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Nightmare Date

Short Story

By Taylor HardenPublished 3 years ago 9 min read
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Nightmare Date
Photo by Spencer Davis on Unsplash

The creaking of floorboards and the patter of rain to roof makes for an eerily comfortable setting as I amble aimlessly through my apartment. One ear on my tabby cat twitches as I check the refrigerator for the umpteenth time that night. I stare, disappointed once again at the contents and sigh dejectedly. My cat, Leroy, judges me as I contemplate dinner. After some deliberation, I make the decision to hit up the 24-hour diner for food and quality school time. With online classes, work can quickly get away from you if you aren’t careful and my grades aren’t going to improve themselves anytime soon.

With my mind made up, I quickly throw on some layers and a raincoat to attempt protection from the biting Alaskan wind and rain. Collecting my laptop and essential school items in my tote, I feel the gaze of Leroy still following me.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll bring you a waffle, just quit it with that judge-mental stare already.”

I get a sigh in response.

I throw my hood up as I lock the door and hurry down the steps.

After a five-minute walk, I reach the diner and take a booth furthest from the entrance, with hopes of avoiding any unnecessary human interaction. Following a quick menu deliberation, a waitress appears.

I give her my order and open my laptop. Minutes into my work, a loud siren disturbs my peace and I glance out the window in time to see a pair of police cars zoom by. Thinking nothing of it, I resume my typing.

As I finish up my draft, my waitress brings my food and I dig in. Before I could even take my first bite, a hooded figure slides into the booth seat across from me. I jump slightly, confused and startled, and look around for anything out of place. Noting nothing out of the ordinary, I opt for an unbothered approach.

“Uh, can I help you?” I wonder, hoping for some clarification.

The man, I assume by his build, doesn’t budge and continues to stare at the table.

Fork still in hand, and sensing no imminent danger, I continue to eat as I hear more sirens pass. After a minute, the man looks up at me with disturbingly dark eyes.

I arch a brow but say nothing. Seconds pass until he decides to reply.

“You just did. Got a name?” He asks.

I narrow my eyes in consideration. “That depends. Got a reason for sitting in my booth?”

The man leans forward, and I get a better look at his face. For a strange man, he is traditionally attractive with a sharp jawline and full lips. Paired with his dark eyes, he makes for an intriguing prospect.

Not enough for me to forgive the abrupt intrusion to my work session.

Elbows on table, he tilts his head. “Meet me here tomorrow at 6 PM and I just might tell you.”

With that, he’s gone.

Hmm. Interesting. But not interesting enough to keep me from my food.

I hastily finish my meal, pack my things, and leave a generous tip for my waitress. My mind is on the strange man from earlier and I run through different scenarios in my head. Was he on drugs? Hiding from someone? Any of these is a likely possibility, but with little to no hints it’s becoming increasingly impossible to tell.

As I take the familiar walk back home, I can’t help but feel a presence. As if someone were watching me.

Pausing mid-step, I check behind me. There isn’t anyone there, but the eerie feeling only intensifies as if to say, “trust your instincts.”

The sun is slowly setting, and the gloomy, cloudy day does nothing to diminish my feeling of danger. I quicken my steps to an almost jog, almost immediately feeling ridiculous. I don’t live in the nicest of neighborhoods, but it’s far from being a perilous trek to my apartment building. Especially at this hour.

Looking over my shoulder one last time before entering my building, I catch a faint shadow disappearing behind the alley. I’m not entirely sure if it’s my overactive imagination or not, but I am for sure dead- bolting my door tonight.

A faint hissing noise wakes me from my slumber early in the morning. I can tell it’s the break of dawn by the faint glow through my blinds, all the while assuming the hissing noise is Leroy defending our home bravely from a mouse.

I roll out of bed and reach for the bat I keep under my bed. It may be extreme measures if my assumption is correct, but a sickening feeling in my stomach keeps me cautious. Every step I take echoes in my mind, and the creak of the door sounds like nails on a chalkboard in an empty room. Each noise makes the tightening in my stomach almost unbearable as I tip-toe into the hallway.

A faint shuffle from the living room causes my heart to do back flips, but the anxiety alone doesn’t kill my curiosity and the need to check on my cat. I keep forward to my living room and pause when Leroy quickly makes his way to me. He keeps with me as I survey the room, noting nothing out of place.

That is, until I notice Leroy’s food bowl. I feed him once every morning and once every night, and I wait for him to finish his food so I can wash his bowl and put it away.

Only, now his bowl is out and filled to the brim.

Closing my front door and locking it, I throw my keys on the table and yank off my heels. Another day, another dollar, as they say.

