you're offering! Thanks!" His cocky voice grows faint as he pushes the door open and saunters out. Your eyes roll into the back of your head at his annoying display. Mentally making a note to come in early tomorrow, you drop down onto the black step stool that becomes your place of solitude for the next six hours.

The sun disappears about an hour or two into you being there, making for a dark and silent evening. The small TV is switched off, David hates having it on. You've not seen what he spends his hours doing in the small lonely building. You assumed he had friends come in and waste time with him, if not in person than on the phone.

You toggled the idea of turning on the TV and catching up on this evening's news but decided it's not a good idea after the weird twenty-four hours you'd had. Not if they were going to be talking about mysterious or dangerous happenings around town, you didn't need that type of stress today. Maybe tomorrow.

You think the day must be stuck at 2x speed, your shift coming and going in the blink of an eye. Time was lost to you, moving around you instead of with you. Closing duties start being crossed off the mental list of tasks as the time ticks closer to eleven.

Prayers to finish out the hours without interacting with anymore customers goes unanswered as the bell dings off in the distance.

"Welcome in! I'll be up in just a second!" You project your voice towards the front of the store, reassuring the customer that someone was in and could get them their gas.

You set your mop back into the bucket of warm soapy water, wiping your hands off on a rag that hangs off your shoulder. Trudging up to the register you exhale a deep sigh, blowing a piece of hair that had fallen into your vision out of the way.

"What can I do fo-" Your words come to a halt as you arrive face to face with the man from yesterday. Not the one with the sideburns, the one who seems to be haunting you. But his friend, or maybe they're brothers. You doubt it though.

You power walk the rest of the way to the register, finding a false security behind the counter acting as a barrier between you and him.

"Sorry, I know you guys are about to close. I just needed twenty on the pump, Doll." You ignore the nickname, pretending it doesn't bother you. Glancing outside at the pumps, a small black sedan type car sits turned off at pump one. You can almost make out a figure sitting in the passenger seat. That wasn't the car they had yesterday. Your eyes make their way back to the man, his face sporting a meek smile. A polar opposite from the last time he looked at you. A slow and wobbly nod is your only response to the man, feeling taken aback by the bizarre interaction. Shouldn't the man be staring daggers at you? Killing you in his mind a thousand times over? Why does he seem so… harmless now?

"Is that all for you?" The words break through the barrier of your throat. your attempt at sounding unshaken doesn't work too well for you as the words come out uncertain, as if you weren't sure if your words could be heard by human ears.

"That's all. Thank you, ma'am." He places a twenty on the counter and winks before he takes his leave. You stare in the direction of where he last stood in the space, mind empty as you try to process what happened. Bile rises in your throat but you choke it back.

You had tried to brush off the look he had shot your way before, chalking it up to misreading the expression, to paranoia. While you think it's possible, you are sure of how it made you feel. That was real, the feeling when he locked eyes with yours. And it was similar to how you were feeling at that moment. Like a prey being hunted by its predator.

You close early that night.

You think about never going back to your apartment. The idea of curling up in the drivers seat of your car under a streetlight at the park was an enticing one. You almost do just that. You drive past the complex's parking lot, you weren't even thinking about it, you just do it. You only make it two laps this time, pulling into the parking lot you whip your car into its normal space. You know logically you can't run away from your apartment forever over what was certainly just a very realistic nightmare. The urge to flee still nagged at you, telling you to run as far as you can, to never come back. You shove the voice down, you just need to get inside. You'll feel better once you're inside, warm and safe. You just have to get inside.

The second you step foot out of your car, you're hauling ass. You don't even spare a glance at the parking lot or your parking job, you couldn't find it in you to care about anything other than getting in those doors. You felt vulnerable in the eyesight of the world, an itch to be inside—hidden away—eats at you. Practically running into the complex, you pull the door closed behind you trying your best to prevent any hidden enemies from getting inside. The hall in front of you is empty, your apartment not far from where you stood. You were grateful to be on the ground floor. The mere suggestion of being in a stairwell made you sick to your stomach.

Your ears ring, your headache from earlier suddenly starting to worsen with every second.

"You're almost there. Just a few more feet. You've got this. You're okay." You whisper small encouragements to yourself as you make your way closer to your door. Your keys are already grasped in your hands, house key pinched between fingers ready to unlock the door in record speed.

The door handle jiggles under shaky hands as you make fast work at unlocking it. Quickly swinging it open, you step into your home as the door next to you swings open and two sets of feet step out. You make a display of slamming your door shut and loudly snapping the lock in place, an act of retaliation at their presence.

