T⃨u⃨r⃨n⃨ O⃨n⃨ T⃨h⃨e⃨ N⃨i⃨g⃨h⃨t⃨ | The Lost Boys

C⃨H⃨A⃨P⃨T⃨E⃨R⃨ T⃨H⃨R⃨E⃨E⃨

⚠️warning: horror aspects⚠️

I could not sleep at all. My eyes were wide open and I could tell from Laddie's sleep  mumblings my tossing and turning was annoying him.

Something about Santa Carla did not sit right with me at all. It really didn't help that it was nicknamed 'Murder Capital of the World'. It's understandable why I couldn't sleep with it having that name.

Laddie was curled up and clutched to my chest. I couldn't shake the feeling that somebody was watching us. Usually that sensation wasn't one to keep me up, I'd dealt with enough peeping toms on the road to know how to handle that type of attention, but this was different. It wasn't tinted in voyeurism.

It was something else, something I couldn't quite put a name on.

It was around four a.m. when I eventually got up, tired of hitting my head against the window every time Laddie resettled. The sun hadn't even peeked over the horizon as I stealthily crawled out of the front seat.

The time obviously wasn't ideal, but I could use it to my advantage. If I were going to be successful in my anticipated interview, I'd need to get a few things settled. Most of those involved not looking like a something from a horror movie. I grunted as I stretched my arms over your head, bare feet cold against the sandy cement parking lot.

The parking lot had remained mostly empty overnight. There were a few moving trucks parked near me, but most of the tourist crowd had vacated before midnight. That sure made the rest of the incoming process a lot easier. Stepping around to the back of my vehicle, I reached into the truck bed and pulled out a half gallon jug of water before removing my sweatshirt.

One thing I'd yet to get used to about life on the road was the lack of easily accessible showers. While most stores and gas stations provided easy enough access for us both to brush our teeth, there was a severe lack of public showering spaces. It meant I had to learn how to improvise and improvise quick.

Twisting the lid off the jug, I spared a quick glance around my surroundings before undoing my hair and tilting my  head down. It was by no means a permanent solution, but as I rubbed my free hand through my orange locks, I couldn't stop the sigh of relief that left me.

Eventually the water ran out and my shoulders sagged in relief as I straightened. Ignoring the growing pile of water at my feet, I used my discarded sweatshirt to dab at the water still dripping down my chest.

The change in atmosphere wasn't automatic.

A sense of danger grew on me and I peered around the vacant lot. I weren't sure what clued me into the change. It started with a shiver crawling up my lower back blending into full blown shakes when it connected with the dredges of water still dotting my skin. I swung my eyes over the lot, desperate to see what had set me off.

Moving slowly toward the truck bed, I placed the empty jug back. Something warned me to be quiet. Despite my best intentions, the jug fell over and clattered against the metal with a bang.

I cursed, "You've got to be shitting me."

For a second, the lot was silent. My shoulders had just started to sag when I heard a laugh.

It wasn't a child's laugh. The sound was too deep to be anything but a man's, but there was a definite undertone of mischief that transformed it from a chuckle to a giggle. That didn't make it any less disturbing.

"Fuck," I whispered, palming my vans keys between my fingers, "Who the fuck are you—"

There wasn't an answer to my question except an increase in the giggles. Suddenly another tone pitched it, this one lower than the first but more excited. That was the last straw for me. It was time me and Laddie got the fuck out of there. Clenching my fingers tight around the keys, I began to edge toward the front of the car.