Prey For Me

𝕺𝖓𝖊

There's a tale as old as time, a tale that strikes fear in the hearts of all who hear it. A tale that causes people to look over their shoulders and check under their beds before falling asleep.
Every town has something, some sort of legend that everyone knows and obsesses over. You have towns that believe in big foot, ones that believe in the yeti, others believe in the chupacabra. People pass these tales down from generation to generation. My small town in North Carolina is no different. There's this one tale that's been passed down from family to family, except our tale doesn't involve an animal ours involves a killer. He's the man that everyone hopes not to meet. People pray for their lives hoping that they won't ever see him one day in their closets or underneath their beds.

Folk tales about the unknown cause people to become curious. People often search for Bigfoot, they desire to get a glimpse at the hairy creature in the depths of the woods some day. Some search for the yeti high up in the mountains. And others look out onto their crops hoping that they can finally catch the chupacabra red handed.
Our folk tell does not encourage curiosity. It encourages fear and panic.
No one ever says "hey, let's go outside at night and wait and see if we can finally meet him."
No one wants to catch the killer red handed, they would rather stay safe inside their homes. No one wants to be the killers next target, they would rather live their lives.

A common thing about tales is they're past down to children. Parents warn their kids about these creature.

"Child, don't go out into the woods at night," they say.

"Why not momma?" The child will ask, curiosity getting the best of them.

"There's something out there. Sometime big," the parent will warn.

Our tale was no different. Parents would constantly tell their little children not to play outside late at night, not to leave the windows open, to stay in bed after nine. Kids would get curious and ask why and their parents would tell them the same tale each time. The tale that their parents had told them and their grandparents had told them.
Just like any tale parents would use the story to strike fear in their children's minds. Haunting their dreams and controlling the way the kid acts and what the kid believes.
Since my town is so small if one person believes something then so does everyone else.

Our tale was told so much it almost became religion.
Parents would send their kids down to the corner of the town where this old man lives. The man would welcome the children into his house and feed them milk and cookies. At first the kids would be excited. They got to play and eat, they were happy.
But soon that happiness would dwindle.
The old man would sit down in his rocking chair and look down at all the kids.
He'd clap his hands to get the children's attention.

"Now all you children, gather round," he would say.

The kids would giggle and sit in a circle, staring up at him with a glass of milk or a cookie in their hands.

"I'm going to tell you a tale. A very important one. One that all of us live by," he would start.

The kids would look up at him and wait anxiously for him to continue.

"There's something out there. Something that you should all know," he would say.

The kids would squirm in their seats, curiosity filling their minds.

"Somewhere out there, in the depths of the woods, lives a bad, bad man," he would tell them. He'd pause to look at all the children, making sure they were paying attention.

"No one knows his name or what he looks like. The only ones who have seen him were never seen again," he explains, his voices serious, "legend has it that his stare is like rabies, one look and you'll go mad. Don't worry about being in his presence, you won't survive a minute alone with him."

That's when the kids would stop squirming excitedly. They would look up at the old man and bite their lips, beginning to cower.

"He comes around here, all the time. He walks the streets at night, checking on houses and businesses. He pulls on doors and lifts windows trying to see what's unlocked. He roams the alleys looking for his next target. He'll scratch on windows with his sharp nails. His large foot steps echo through the streets. He has one goal and one goal only and that is to take one of you, one of us and make them disappear. He waits patiently for anyone to leave their house at night so he can steal them from their families and never bring them back. As soon as the sun goes down he comes out. If you don't lock your doors and windows he'll creep into your house. Silently he'll walk up the stairs towards your bedrooms. He'll turn the knob to your room slowly, pushing the door open. As you sleep soundly he'll watch you, observing your every move. Planning his kill. He'll say you're name, he always knows everyone's name. By the time you realize what's going on it'll be too late," The old man explained.

By that time kids would be crying or covering their ears.

"When you're mother tells you to be inside by eight p.m. it's not because she's trying to ruin your fun, she's trying to save your life. He knows who's out and he knows who's inside, he always knows. He knows everything," the old man would croak in his raspy beat up voice.

"During the day time he watches everyone of us, learning our ways, planning his kill. He always knows what you're doing and when you're doing it. That's why we all dress the same, no one wants to be his target. That's why we don't act out, no one wants to be his next target. Stay silent, stay calm, he loves the trouble makers and he loves the odd balls," the man warned.

"Don't let you're guard down," he would finish.

He stands up and looks at all the kids. Their faces are filled with fear. Tears spilling from their eyes. Some of them rock back and forth.

"But what if I want to play basketball at night?" Some kid would question.

"Do you want to be killed!?" The man would yell.

The kid would shake their head.

I was that kid. I always had a question.

"But where does he live?" I would ask.

"Nobody knows," he would tell me.

"Then how do we know he's real?" I would question.

"Remember Billy?" The old man would ask.

I would nod my head, everyone knew Billy. He was the kid that disappeared years ago. The one kid stupid enough to leave his house at night. No one knew why he left all we know is he decided to go for a midnight stroll and never came back. His family searched and searched for him but they never found him. Not a single trace of his body was ever found. There was no scream, no cry for help. Not a single drop of blood, no trail of belongings, nothing. Eventually the family set up a tomb stone in the local cemetery, an empty grave. There are quite a few graves like that at the cemetery. People who disappeared and were never found, they always get an empty grave with a simple tomb stone on it.

"Billy died because of that man," he would tell me.

"But maybe Billy just ran away from home and moved to a different town," I would argue.

"Stella! If you go out at night you will be killed. If you leave your windows and doors unlocked, you will be killed," he would yell after he was finally fed up with my questions.

"But-," I would start.

"Do you want to be killed?" He questioned.

I would shake my head and he would nod.

"Good than stay inside, lock your windows, lock your doors, don't stand out, don't make a scene. Be good Stella. Curiosity killed the cat," he would tell me.

I would nod, the fear of dying finally getting to me.
Ever since I was little that is exactly what we would do. We would come  home at seven and spend the next hour locking the doors and windows and checking the house. We'd close the blinds and make sure everything was safe.
After years and years of doing this it's started to seem pointless to me. I've never heard anyone outside my house and I've never experienced any of the things in the tale.
My town is run on fear of this killer. But I've never seen him so I often wonder, is he even real?
Does curiosity really kill the cat?