You turn back around, a strong nausea taking over your body. Collapsing to your knees, hands hold yourself up as a fit of dry heaving rolls over you. You move to a crawl towards the bathroom, the apartment shrouded in darkness makes for a maze. Your hands bump into everything they possibly can on the way. Blood splutters onto the ground as the nasty cough continues. Your heads buzzing had grown to a loud roar. You go off what your hands feel alone at this point, hoping to find the bathroom or even just an empty bag in case the dry heaving progresses.

Tile meets flesh as you find the bathroom floor, letting yourself fully slump onto the cold ground your arms reach out and grasp the small white trash can that sits next to the sink and bring it over to your mouth at the last second. Bile rushes past your throat, chunks splash against tile before you can make it into the trash. Breathing becomes a hard task, a chore you're unable to do. You go limp on the floor as your vision finally gives out, the last thing you hear are the footsteps of work boots directly next to your head.

The news channel lights up the grainy screen, the reporter talking in a controlled tone, panic lacing the ends of her words. She seems to be outside of a home in some neighborhood you don't quite recognize.

"-is evening. Currently the police department asks if you or someone you know has any information regarding th-" You zone out, her words now unintelligible sounds in the background.

At one point in time, you think the old building saw more traction. Families bustling in and out of the store holding bags of processed sugars and styrofoam cups leaking brown fizzy syrups. The sounds of their revving engines were gone as fast as they came. Memories of the small moment already left to time.

Not now though. You're honestly not sure how this place stays in business. you try not to put much thought to it. Deciding as long as they're paying you to continue to do nothing, it was not in your business to ask questions.

You jump in your seat at the sound of a bell disrupting your thoughts. Work, right. Customers, right.

You hurriedly shoot towards the TV, grasping the dial and turning to the left until the volume is practically mute. Spinning back around you take in the sight of a man with dark brown hair ending in thick sideburns. His equally dark eyebrows are furrowed together, a look of confusion pasted on his face as his vision adjusts to the dimly lit area. Huh. He's not your usual customer base. Typically you sell gas and scalding bitter coffee to the farmers from the town over and tired families on the last stretch of their road trip. He doesn't strike you as either of those types. The air that entered the room when he walked in was more malevolent than when any of them came in.

Glancing back down you're suddenly aware of your existence in a way you only feel when a threat is looming. The anxiety of being alone with the stranger spiking before it settles in a low puddle at the base of your chest. You don't recall seeing a vehicle pull up to the lot, you seriously must've been more lost in thought than you realized.

"Welcome in." You dully spill out the usual boss mandated greeting. A low hum of acknowledgement can be heard coming from the stranger. Staring down at your hands, you start to find interest in your nails and the torn pieces of skin that adorn your fingers.

It feels like a lifetime before the man trudges up to the counter. His large dirt-caked brown boots smack against the ground with loud unnerving stomps. You sigh as quietly as you can at the dirt he tracks behind him, knowing you're going to have to clean that up when he leaves. Fucking customers. Standing at the counter, he places two coffees down and stares at you expectantly.

The smell of copper and tobacco wafts over to you as the man reaches checkout.

"Is this all for you?" You question, standing up from the black step stool. You had stolen the make-shift chair from some abandoned maintenance closet ages ago, you felt it was better suited for serving you. After launching yourself up from the seated position, your hands find the register buttons faster than you gain your balance back

"Two packs of Marlboro reds and twenty on pump three." He speaks for the first time, his voice gruff and filled with years of smoking. A constrained smile makes its way to your face, silently cursing at the man for making you turn around and take your eyes off him. Turning curtly on your heels you face the shelf of cigarettes. All the brands meld together in an unrecognizable symphony of cardboard. Locating the smokes, you take a deep breath and blow it out as softly as you can before finally grabbing the two packs needed and twirling back around to face the man once again.

The man glanced back at you away from where he was previously watching the small TV, the news reporter still talking about the same story as before. You eye him wearily, there's the ghost of a smirk on his face.

Reciting the total to him, you smack the cigarettes against the counter aggressively. It was your turn to stare at him expectantly. His face morphs into an unreadable rough expression. Something inside of you nagged at the threshold of your mind to rush the transaction, to get him out of there as soon as possible. Not that you don't want every customer that comes in to leave as soon as they walk in, this job would be perfect if people only paid at the pump and didn't walk through the front doors. This man left a certain uneasy feeling in you however. You try to brush it off, the only thing you can do right now is rush through the transaction like you already planned. You'll worry about that for now and figure out the rest if it comes to that.