I pad over to the refrigerator, still in my work attire, and settle on a bottle of Merlot. I grab a stemmed wine glass and pour a generous amount. After the day I had at work, a few glasses of wine is the perfect way to end the day.

But one thing has been heavy on my mind all day. The strange man from the diner. I check the clock and note the time at 5:13 PM.

Common sense would dictate that I stay away from the diner indefinitely, but a stronger sense of curiosity rears its head.

A little excitement never hurt anybody, right? Whispered the insidious voice in my head. And while that wasn’t entirely true, it wasn’t every day something like that happened. It would be a wasted opportunity to not investigate the circumstances of him happening upon my booth. And I was never one to miss an opportunity.

With my mind made up, I tread to my closet to find something appropriate for the night. Considering the current situation, no outfit in my wardrobe fits such requirements.

Reflecting on today’s weather, I settle on a black turtleneck sweater dress and boots. Casual but classy.

You aren’t doing this for a romantic evening, the voice was back again. You are doing this out of morbid curiosity.

With that clarification, I make my way out of the door and back to the diner. It wasn’t a sunny day, but it wasn’t near dark anytime soon. Figuring I would stay for his story, if he shows up, I will make sure I leave in time to make it back home before dark.

I take my usual spot in a secluded booth and order a black coffee. I figure I’ll give the guy until 10 past 6 before giving up. If he isn’t here by then, I doubt he will show up at all.

Distracting myself by people watching, I must’ve missed the sudden companion across from.

I let out a rushed breath and press my hand to my chest. “Jesus.” I mutter. “You don’t know how to announce yourself?”

The man from yesterday had joined my booth and was currently giving me a long, calculated look. Before I can say anything else, he reaches his hand across the table. “Blake.”

I shake his hand. “Leila. I would say it’s nice to meet you, but I’m not sure it is just yet.”

Face unmoving and unblinking, Blake continues to stare. Silence.

I look pointlessly over my shoulder, damn well knowing he isn’t looking behind me.

I clear my throat. “You said to meet you here. I’m here. Mind letting me in on your secrets?”

More silence. Then a hand reaches for my face and I lean back an inch. This doesn’t deter him as he grasps a lock of my hair.

“Hmm.” Is all I hear as he mutters something unintelligible under his breath.

After that, Blake quickly becomes less attractive than I found him yesterday, and 10x creepier.

I clutch my purse to my side and plan a quick route out of the diner. Should I excuse myself to the bathroom? Tell him he’s a creep and that I’m leaving?

The second option is dashed from my mind when I notice a handle of what looks like a revolver peaking under his shirt.

My form goes rigid as a new plan forms in my mind.

Suddenly I feel my mind go into survival mode, the shadow of the gun and how he could use it in the back of my mind, urging me to be smart.

Blakes eyes stay on my face as my mind races to a million and one places.

I decide to play it cool for now and force my body to relax. No reason for him to become suspicious at a change in mood, and I’m still unsure of his intentions.

Play it cool. Play it cool. “So, where are you from?”

He glances out the window. “Here and there. Everywhere. Nowhere.”

My heart starts racing. Why can’t he just have a normal damn answer?

“Um.” His lack of conversational ability renders me speechless.

Blake leans forward, over the table and as close as humanly possible before taking a whiff of the air around me.

He sighs and closes his eyes. “Mm. You smell just like her.”

Suddenly, my racing heart comes to a painful stop. I become aware of the voices around me and the drone of the news reporter on the diner television.

“… they say the victim Mackenzie Thomson was shot point blank in the head with a revolver. Ballistics on the type of revolver is yet to be known. The last man she was seen with was ex-boyfriend Blake Higgins, with whom a witness reports was ‘acting aggressively’ towards Ms. Thomson.”

I feel bile rise in the back of my throat and slowly turn my head in the direction of the television.

On the screen is a mugshot of the psycho across from me, next to a happy yearbook photo of a pretty, blonde girl.

I subconsciously reach up to clutch a lock of my own blonde hair as a sick realization settles in.

No. No, no, no. I think of the noises in my apartment this morning, and the case of the uncharacteristically full cat food bowl.

No.

Turning my head gradually back to Blake, I cover my mouth with my hand to stifle my upcoming vomit.

He is grinning from ear to ear, and if it weren’t so horrifying, it would be almost comical.

But there isn’t anything comical about where his hands are now. Out of view, under the table, and pointing the same revolver I would bet killed the woman on the news, right at me.

Blake is still smiling as he watches my face flash through a multitude of emotions. Horror, revulsion, and fear, as well as a realization that my morbid curiosity has considerably fucked me.

“Not what you pictured for our first date, now is it?”

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