The Stranger

He’s been following me all day.

He was standing outside my house when I was brushing my teeth this morning. He was watching me when I started walking to school. And he was there at recess.

I tried talking to some of my teachers about it, but they brushed it off like it was no big deal. As the afternoon carried on, I started to believe it myself.

But as soon as I get out of school, I see him standing over on the sidewalk, staring at me.

It’s not like he’s especially scary as much as intimidating. He’s wearing a jet black sweatshirt with the hood pulled high over his head. His hands are tucked deep into the pockets. He has dark blue jeans that seem a little too long for him. The hems fall around his dirty white sneakers.

In spite of his baggy appearance, he’s slim. I try to get a look at his face, but it is shrouded in darkness, despite the fact that it’s still light out. However, he seems young. Maybe mid-twenties.

Don’t talk to strangers, my mom always told me. So I try to ignore his gaze and shoulder my backpack. I walk past him, making sure there is plenty of room between us.

It’s late afternoon, which is a relief because it’s the middle of summer and the heat is bad enough without the sun beating down on me. There is a surprisingly low number of people walking today and the cars on the road are even less. I guess the heat is driving people indoors.

Which is bad for me considering the circumstances.

I turn a corner, using the opportunity to glance behind me. Sure enough, the stranger is following me. My hand flutters down to my pocket where my phone is. I consider calling the police. But even if I did, what could they do? It’s not like he’s actually harassing me. He’s following me, sure, but he’s keeping his distance. They could talk to the man, maybe warn him, but in the long run would it help?

I decide to wait and see what happens before I call anyone.

I’m about to cross the street when the pedestrian light turns red. Forced to wait, I shift my body slightly, so I can see the stranger out of the corner of my eye. He’s walking slowly. He probably knows there’s nowhere I can go. Nowhere I can run.

The pedestrian light flashes a number twenty. And then a nineteen. Eighteen... Seventeen…

The stranger keeps coming.

Fifteen… Fourteen…

I tap my foot impatiently, trying not to look too conspicuous.

Twelve… Eleven...

The stranger is less than ten yards away now.

Nine… Eight…

Six yards.

Five… Four...

There’s still three seconds left, but the road is clear, so I bolt across it. But I don’t stop running there. Instead, I speed up.

My feet pound the sidewalk. I can’t tell if the man is chasing me or not. I listen for footsteps behind me, but I hear nothing except the sound of blood rushing in my ears.

I turn a corner and find myself in an alleyway. Although I’m risking running straight into a dead end, I don’t slow down. I steam-train through, avoiding dumpsters and leaping over discarded water bottles. The smell of ripe garbage penetrates my nose.

I hastily wipe the sweat off of my face and look up to see the other side of the alleyway. All I had to do was get there. I force myself into a sprint, ignoring the aching pain in my side. I try jumping over an overly-stuffed trash bag, but my foot catches on it and I fall to the ground.

With little time to waste, I get to my feet and dart out of the alleyway.

...And right into a construction worker.

“Watch it, kid,” he said, grabbing me by the shoulders before I slam into him. “What’s your hurry?”

“There’s a man⁠ after—” I start. But a second construction worker interrupts me.

“Vince!” He says to the first one. “We need your help!”

“I’ll be there in a second,” the first one, Vince, calls back.

“Listen,” I say. “There’s someone chasing⁠—”

But the worker isn’t listening. “How about you leave us alone, ok? We have work to do.”

He starts to walk away, but a new voice says, “Do we have a problem over here?”

I glance up and notice a police officer coming toward us. A smile plastered on his face says he’s in a good mood. The permanent scowl suggests otherwise.

“I don’t think so, officer,” Vince says. “This kid just barreled out of the alleyway, almost knocking me over.”

I felt like knocking him over now, but I’m guessing that wouldn’t help my case. “I’m trying to get away from someone,” I explain.

“Who?” the police officer asks. He glances over my shoulder. “I don’t see anyone.”

I turn back towards the alleyway and see that he’s right. Despite the obvious fact that the stranger was following me, he certainly isn’t in sight now. Maybe he was scared off when I started running. Maybe he saw the police officer before I did and decided I wasn’t worth the trouble.

The officer peers down at me. “I think you’d better get home.”

I want to laugh and sarcastically ask where he thought I was going, but I keep my mouth shut.

He doesn’t look away though. I have to mutter “Yessir” before he gives me a nod and strolls away.

I sneer at him, shoulder my backpack, and start walking.

I don’t go straight home though.

I don’t have to. Nothing awaits me at home except for chores. No, I don’t go home. Instead, I walk to the nearby park and sit down on a bench. I pull out my homework and a pencil and get to work.

I always do my homework at the park. Something about the fresh air and the sounds of birds chirping always helps me think. I’m working on a hard algebra problem when thoughts of the strange man enter my head. I try to force them out, but with no luck I give in to them.

Who was he? Why was he following me? What did he want?

And lastly, Where did he go?

Something catches my attention. The sounds of someone screaming.

I glance up from my half-finished homework to see an older man carrying a squirming boy in their arms. The man is big enough to hold him, and carries him with no struggle. But the child is screaming and crying out, reaching a chubby hand toward the playground where he’s being carried away from.

With a lump in my throat, I stand up, unsure of what I’m seeing. I watch as the man continues to bring the weeping child over to where a woman waits with a stroller. She’s resting an infant on her hip.

I sit back down, and sigh with relief. He’s not kidnapping him.

The family makes their way out of the park and starts walking down to the road where a car waits. I’m so preoccupied that I don’t someone standing behind me until he speaks.

“Hello.”