His hand dives into one of his jeans front pockets, fishing out a beat up brown leather wallet. He grabs out the needed bills and slaps them onto the counter already hastily snatching up the coffees and cigarettes before you can grab his change. He turns abruptly and makes his way towards the exit. You scoff soundlessly at the curt customer, muttering a 'have a good day.' under your breath as he continues onward. He makes no sound of acknowledgment at that one. You pop open the register, opting to not look at him again as he stalks out of the building. The door's bell ringing in his wake.

Once the door smacks against the frame signaling its close you glance out the window you've ignored until now. A beat up light brown Chevy truck is sat at pump three, another man you failed to notice earlier stands at the gas pump. Probably waiting for his friend to finish being menacing and freaking out the gas station girl.

The man by the pump grins widely at his friend approaching him. You think you spy a small gap in-between his two front teeth. You can't seem to peel your eyes off the man, well off both of them. You've seen a lot of odd and sometimes suspicious people come through here. It's inevitable that you would interact with some characters throughout your time working in the falling apart establishment. Especially ones that would make your survival instincts go crazy.

The man with the sideburns evidently says something to his buddy as the grinning man's face drops and his line of sight moves directly over to meet yours. His eyes burrow deep into yours, what you can only describe as fury bubbles beneath them. Fear is struck through your chest, squeezing and wringing it dry of life.

You're desperate for air, it felt like your lungs had been sucked clean of any trace of oxygen. Eyes leave his and race to find something else interesting, landing on the muted TV. The news reporter still rattles on about the same crime as before the man walked inside. A stream of text moves along the bottom of the screen.

'THIS IS AN ONGOING INVESTIGATION. ANYONE WITH INFORMATION IS URGED TO CONT-'

You switch the TV off, the news story not helping in calming you down.

You feel yourself shifting on the rickety stool. Still uncomfortable at the remnants of his eyes burning holes through you. There's not a doubt in your mind that he knew you were watching them. He made direct eye contact with you, made sure you knew he saw you. You think maybe he knew you were watching them before that.

Who the hell are these men? And what the fuck even was that whole interaction? You reach into your pocket and feel the handle of your switchblade, grasping the smooth metal in your hands. Readying yourself for some type of burglary or attack of some kind from the men. That's all your brain could muster up to explain their weird behavior.

You cautiously move your eyes back in the direction of the two men and the old truck that's brown paint had been chipped away from years of alternating seasons. They seem to be in a hearty conversation with each other. Your presence is completely ignored by them now, just like customers should do. You think maybe it's just paranoia. It's easy to get paranoid in this place, it's quiet and dead. Thoughts often run far away when you're on shift. Everyone that comes in is out of the norm and should be seen as a suspect for imaginary crimes, or at least that's what your brain likes to think.

You blow out the breath you had been subconsciously holding. Hand relaxing from the switchblade, you rub your face with both of your hands and slap your cheeks a few times in a last ditch effort to bring yourself back to reality.

Standing back up from the step stool you force yourself to move to a different more productive task like cleaning the sketchy mans dirt trail. You needed to distract yourself from the strange duo, you'd never wanted the shift to end more now than ever.

11 P.M. rolls around a lot quicker than expected. The doors key turning in the lock as soon as the clock hit the hour, closing duties already done long before that. Admittedly, it wasn't a hard day at work. It's not a particularly hard job, it's probably the easiest job you've had honestly. However, after the boring days you're ready to get the hell out of the desolate walls of the gas station and back into quiet, familiar walls of your own.

It's 11:05 when you walk out the back door for the final time that night. Happy to be done with the shift.

It's 11:30 when you arrive in front of your apartment door, rummaging around in your bag to find your keys. Annoyed at yourself for not pulling them out sooner.

It's 11:31 when you hear foot steps walking swiftly up to and then past you. Your nerves now on alert at the stranger who's seemingly came out of nowhere.

You can't remember the last time you saw anyone new move into the hall your shabby apartment resides in. It's not like you were the only person living there, you knew other people resided in the apartments around you.

The single mother and her two sons had moved into the apartment on the corner of the hall about 7 months ago, or maybe 8 you weren't sure. They were quiet enough. She was always working and the boys were well behaved. You'd interacted with the family only a handful of times so, you didn't know much about them.

