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My wife loves me. I remind myself of this as I stare at the steel door at the top of the stairs. I don’t try to open it. I know that it is locked. I can't remember how I know that.
I can’t remember a lot of things. Or that's not right. I do sometimes. Time is just slippery, present devouring the past in an endless ouroboros. The memories slither to the surface before they wriggle away again, too fast for me to grasp. I can feel them wriggling. I feel them in my ears, behind my eyes. In the throbbing in my temples.
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I''ve finally emerged from my chrysalis to bring you another story! This one is a collab with two other authors on r/NoSleep, so part 1 is linked at the beginning. Part 2 is below or on Reddit!
Part 1 I shouldn’t have turned around after Naomi told us to run. I thought she was just messing with us, the same way I had been messing with Emelia. Moongazer wasn’t real - the figure on the path had to be some kind of prop, right? A gimmick to mess with dumb tourists like us. I stumbled mid-turn and nearly fell to my knees, my swollen, twisted ankle throbbing beneath my weight. I froze where I stood; the figure’s blank face had turned toward me, and even without eyes, I could feel the weight of his cold, empty stare. Moongazer extended one of his long, pale legs and stepped forward, halving the distance between us in one stride. Not real. My mind screamed at me. It can’t be real! I first met her on Halloween. That's when she hunts.
There’s a dark, secluded road on the south edge of the city. Black River Parkway, according to the maps, but there are no street signs. It winds for several miles through the middle of Black River Park. It’s ostensibly a city park, but you won’t find any gazebos or soccer fields or walking paths. Just miles upon miles of untamed nature, tucked away between the city limits and the suburbs beyond. Black River feels more like it belongs in the deep country. The road is lined on one side by a limestone cliff face and the other by dense forest, a winding river tucked a ways back in the trees. Branches arc over the roadway and form a tunnel. You’d expect the drive to be pretty on bright Fall days - the sun filtering through a canopy of orange, red, and yellow - but light has a hard time penetrating that gnarled tangle of limbs and leaves. Night is worse; regular headlights only penetrate a few feet into that darkness, and turning on the brights only illuminates the next curve, no way of knowing what lurks in the pitch black around the bend. I always hated that goddamned road. Content warning (highlight to reveal): Body horror/self harm
While I absolutely respect the necessity of social distancing, last weekend I got really fed up with being cooped up on my own. I decided to check out an outdoor flea market to get out of the house. I wasn’t looking for anything in particular; I just needed some fresh air and a bit of face-to-face interaction, even if it was from 6 feet away through a mask. I perused the various booths and vendors, but not much caught my eye. I found myself quickly wishing for the air-conditioned comfort of my condo. I had forgotten to wear sunscreen, and I could feel the skin on the back of my neck baking in the late-morning sun. My breath was growing humid in the confines of my mask, and the cotton was starting to stick to my face with every breath. This wasn't the invigorating outing I had hoped for. I’ve always loved shopping at antique stores and thrift shops, but it’s not the same when you can’t run your fingertips over the intricate weaving of an old tapestry, or lean close to inhale the crisp, woodsy scent of an old cedar wardrobe. My mind continued to wander in this melancholy direction as I aimlessly made my way to the end of the row. I was just about to trudge back to the car, morose and empty-handed, when a bright flash of light blinded me. My hand shot up instinctively to shield my eyes, and I looked around for the source. On the ground, leaning against the support pole of a tent, stood a massive, ornate mirror. Its rectangular frame was painted in a gold metallic that was now dull with age, inset with an intricate design. I watched in the reflection as my sandaled feet approached. My dog hates my new apartment.
It's a brand new complex in an expensive Kansas City suburb. The rent is obscene, but I just landed my first big girl job out of college after years of bartending and food service. I feel like I deserved to splurge. It has it all: hardwood floors,12-foot ceilings, shiny stainless steel appliances, and crown molding (whatever that is). The neighborhood is really what jacks up the price, though. Quiet like the suburbs, but right next to a major highway with all of the modern conveniences at my fingertips. I fell in love with the atmosphere right away - bright, busy, and safe. My little dachshund mix, Maddie, vehemently disagrees with my assessment. She rejected the place from the minute we moved in a month ago. I brought her inside before I started unloading boxes, excited for my best friend to see our fancy new digs. “Welcome home, Maddie-girl!” Maddie tilted up her nose and gave the air a haughty sniff. She turned in a circle, made direct eye contact, and dropped a massive shit in the middle of the living room floor. Content Warnings (spoilers, highlight to view): Child abuse, suicide
I don’t know how long I had been driving down the dark two-lane highway when the neon lights of the hotel’s sign finally broke through the endless fog. The digital display in my rusted-out Honda had been out for 8 months, and my phone’s battery had died about 100 miles back. I hadn’t bothered to pack my car charger in my haste to leave home. I pulled off the highway onto the winding gravel drive. There were only a handful of other cars in the cracked, crumbling parking lot. I squinted up through the smeared bug guts on my windshield at the sign: Hotel Non Dormiunt. Vacancy. Content Warnings: Suicide mention, implied past rape/sexual assault (non-graphic)
I was never the type to join a sorority. My twin sister, Chel, begged me to rush with her the summer before our freshman year approached, but I think she knew deep-down I was a lost cause. I was a band geek in high school, and a band geek I intended to remain. Don't get me wrong - this isn't some "not like other girls" bullshit. I was happy for Chel. I even got trashed on celebratory wine coolers with her when she pledged her sorority. We just had different interests. As long as she was happy, that’s all that mattered, and I know she felt the same about me. How did I miss that she was so deeply unhappy? “OK, Belly, it’s time for bed.”
Mommy closed the book she’d been reading and stood up, plopping Annabelle on her feet. Annabelle really wanted to hear the rest of the story, but she yawned before she could complain. Maybe Mommy was right. Annabelle started to skip down the hall to Mommy’s room before she remembered. “Big girls sleep in their own beds, Annabelle,” Mommy had said. “Don’t worry about monsters. I’ll check under the bed and keep you safe.” I would like to preface all of this by saying that nothing that's happened is my fault. I know that makes it seem like it definitely, absolutely is my fault. But I promise it's not.
It’s fucking Craig's fault. |
AuthorSarah Fettke is an aspiring horror author from Kansas City, Missouri. Stories cross-posted here and on Reddit at reddit.com/user/how-queer. Archives
June 2022
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