CARL
"Have you heard from Lar lately?" I ask Damasen through the phone.
"Nope, not since you made her leave the cafeteria in the afternoon," comes his response. I'm taken aback by what he means.
The windows shake a little, catching wind—an early sign of rain.
Hopefully light, due to the time of the year. The lights at Mr. Sweetly go off one by one as I shut down for the night.
"How the hell is it my fault that Lar seemed mad?"
"Holy shit, dude." His voice sounds shocked, or maybe even perplexed.
"You seriously have no idea why Elara walked out on us today, do you?"
"Am I supposed to?" What the hell did he know that I didn't?
There's a pause after that as I wait for him to answer.
I wipe the counter, then head to restock the diminished cereal boxes.
"You sound really dense right now, you know that," comes his response.
"Stop beating around the bush here, man. Tell me," I retort, confused by what he could possibly mean. Another silence.
"Nah. I think I'll just let you figure it out on your own. Besides, not my place to tell."
I let out an annoyed sigh when I realize that Damasen will not tell me why. But a thought forms in my head.
"You don't think she wants us to get back together, do you?"
His silence is my answer.
"Dude, you can't be serious."
"And why not?"
I remove my apron and hang it in the back room meant for employees.
Mr. Sweetly is a small corner store with a little café in front, where I get first-row seats to all of Ashford's latest gossip. Not that I'm too interested in other people's business, though.
Or maybe just a little bit.
"We broke up about a year ago. And we never even talked too much about it after. She's over it," I reason.
"Or as you wanna believe," he shoots back. This time I'm the one who pauses.
"Whatever, dude. Only Lar knows for sure. Just check up on her, ok? She's not answering any of my calls nor texts, and I'm worried."
"Ok, I will."
"See you tomorrow." I switch off the call, rubbing my face with my palms.
What the hell was going on with her?
The windows rattle harder as the wind picks up, like the whole store's shivering.
I plug in my earphones and Raindance rushes into my ears. God, I love this song.
The rain finally starts—light, just like I guessed—but it thickens the fog into a heavy white curtain. Outside, it's pitch-black except for the weak security lights and the lone street lamp out front, glowing like it's got one foot in the afterlife.
Dark. Eerie. Quiet.
And I'm the only soul breathing inside Mr. Sweetly's.
I freaking love it.
The darkness feeds something in my soul. I called Mr. Sweetly earlier, and he told me it was cool to wait out the rain. So it's just me, the storm, and the night pressing in around the glass.
Mr. Sweetly's is a corner store located on El Pine Road in East Ashford, with a little patch of woods in front of the café.
I sit on the counter, reading texts, when a sudden thrashing sound yanks me out of my trance.
I freeze, pull out my earphones, and listen.
Silence stretches… thin as a spiderweb.
Then—another thrash. Definitely from the back.
A flicker of fear jumps in me, sharp and electric… then melts into this warm, thrilling pulse in my gut.
If there are ghosts haunting Mr. Sweetly's tonight, then honestly?
I must've been blessed by whatever cosmic lottery hands out cool jobs to bored teens.
Because that would be sick.
A little trip later, I'm in front of the pantry door. I open the doors to be confronted by darkness. I flick the light switch up. Doesn't work. Then down. Still nothing. Suddenly, I'm reminded of that creepy feeling from this morning while at the woods. I have a similar feeling now.
The pantry smells like dust and old coffee beans—like the kind that clings to your lungs.
I turn on my phone's flashlight and step into the darkness. A thin beam of light shoots from it, dust particles drifting through it like miniature ghosts.
The flashlight shines on the floor. There are splattered cans lying on the ground. I grab a can and inspect it. Coffee beans.
That's when the air shifts.
Cold slides down my neck. My senses sharpen so I'm in a state of hyper-awareness.
I lift the flashlight.
A pair of glowing red eyes stare back at me from the dark. Ferocious, glassy, beastly—like I'm staring into the eyes of the term predator itself.
A shape lurks behind those eyes. Massive and hunched and hairy in a way that couldn't be human nor beast.
A nightmare conjured into reality.
I only stare for a fraction of a second before dropping my phone. I spin and bolt, my body reacting before my brain catches up, nearly tripping on my own feet. The pantry doors bang against the wall.
I drag open the store doors and tear into the rain. The cold air hits me like ice, but that's the least of my worries.
What the fuck was that? The question echoes in my mind as I turn back and see a pair of red orbs emerge from the darkness of the store.
My breathing spikes, and I continue sprinting.
I run into the woods in front. Not really a bad idea, considering it's the perfect place to hide—and a little way off is my neighborhood.
I might be able to make it.
I slip through some wet grass at the top of a hill. I hit the ground hard, tumbling in the darkness. Grass scrapes my arms and cheeks.
Pain explodes around my ribs, hot and sharp. For a second, I can't breathe. My fingers curl into the dirt, grasping for some form of relief from the pure agony I'm feeling.
Behind me, I hear the beast snarl—low and menacing, cutting through the air, vibrating.
I push myself up, arms on my ribs, vision spinning, darkening around the edges.
Then…
An arm grabs me.
"Don't look back." A feminine voice I've never heard before tells me.
I turn to look at her, but can barely see past the darkness and rain.
She pulls—no, hauls—me through the tree line. I stumble beside her, every movement a lightning bolt of pain.
"Wh-who a-are you?" I stammer.
"Just shut the fuck up and let's move." Came her sharp response.
Branches whip my face as she drags me behind a thicket. We drop behind a fallen log. My breath is a wet rattle. The world tilts. I can't tell where her hand ends and mine begins because everything feels far away.
Darkness thickens around my already blurring vision.
She presses her palm over my mouth.
"Don't make a sound," she whispers, and the fear in her voice slices deeper than the pain. She turns to watch something, and I catch long, wild raven-black hair like dark fire.
Something stalks into the yard—heavy steps, deliberate, slow.
My blood goes still.
Through the gaps between branches, I see it:
The black wolf.
Massive.
Dark as a starless night.
Its eyes sweep the yard, glowing faintly red, like twin lanterns lit for the hunt.
My vision blurs. My head drops forward. She grips my shirt with one hand and my face with the other.
"Carl," she whispers, almost desperate now. "Hey—hey, stay with me. Don't you dare pass out."
But the cold keeps spreading. My eyelids feel like concrete. My heartbeat thumps slower, heavier.
In the distance, the wolf lifts its head.
Sniffs the air.
Turns—toward us. Then, as though something else catches its attention, it sprints away.
She releases a sigh as though she's been holding her breath. The last thing I see is a pair of eyes staring into my face.
Concern.
Contemplation.
Puzzlement.
I have no idea.
It's too dark to see her eye color. But something inside me catches on to something. I'm almost certain I'll find it if I look at it again.
If I ever see the light again, that is...
I fall completely into the darkness.