Then, Tom was next door to them. It used to be him and his wife, Miriam. You loved the old couple. Miriam always offered advice, though sometimes not asked for, when she saw you. A few times she brought you over various dishes claiming she 'made too much'. Tom always lingered behind her, offering small smiles to you as she talked your ears off and soft greetings when passing by you. They were a solid and loving couple. It was nice to see so much love after all those years between the two. It wasn't something you were used to seeing. It was refreshing.

She passed away suddenly a few months back.

You had arrived home to see two ambulances parked in the lot and Tom pacing in the hallways, clearly distressed. You had asked him if everything was alright, you knew it couldn't have been when he gave you a look of despair at your question. You'd never seen the older man so distraught.

He could only mutter a single word, the sound so soft coming from his throat you almost didn't hear him. "Gone."

You cried there in the hall quietly beside him that night.

The apartment next to his was yours. A shabby apartment you've made home. The first place you truly have felt safe and secure. You were grateful for the space, grateful for the comfort it's provided for you over the last year.

Next to your apartment at the end of the hall was empty. As far as you were aware it had been empty forever. That's what Miriam had said to you one time at least. Said she hadn't seen a soul walk into those doors—not even maintenance—for the entire 10 years she and Tom had been living there. Come to think of it, neither did you.

Mulling it over in your head you realize, none of the tenants ever have guests either. Not even you. It's the same faces everyday, and even then you hardly ever see your neighbors. You'd see Miriam all of the time, she always seemed to be out in the hall; bored with her retirement you always assumed she was just waiting to talk to anybody who graced the halls with their presence. You were always happy to talk luckily for her, or maybe luckily for you. Ever since she passed, the halls have been deathly quiet.

Alas, an unfamiliar man has whished past you disturbing the peace of the quiet halls. He walks up to the apartment directly next to yours, the empty one. Or mistakenly the apartment you thought was empty.

You find your keys and slowly reach your hand out to unlock the door. You take your time in hopes of catching a glimpse of the man. You glance over, head unmoving still positioned towards the lock.

Eyes latch onto familiar brown boots that stand in front of the steel door to the apartment. Tracing up you take note of denim blue jeans, hems coated in layers of muck that flake off with every step, leaving a bread crumb trail behind him. A dark red flannel hangs off his shoulders, the fabric stretching over his bicep, illuminating the muscles that hide under the garment.

Catching sight of his face is what drills the memory of the man from earlier that day into your head. His profile shows off a bump in his nose, one you hadn't noticed when he was in the dimly lit gas station. Under the bright florescent of the hallway you see it now. You knew this man. Well not knew him, but you knew him! Had he moved in? You don't remember seeing anyone moving into the apartment. Especially not him. You would've remembered seeing the man that left you feeling unsettled for the remainder of your shift move in. You would have, simply. So, what was he doing here?

Time was apparently not paused at that moment unbeknownst to you. Not paying attention when staring at him, you had gone from looking discreetly from the corner of your peripheral to full on head turned looking at him. You're not sure how long you had been staring at him like that, it felt like it could've been five uninterrupted minutes. Though you're sure looking from a different perspective the entire interaction was all of 10 seconds.

When you come to your senses, refocusing on the task at hand he's already taken notice of your interest in his presence. His eyes pierce into you. Dissecting you under his heavy gaze, searching for something inside of your guts. Rummaging around for something he's lost. A smug look comes over his features, the corner of his lips tugging upwards. Certainly pleased with himself at the unease he struck through you in mere seconds. Your eyes widen without permission, a heavy exhale exiting your lungs.

You tear your sight away from the individual. A frightened shudder shooting up your spine, still feeling his stare against your body. A sense of urgency being the only thing keeping your body moving, keeping you from slipping into paralysis. Hands move faster than they ever have to unlock the door, needing to just get into the home. Just away from him, anywhere but in the hall with him.

The door's lock clicks as its mechanism is triggered in your favor. You pull the key out of the lock, and turn the knob quickly and efficiently. Hastily pushing open the door you step into the home, heart beating out of your chest. Sweat starts to bead on your temple.

Before the door has a chance to close you hear him speak behind you. A patronizing tone is intertwined in his words.

"Have a good evening, Sugar." The pet name thrown it at the end causes your heart to twist, bile rising in your throat at the ease in which it left him. As if he had said that to you a million times.

In response, your door slams at his words. Your stare wide eyed at the dark space in front of you. A sense of danger clouding your mind, stealing the breath straight out of your lungs.

You flick on the lights, half expecting to see someone dangerous lurking around the dark. When the lights flash on, there's nobody.