Lost in the Night

ORCHARD PRESS MYSTERIES, SHORT FICTION & POETRY

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MYSTERY

July 2008

Lost in the Night
a short story
by Nathan Waters

Nathan Waters is a student, and spends most of his time working at a restaurant and writing whenever he gets a chance. This is his first published work.

It starts to rain, but I’m too angry to appreciate it. The raindrops click as they meet the concrete, and the narrow street is filled with what sounds like pins dropping from above. My shoes kick up water with every step. I keep heading down the darkened street, toward the lights ahead of me.

I used to go on walks a lot more, but as of late, I have been much too busy. Sometimes, life gets so complicated that the little things we enjoy just fade away. It’s only when things go bad that we resort to our old ways. This particular night is a perfect example of that philosophy. I have no destination in mind, but I keep my feet moving. I can’t stop moving. My mind is racing, and my feet do the same.

Tonight was supposed to be special, for both of us. But, like always, my plan blew up in my face. I met this girl two years ago, while I was still in high school. We started off as friends but I think we both have always had feelings for each other. Eventually, I gathered the bravery required to ask her out. We’ve been together ever since, happy for the most part. The main problem with our relationship is that I can never commit to anything. I’ve always been that way. But for some reason, she’s always put up with me, and I had to blow it all.

I proposed to her tonight. It was supposed to be a night she would remember forever. Romantic. I had everything set up just right: candles, dinner, everything that would make a woman swoon. Toward the end of the dinner I reluctantly made my move. I pulled out the ring, and her eyes went as wide as saucers. I’ve never seen her so surprised.

So here we are, in this picture-perfect moment, when the feeling starts to rise in my stomach. It starts as a cold throb, and evolves into something akin to butterflies. Then, it feels like my guts are being twisted. Anxiety. I begin to have second thoughts, right there in front of her. Then, almost by instinct, my hand snatches the ring from her hand, and places it in the box. "I’m sorry, Kayla. I just have the feeling that this isn’t the right time." I mutter, and I look down at the lonely box in my hand.

I don’t know why I expected a calm reaction from her. What I got was a rapid transition of crying to fury to a little of both. She locked herself in the bathroom, and all I heard from the other side of the door was soft, muffled sobs. I, on the other hand, stormed out of the apartment, filled with shame and anger.

It’s funny how one mistake can ruin you. One error can cause a domino effect, and as much as you try to reverse what has gone wrong, you can’t. The mistake is irreversible. No matter how much she’ll say she forgives me, I know she never really will. There’s no way I could expect her to. If she says she does, either it is denial talking, or she’s lying. Or both. Knowing that I didn’t want to be by her side will always leave her with a sting of loneliness. I saw it in her eyes before I left her. I never realized how much I could hurt someone.

Like most nights, the street is lonely. As I walk under the streetlights, I feel as lonesome as the road I walk down. I pass nice homes, all with the lights off inside. These homes are filled with families who are sleeping soundly. I turn down Jefferson Street and I find myself in a parking lot. The only source of light is the tall street lamp hovering over the wet asphalt. It casts a pale orange light on my face, and the rain-covered parking lot reflects the light, giving it a strange, dream-like ambience. I make my way through the ocean of asphalt and move silently onto another pitch-black street.

A television glows from inside a home. Passing the front window, I lean in to see if anyone is inside. No one is inside. The television casts its pale blue light on a vacant sofa. Seeing this gives me the creeps. As a kid, I remember walking home from my friend’s house. Every night I’d walk down this pitch-black alley, and every time, I would imagine something awful happening to me. Something so awful, I couldn’t help but shiver. Some psycho with a knife was going to gut me one night. The next night, a zombie was going to eat my brains out of my skull like cereal from a bowl. Once in a while, I’d hear a dog barking or a strong breeze would rustle the leaves from the cold earth and I’d jump a foot off the ground. I’ve always been afraid of the dark.

Even as an adult, I still feel a little scared as I walk. Every time I pass a stranger, I always imagine them as the worse human being possible. I always think that the fellow pedestrian who crosses my path will end up mugging me, or kidnapping me. Every time a lonely car moves toward me, I always think of what would happen to me if they stopped and wanted me to get in the car, and they for sure wouldn’t take no as an answer.

I think this is part of human nature. Fear is just a survival mechanism. The human body’s own version of a security system, essentially. People are afraid of different things because all of us have been hurt in different ways. Whenever we encounter something unknown, some ancient part in our limbic system snaps on, and the fear sets in.

Rain soaks me from head-to-foot, and I start to feel a little better. I begin to think about how I would make it up to Kayla. I begin to think of how good it would feel to be forgiven. I begin to miss her. I turn around, toward her apartment. About five minutes pass before I hear it. Footsteps.

At first I wonder if the noise is simply my own footsteps echoing back at me through the rain. Then, I stop, and the footsteps continue. I try to stay calm, but the fear begins to grow. I look around, but I can barely see anything. The street is much too dark. I can barely see my feet on the ground. The walk becomes unnerving. Every few seconds, the footsteps grow closer.

It’s becoming hard to contain my hysteria. Scenarios begin flooding through my mind. Like an animal in a cage, I panic, and my breathing kicks up. My brain has already entered the point of no return. I’m lost in my own fear.

Don’t panic. You’re fine. These thoughts don’t help at all. They are countered with worse notions. Who walks alone at this time at night? I can’t tell whether the pedestrian is approaching me head-on, or if he’s moving behind me. It’s impossible for me to contain myself anymore. My own footsteps begin to rapidly splash into a light jog. Then, I notice, the stranger’s footsteps speed up, too.

Blood pulses through my temples. My eyes dart insanely in the darkness, struggling to take advantage of any light. The only light is from the moon, and it’s barely showing through a hazy lump of clouds looming over the city. Darkness has swallowed everything.

Blindly, I turn down what I think is an alley, and I can make out a street light in the distance. Darting toward it, I hear the footsteps speed up to a run. My stalker rapidly approaches, and my feet move me like a bat out of hell toward the light.

Salvation glows brighter and closer, and my mind convinces me to look back. My head snaps around, and I don’t see anyone. The footsteps have stopped. I come to a stop under the light and catch my breath. No one is chasing me. Not anymore.

I begin to walk again, slower and more cautiously than before. I listen for any sound at all that isn’t coming from me. My ears hear storm drains guzzling water. They hear the buzzing of a streetlight overhead, but the strange footsteps are gone.

Was this just my imagination, or was it something else? Was it a phantom of the night that preys on the fear of pedestrians? Some crazed criminal who couldn’t keep up with his intended target? The truth is, I’ll never know. The truth is lost in the night. And, again, I was lost to my fears.

For the rest of the walk, I’m constantly looking over my shoulder. I become the most paranoid man on earth for the next twenty minutes. As I turn down the last road, I hear my own footsteps echo. All I can think about is the footsteps. It’s raining, but I’m too scared to appreciate it.

Contact the Author - Nathan_the_movie_guy@yahoo.com