Shout in the Night - Shout in the Night

The night enclosed me as I walked down the sidewalk in the quiet suburban neighborhood. You wouldn’t picture danger here, so I thought nothing of the shadow of a man walking yards behind me.

Strangers crossed paths everyday in this area. And I was no stranger to walking at night. When you worked second shift, you got used to it. Even as a small female, I knew there was nothing to be scared of.

But when he was still with me two blocks later, the coincidence was too strong. I should have lost him long ago, were he not rushing to keep up. Who was he? Why was he following me?

It didn’t matter. You generally don’t follow strangers if you mean no harm.

I turned to him and called, “Evening!” It was random and awkward, but I had to know. Maybe I was wrong. When the shadow made no response and didn’t even mirror my pause, I began to fear. I needed to get inside. But I was still a block from home, and I didn’t want him to know where I lived.

I reached into my pants pocket and clutched my keys. I held them between my fingers as a weapon. I began to run. He remained walking and fell behind quickly.

At home, I brought a shaking hand to the door, gripping my key. I trembled too hard to fit it in the lock, so I paused, turning away and taking deep breaths. He hadn’t followed. The fright was over.

But then I saw him turn onto the block and down the sidewalk, towards my house. He kept his head down so I couldn’t see him. He wasn’t looking at me, but the angle of his body was unmistakable. He turned onto my driveway.

“Sir?” It came out shrill and pathetic and didn’t seem to reach his ears. Perhaps he was deaf?

He was close enough now to decipher in the dark, though his pale, weathered face stayed mostly hidden under a large brimmed hat. His hands disappeared into the pockets of a long trench coat too warm for a spring night like this. He wasn’t a big guy. Maybe not quite my full height. But that didn’t make me less afraid. He kept his chin down.

I spun to let myself in but realized I was shaking too hard to be quick enough. I faced him long enough to shout, “Get the fuck out before I call the police!”

My chest and gut vibrated with my shout. I couldn’t believe it came out so clear. The man veered away from the porch, continuing down the sidewalk, away from me. I waited for him to turn the corner at the end of the block, but instead he just disappeared into the night. For all I knew, he was still there, watching me.

My shaking subsided enough to let myself in. I rushed through the house to check that everything was locked.

I followed through on my threat and called the police, who assured me they would look for him. But as time went by, they didn’t find him. In fact, they quit searching because they didn’t consider him a big enough threat, as he hadn’t technically done anything to harm me.

I turned the encounter over and over in my head. I tried to focus on the strength in my voice. The way it echoed in the air. I tried to ignore that no one was going to help me except myself. After all, I did, and quite well. So wasn’t that enough? Wouldn’t he back off the moment I stood my ground – if he came back at all?

In theory, yes, unless he came back prepared. Maybe it wouldn’t be in the streets this time, but inside my house. Sure, I could lock every entrance, but what if he still found a way? I didn’t know him, or how he knew me, or why he decided to target me. And that lack of knowledge unnerved me. I grew more tense each day. My sleep got bad. I heard sounds in my house that worried me – creaks and scratches that only a living thing could make. I saw images out of the corner of my eye that vanished after a first glance but were too potent to be my imagination.

Months passed, and I learned to force myself into a state of calm, but it didn’t stop the paranoia.

I moved to the city and got an apartment. Carried a pocket knife and pepper spray. Would have liked to take a job working first or third shift, but my sleep wouldn’t allow it -- when I managed to sleep at all.

One night, I came home, checked that everything was locked, the way I left it, and went to change out of my work clothes. I sat on the bed with the dim lamp and the glow from the bathroom light filling the space. I’d removed my shirt and leaned over to undo my belt when the arm wrapped around my chest.

The arm, solid under the trench coat, pulled me upright so I pressed against his front. I reacted, startling so hard he tightened around me, fighting to keep me down. I opened my mouth to cry out but was silenced by the hand. I remembered the silent shadow – the old man with pale weathered skin who wouldn’t speak a word and only fled when I shouted at him. The man whom my voice forced to relent. But only once. And now he gagged me, making me powerless.

His hand was rough and cold. I tossed and turned in his grip. He held fast and chuckled. I tilted my head up, straining to see him. He was not old like I saw that night, but everything else was the same.

I thrashed and tried to scream. I clawed up at him, but he pinned my upper arms, making the gesture useless. He let me do this until I exhausted myself.

He grinned down at me, and for the first time, I saw his eyes. They were like tiger eyes, the irises bright, the pupils a narrow slit. But I processed this second to the fangs baring under his lips.  

I screamed and fought again to no avail. He brought his fangs to my neck. I felt them slide into me, breaking skin, piercing. The cold lips turned to heat. The strong hands were now warm. I went still again. I began to feel a sinking sensation along with the sense of floating.

I wanted to beg him to stop. I even tried under his hand, but it came out as muffled moans. I knew that to beg meant nothing would change. That it was a symbol of desire to escape and live. I wouldn’t do it if there was another way. Which meant there was no other way. No way out of this. I didn’t know what death would look like, only that I couldn’t escape it.

I grew weaker and more light-headed. I stopped resisting the arms around me. Soon, he was holding me up instead of restraining me. My head lulled against his shoulder, creating an open offering for his fangs.

Fight it. Fight it.

I grew tired. I felt the overwhelming urge to shut my eyes and go to sleep. But I couldn’t allow that. If I did, I would never wake up. Or if I did, where would I be?

Fight it!

I shut my eyes. Hopefully I could do that much without losing myself completely.

But at some point, his arms disappeared. His mouth disappeared. His fangs ceased to penetrate without ever having left my neck.

I was just … floating. Napping. And there was nothing to fight.