Authors: Meg Winkler
Today, the discomfort of
sitting out in the chill was worth the peace it afforded, the streets were
largely uninhabited. She gripped her coffee and watched the steam billow from
the slit in the lid, relishing the act of normalcy, because—as Sophie was
keenly aware—she was decidedly
not
normal. She let her mind wander for a
while: people watching, taking in the sights of the square, surveying the
courthouse and its stately granite façade, noticing a shop she kept meaning to
step into, and feeling the wind tickle her hair, before her roving eyes slowly settled
on someone she hadn’t noticed before, someone sitting opposite her on a bench on
the courthouse lawn. She picked him from the crowded streets because he didn’t
look natural, or more accurately, he looked out of place. He was massive and
built like an athlete, and should have been hurling a football to some of his
friends, but instead, he just sat there, pretending not to watch her. She’d
initially failed to notice him because his mind was silent to her; it hadn’t
demanded any of her attention. A shiver went up Sophie’s spine as that
realization hit, but she couldn’t pull her eyes from him immediately, as she
was certain she
should
. There was nothing that logically screamed danger
about his posture, but she was really starting to get creeped out.
Ever since the start of
the semester, it seemed like there were continually men staring at her, although
not in the same way that guys looked at her in class. She knew—as she watched
him—that she’d seen him before. He’d followed her to the library one afternoon
after class; had watched her cross the street a few days before that, as he
stood silently under the shade of a building on campus. There was no menace, no
sexual undercurrent; no real danger to his manner. She’d been an unwilling
student of human behavior for too long not to understand simple body language. There
was something else completely different about these men specifically—
And why
had it only been men?
she asked herself—who simply watched her, and she
could never get a reading off of them. That was what haunted her the most.
Well, that and the fact that she couldn’t turn the corner without running into
some gorgeous sandy-haired guy. The irony over the situation was not lost on
her. Weren’t hordes of admirers every girl’s dream? Her own admirers, or watchers,
as Sophie affectionately dubbed them—because “stalker” wasn’t all that
flattering, and really pretty frightening if she thought about it—seemed to be
at every turn. She never seemed to be able to go anywhere without one of them
being.
Of course!
She
thought, not oblivious to the fact that the jock in cowboy boots started in his
seat at just the exact moment of her revelation.
Her mind raced forward,
putting the puzzle pieces together. She hadn’t realized it before, but the man
in the window was precisely the same guy she’d seen almost every day since the
start of the semester. He was everywhere. She’d seen him at the library,
glaring—but
not quite
glaring—at her over the tops of books; under the
shade of an ancient oak tree; in the Union, and of course, today. And now there
was this one, subtly staring at her from across the street while he perused the
newspaper.
And who reads
newspapers now, anyway? Doesn’t he have a tablet, or an iPhone, or something?
He moved from his spot,
standing as if to approach her, and she started feeling the prickly feeling of
the fight or flight response kicking in. Her breathing accelerated as she
further connected the dots. She could tell she was starting to freak out, on
the verge of having a panic attack, if she wasn’t careful. It felt like there
were little pin-pricks at the back of her neck, her hands became clammy, and
she was going to start seeing spots if she didn’t make a concerted effort to
chill out.
Calm down, Sophie,
she
thought to herself. She closed her eyes and concentrated on steadying her
breath again. It didn’t stop her from getting up from her seat, though. She
opened her eyes quickly and abandoned her coffee without a second thought,
yielding to the instinctual response that coursed through her veins.
She headed out of the
square, but not before shooting him a brave, albeit dirty look for ruining her
afternoon beak. She resolutely turned her back on him and walked from the
square, feeling the warmth under her skin boil to the surface. She breathed a
sigh and the heat slowly faded.
“Temper, temper!” one of
her foster mothers—when she was still a small child—had chastised gently when
something small would set her off like that.
After she’d walked about
half a block, and had glanced behind herself enough, Sophie was satisfied that
she wasn’t being followed. Her overreaction
may
have been a little unjustified,
but she wasn’t about to stick around to find out, just in case.
She hated the fearful
part of herself that had recently surfaced in reaction to these mysterious men.
The vulnerability they elicited was unsettling to say the least, and she’d been
through enough in her life to be the type not to run away. Normally, she fought
back—running away was unacceptable—but not today. Not
ever
, with these
people.
The wind whipped through
the trees around her as she walked along, whistling almost silently through the
branches and leaves. There was a rare cold front, even for a Texas mid-November
afternoon, in the air. As she walked up the slanted sidewalk, she pulled her
sweater together over her chest and crossed her arms to keep the chill out. She
chastised herself for attempting to wear one of her favorite chiffon tops on a
day like today, as she walked back towards campus along her favorite downtown
street. She took a deep breath and slowed even more, taking in the welcoming
sights of the historic district. Since she’d reasoned that she wasn’t being
followed, she was not going to waste the opportunity to walk up the street on
the way back to her dorm, no matter how far out of the way it was.
Everything about that
street was a familiar comfort to her and the only sound today, aside from the
occasional car passing by, was the crush of acorn tops under her feet on the
pavement as they rolled almost therapeutically under her toes. She loved all
the old houses; each one was different. She felt a strange connection to them, but
she’d always chalked it up to her interest in history and her silly tendency
towards nostalgia, rather than giving the feeling any other significance. Such
old houses conjured up her unrealistic ideas about the perfect family with a mom
who loved to cook—and incidentally stayed at home, a dad who proudly brought
home the paycheck every week, brothers and sisters playing in the yard, and a
dog lounging on the porch. Never mind that Sophie’s version of the perfect
family was something right out of 1950s television, complete with home-baked
cookies, crisp aprons, tire swings, and white picket fences. To her—the serial
foster child—it was the closest thing to heaven she could imagine. She longed
for a family of her own, one way or another; a place to would belong.
