Don't Go In Alone

WEDNESDAY DECEMBER 11

It's starting to get icy outside. Not enough to warrant the salting of roads and sidewalks, but enough that if you aren't careful, you could easily slip while walking down the street. Most of the ice melts if the sun comes out. Even though the temperature doesn't rise that much and the puddles freeze over again once the sun sets.

It makes the walk home hellish.

At least it's not raining though.

But it is cold enough to burn my lungs when I inhale too deeply. Cold enough to chap my lips where I've licked them. Right now, it's cold enough that the ice hasn't melted at all and I nearly slip on some running up the walkway to my porch.

I don't even know why I started running.

I saw a shadow. I think. I don't know. I think I saw a shadow from the corner of my eye and for some reason now, seeing shadows means it's time to sprint home. Carson's pickup is parked in his driveway but I didn't start running very far from the house. He could have walked a few blocks and waited to start following me.

I don't know.

I don't know what to think anymore.

The front door is locked and my hands shake as I search my backpack for my key. They shake when I remember setting it on the counter in the kitchen this morning and forgetting to grab it on my way out. They shake as I spin around on my porch to look over at Carson's house.

My stomach drops and I have to shut my eyes for a moment.

If I went and knocked on his door right now, would he be home? Or is he lurking somewhere outside watching me? Would he answer his door and put my suspicions to rest? What would I do if I knocked and there was no answer? Wouldn't that confirm my theory that he actually might be the creep I tease him of being?

Why does that thought make my blood run cold?

I flex my fingers, shake them out and head down the steps. I can't deal with Carson right now. I don't want to know if he's in there or not. I don't want to know the answer to all these questions. I want to go inside and lock all the doors and windows and hide under my blankets until Zach comes home.

I want to stop feeling like I'm on the verge of a heart attack at the sight of every shadow.

The back door is unlocked. I know it is because I keep forgetting to lock it when I leave. Which is fine, since it actually works in my favor today. The downside to the back door though is, of course, the puddle that sits at the foot of the stairs up to it.

Mom keeps talking about putting something there to take care of it. Gravel. Having someone come out and pour concrete. But it never happens. So we're stuck with having a puddle roughly three feet in diameter that only grows when it rains.

It's pretty big right now. I've crossed over it once before, when it was significantly smaller, but even then it still covered my shoes in mud. I pace at the edge of the puddle now, try to gauge whether or not I'll be able to maybe walk along the edge of it and not slip and fall.

This would be easier if the puddle would freeze over.

But it never does.

I hear a door shut. My heart slams against my ribs as my gaze flickers towards Carson's house. Was that him just getting back in? Or did he come outside? I can feel pressure building behind my eyes and I take a step into the puddle. I can leave my shoes outside if they get too dirty. I need to get inside right now.

I make it halfway through the puddle when my foot gets stuck. My foot sinks further in when I try to pull it out. The mud seeps inside my shoe. Squeezes at my ankle. I blink back tears. Because suddenly I'm not outside of my back door.

I'm in the Victorian and the floor is swelling over my feet while blood pours from my fingertips. My leg has gone numb and I know I'm going to be swallowed whole by this house if I don't get my foot out now.

I tug at my leg, shift my foot in my shoe until I can wiggle it out. My foot pops free of the shoe and I stumble forward. Onto the first step of the back porch. There's snot clogging my nose and my vision is blurry.

I fling the back door open and don't even bother taking my other shoe off before going inside. Once in, I shut the door and press my back to it. I slide down until I'm sitting, my sock slipping on the tile from the mud wetting it.

Hot tears roll down my cheeks and I let them. Cover my face with my hands as my shoulders shake in silent sobs. I'm so exhausted. I blink the blurriness from my eyes and before the next wave can come, I see the shadow on the floor.

The shape of someone blocking the light from the window on the door. The shape of someone standing outside and staring into the house.

I cover my mouth and try not to breathe too loudly. Shut my eyes because if I can't see the shadow, it's not really there. My body trembles with the effort it takes to keep quiet and still. Tears squeeze their way out of my eyes. I breath shallow, shaky breaths in and out against my palm.

A knocking on the front door gets me to open my eyes, but I don't make a move to answer it.

I pull my knees up to my chest. And I cry.