I spin around, knocking my pencil to the ground. My eyes widen in horror. There he is. The stranger. He’s still wearing the same dark sweatshirt and jeans, despite the sweltering heat.

How long has he been standing there?

I can’t see his face. It’s still hidden behind the darkness of his hood. But he tilts his head to the side. He’s standing uncomfortably close. I can smell a faint aroma coming from him. The sharp, sickly smell of gasoline.

The stranger takes a hand out of his pocket. I expect to see flesh-colored skin, but his sleeve droops over his hand, completely covering it.

He extends the hand. I flinch and close my eyes. But he doesn’t touch me. He reaches down and picks up the pencil I’d dropped. He holds it up and offers it to me. “Here.”

His voice is unnaturally raspy, like he has a sore throat or something. Maybe he'd been screaming recently and this is the aftereffects. The thought doesn’t soothe me.

I look at him suspiciously, but he just stands there, one hand in his pocket and the other holding out the pencil I don’t really want.

I quickly grab the pencil from his hand, almost snatching it away. The stranger doesn’t seem phased. He just puts the sleeve-covered hand back into his sweatshirt pocket.

“Thank you,” I say, thinking that good manners couldn’t hurt. I put the pencil in my pocket and start gathering up my homework papers. “I should… get going now.”

I expect him to stop me, to come up with an excuse to keep me here, but he doesn’t. He just watches as I give him a parting wave and start walking away. When I get to the edge of the park, I glance back.

He’s still standing by the park bench, facing me, watching me leave

Later that evening, I’m at home, finishing my homework.

I’m home alone, because my mom isn’t back from work yet. The house is eerily silent. I’m already on edge from today, so it didn’t help that I kept involuntarily thinking about what could be crawling out from the darkest parts of the room.

I’m turning on all the lights I can find when I spot something out the window.

It’s the stranger, standing out on the sidewalk, glaring at the house. You have to be kidding me.

I grit my teeth. Anger overrides fear when I go and open the front door to confront him.

“Why are you following me?” I shout at him. “What do you want from me?”

He doesn’t answer. He just stands there, with his stupid hands in his stupid pockets. I go back inside and slam the door. Storm over to my phone, pick it up, and dial 911.

After a moment of explaining the situation to the operator, they say they’ll send someone over. I give them my address and hang up.

When I return to the window, nothing has changed. The stranger is still in the same exact spot.

No, that’s not true. Now he’s standing on the front lawn, just a little bit closer to the house than before. I want to open the window and continue yelling at him, maybe tell him I’ve called the cops, but I don’t like how close he’s gotten. Within a few swift strides, he could get to me.

Eventually, I decide to give the guy a chance.

I go over to the front door and throw it open. “I’ve called nine-one-one,” I call out. “You better leave now while you can!”

He doesn’t answer. He just continues standing there.

His loss, I think, already closing the door.

However, before it clicks shut, the door is forced open from the outside, knocking me over. I look up from the ground to see the stranger, looming over me.

I scream, hoping someone—Anyone—hears me. But it’s too late. The door is already closed and the stranger is in my home.

I scrambled to my feet and back away. “Get away from me!”

In response, he tilts his head to the side… and just stares at me.

I swallow. What’s he doing?

He watches as I retreat out of the living room and into the kitchen. Having to turn my back to the doorway, I search the drawers until I come up with a large kitchen knife.

I turn back around to see the stranger coming at me. I shriek and kick out at him, totally forgetting about the knife in my hand.

Thankfully, the stranger seems cautious of the knife, and isn’t really trying. I dive across the kitchen island, putting it between us as a barrier. Outside, I hear sirens going off in the distance.

Good, I think. The police will be here soon.

The stranger picks up a few apples from a bowl of fruit and lobs them at me. The first one I slash at with my knife, knocking it aside. I then duck, letting the second one smash into the refrigerator.

The third apple hits me in the side of the head.

I stumble backwards, wiping apple flesh off of my face. The stranger goes around the side of the island and grabs me by the back of my neck. He drags me, kicking and screaming out of the kitchen and into the living room. He dumps me onto the floor.

I come up fast, gripping the knife. I can’t see the stranger’s eyes, but I know he’s looking at it, assessing the situation. Daring me to use it.

I lunge at him. At the same time the front door is thrown open. There’s a loud crack and something rips through my chest like fire. A police officer stands in the doorway, holding a gun that’s still pointing at me.

“Drop it!”

I double over, the knife slipping out of my hand. It clatters to the ground. The pain in my chest is searing. It felt as though someone was stabbing me with a cooked fireplace poker. My vision is blurring. I touch the spot where it hurts the most and my hands come up covered in blood. He shot me.

I tilt my head up, searching for the stranger. After a second I find him. He’s in the corner of the room, keeping well out of the way. The shadows cling to him like cobwebs.

Another wave of pain washes over me and my legs give out from under me. My face hits the ground. Tears slide down my face, but I don't know whether they’re tears of pain or sadness. The cop is talking on his radio, but I can’t figure out what he’s saying. My ears are distorting sounds. I’m unable to tell what’s real and what isn’t.

There is one sound that stands out from the rest. It’s a rasping sound, like someone with a sore throat who was trying to talk or sing or scream.

I strain my neck looking up, but I see the stranger in the corner. His body is shaking. The hood is still high up over his face, but I suspect the horrible sounds are coming from him. More confused than scared, I let my head fall back down to the ground. Darkness creeps into the edges of my vision, threatening to take over.

The rasping sounds continue. Like the sound of sandpaper rubbing together. With a final sob of realization I know for sure that it’s the stranger.

Laughing.