She passed the brown
gingerbread house, whose twin stood further up the street on the opposite side;
the huge white mansion built at the turn of the century with its deep, curvy, wrap-around
porch, arched doorways and windows; and the red brick colonial claimed to be
haunted, because despite being well maintained, there didn’t appear to be
anyone living there most of the time. Of course she knew a cute little old man
who religiously wore blue Dickey’s coveralls lived there. He took great pride
in his beautiful lawn as he rode around it on his glowingly pristine riding
mower. There were the smaller cottages and the mid-century homes with their
Asian influenced designs scattered along her path. And then,
then
there
was the house on the corner.
Why this one wasn’t
supposed to be haunted, Sophie could never tell. It stood on the corner, on a
little bit of a hill, the windows always dark, looming over passers-by. It was
the only house with a storm shelter in the yard, visible to the street, and it
was one of those imposing Victorians—perfect for a horror flick, complete with
high-peaked eaves, lightning rods, and stone lions—that one always sees in
historical neighborhoods. She had always admired it for some reason, despite
its creepiness, and she’d always wanted to see the inside. It had always drawn
her in a very specific way, to the point of longing for it.
She turned the corner to
walk alongside the white house on her way back to campus, and a fierce wind hit
Sophie full on, taking her breath away for a moment and burning her throat. In
the same instant that the wind struck her, Sophie thought she heard her name. In
fact, she could have
sworn
the sound was mixed into the whirl of the
zephyr.
Turning towards the
direction of the voice, she scanned the imposing façade of the white mansion. She
shook her head, laughed at herself, and turned away, when she distinctly heard
the whisper again, a bit louder this time. Looking back over her shoulder,
slowly turning towards the house, she caught the glimpse of a woman at one of
the always-vacant windows, staring down at her. A chill ran through Sophie’s
body, making the hair on her arms stand on end as—yet again—she quickly
determined that she couldn’t read the woman’s thoughts.
This was the first sign
of life from the house and it was focused on getting
her
attention. She
looked straight ahead, towards campus, ignored the woman, and briskly continued
on. Once she reached the next intersection, she realized with dread that she
had to wait for the light to turn before she could cross the street without
effectively becoming road kill mere yards from campus. Sophie nervously bounced
on the balls of her feet without understanding the anxiety her instincts
demanded, without questioning the thousands of tiny hairs that stood on end
along her neck and her arms. It didn’t matter; she never second-guessed her gut
reactions. She just knew she needed to get out of there. Fast.
When she glanced back
over her shoulder, feeling like she was being watched, she suddenly wished she
hadn’t and froze in a blank stare. She could feel the adrenaline rush through
her chest and into her limbs, threatening to buckle her knees as she stood
transfixed. A man who looked like he stepped out of Roman mythology stood about
thirty or so feet behind her, still as stone. Beside him stood a tall, willowy
redheaded woman who was a still as he, except for her wild hair that danced in
the wind like a flame around her head. They might as well have been statues; Sophie
couldn’t hear a single thought from either figure. She took an unconscious step
backwards and the man held his hand up gently, as if to tell her she didn’t
have anything to be afraid of. He was massive, his broad shoulders draped with
a buckskin coat, his shoulder-length blond hair rustling in the wind.
Sophie heard the change
in the traffic light as soon as it mercifully changed. She strode too quickly
across the intersection, hoping for a brief and foolish moment that she wasn’t
too obvious—really, what did it matter if they caught her being quick trying to
get away? Was she worried about
offending
them?—and once on the other
side of the road, she turned around to see that they had vanished into thin air.
With trembling hands, Sophie pulled her sweater even tighter across her chest
and rushed to her next class, trying to shake off the feeling that she’d seen
them before.
*
Something was different;
something was wrong. Her sharp eyes canvassed the room, her quick mind
listening to the minds of everyone in the large lobby.
…I wonder what
I should wear tonight…
…Damn, there
goes that average…
…I gotta score
a touchdown Saturday…
…My mom’s going
to kill me if I don’t call her today…
…I really want
a Big Mac, but I should stick to my diet...
…Dr. Andrew is
so freakin’ hot…
…sum, es, est,
sumus, estis, sunt…
…Who cares what
x equals anyway? It’s always different...
As usual, the thoughts of
each person moved around her. She was on-edge already, but something was
definitely not right.
She pushed the second set
of glass doors open and felt the pressure change as the air from the outside
world forced its way around her body and into the space. Through a process of
elimination, she examined everyone, deciding if they were a threat or not. It
wasn’t immediately apparent what the danger was.
A couple of girls looked
at her and then looked away in jealousy. She pulled her mind away from theirs,
as images of herself mingled with unkind thoughts in their brains.
Sophie didn’t recognize
any of the few students that were scattered about the first floor of the
building, and that actually surprised her a little, given the events of the day
so far.
There was a male student
in the lobby who leered at her from the corner, his mind filled with disgusting
images. His thoughts were familiar, faintly disturbing, and they suddenly made
her angry. She debated idly if she could pound some sense into him.
She smiled darkly to
herself, imagining it. Of course he misinterpreted the smile and acted as if he
were going to walk up to her and she scowled at him. She’d
like
to rip
his throat out, but she wasn’t that strong.