Howdy, howdy! How’s everyone this first Wednesday of November? As I’m writing this, it’s Halloween. So, I thought I’d pull an old short story from the trunk to share with you. I wrote it in 2014 and it’s in second person POV. No idea why I wrote something in that POV. I guess I was just experimenting at the time. Anyway, enjoy! Or don’t. But feel free to leave your thoughts and comments here or on my social media pages!
Homecoming
by: Shawna Borman
“We all deserve a place where we can feel safe.” You smack the wooden table hard enough to draw attention from half the cafeteria. “I mean, shouldn’t we be allowed to blast our favorite songs as loud as they’ll go while we’re in the shower without worrying about some asshat sneaking in and stealing our stuff? Where do people get off doing that shit?”
The story you saw on the news last night fuels your rant, but none of the people you’re eating lunch with care. Still, you ignore the eye rolls and the attempts to change the subject and ramble on. No one wants to acknowledge that there are no safe places in this world. Even you, the one who so vehemently believes in the idea of a perfect world, turn a blind eye to the shadows around you whenever possible.
In your perfect little world, people would have nothing to fear no matter where they were. There would be no murder, no rape, no beatings. Humans would be nothing but happy puppies who chase each other around the park and spread sweet puppy kisses to anyone willing to scratch behind their ears. But this isn’t your perfect little world.
It’s mine.
#
The bass thumps all around you as you grind against horny frat boys who think they have a chance with you. A neon green mixture of God knows what sloshes from the red Solo cup you hold above your head as you sway and sling your hair around, totally oblivious to the actual rhythm of the music. Some strange force of gravity that only applies to college parties and raves keeps the liquid from running down your tube top and mini skirt, and instead has it splashing all over the eternally sticky floor.
As one song fades into the next, you freeze. The fine hairs on the backs of your arms stand on end and the sweat trickling down your spine turns icy despite the heat of the bodies jostling around you. Scanning the room, you search for any eyes lingering on you. No one is staring. You glance down into your cup, hoping for a sign, a smell, anything at all to explain your sudden nerves. There’s nothing there. Dropping the cup, you shove your way out of the throng of people and toward the front door.
Your roommate sits in a rocking chair on the porch, nursing a beer. She jolts up at the sight of you and grabs you by the shoulders.
“What the hell?” Her voice draws your attention away from the panic that’s been etched deep inside your bones. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something. Do I need to go in there and cut off someone’s balls?”
You shake your head and an unexplainable shiver rocks your body, causing you to hold yourself. “No, no. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” she asks, draping her coat around your shoulders. “I’ve seen fine and this isn’t what it looks like.”
“Have you ever felt like someone was watching you, but no matter how hard you searched, no one was there?” Your eyes catch hers, sympathetic but confused, and you force a smile. “Listen, I hate to be a downer, but could we head home for the night? I think I’m just super tired.”
Without another word, she guides you across the street to her parked car. Your apartment is only a ten-minute walk across campus, but she had insisted on driving. She’s cautious and smart. Getting past her will be difficult.
#
Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting a sheen across the biology books scattered on the table in front of you. Notes sit discarded in the chair beside you as you flip through the latest sci-fi thriller. After studying for an hour in an empty library, you deserve a break. At least that’s how you rationalize it to yourself.
The ticking of the clock on the wall above the door infiltrates the edges of your awareness. It sets you on edge. When did it get so late?
Tucking your “for fun” book into your bag, you lean over an open page that explains the dissection of a frog. You haven’t thought about such things since high school, almost three years ago. The way the blade slipped right through the dead amphibian’s flesh. The thrill that ran through you as you took the poor thing apart piece by piece. The fleeting wonder at what it would be like with a human. You push these memories away as you move to a different book.
But it’s too late. Your heart dances in your chest, as if chasing the old thoughts. I’ve seen the inclination in you and I want you even more.
Something slams to the floor in the stacks behind you. A jolt of fear surges through you, erasing all your naughty desires. You pack up everything as quick as you can and flee the deserted building.
#
Stars twinkle in the sky as you cross the quad after a late-night study group. Your roommate had offered to pick you up, but you insisted on walking. The night air rustles the leaves of the trees that dot the lawns in front of the oldest building on campus. Breathing deep, you pull your jacket tight around you.
A door shuts somewhere behind you and a second set of footsteps echo on the sidewalk. You resist the urge to look over your shoulder but strain your ears to determine which way the other person is going. They’re following you. Slipping your phone from your pocket, you pretend to check your texts while you turn on the camera. You angle it so that you can just see over your shoulder.
The figure behind you is wearing jeans and a baggy sweatshirt with the hood up. Their hands are in their pockets. It’s impossible for you to decipher a sex. Still, your heart climbs up into your throat as they match your pace. The fingers of your dominant hand wrap around your keys until they protrude from your knuckles like cheap Wolverine claws. Muscles tense, ready to fly or fight. Whichever the situation calls for. You automatically speed up but force yourself not to break into a run. After all, the chase is half the fun.
Part of you wishes they would hurry up and make a move, give you a reason to jam the pointed metal tip into their eye. You lick your lips, mouth dry, and check your camera. They’ve fallen behind but are still within attacking distance. Your apartment building is within sight. As you prepare to dash to the door, your follower veers left toward the building next to yours. A shaky breath escapes your throat as you mount the stairs two at a time. Your roommate welcomes you home with Chinese takeout and Netflix. When she asks how your walk was, you simply say “invigorating.”
#
Your limbs protrude from the fleece blanket you’ve tangled yourself in. Breaths flow from your lips in a steady rhythm of exhaustion. It’s been weeks since you’ve been tired enough to sleep soundly. I suppose a sustained state of heightened fear has a way of wiping a person out. You don’t even stir when your roommate leaves for work.
The gentle shush-shush of my footsteps on the carpet don’t register in your dreams. My presence hovering over your bed goes unnoticed. Even when I click my tongue against my teeth and pat my thigh, you remain undisturbed. A soft growl precedes a glint of red eyes as my hound steps into the room. She’s everything an animal should be, not like your ideal little puppies. You don’t make a move until her teeth are at your throat.
But it’s too late.
Hazel eyes stare up into the shadows that I lurk behind. You don’t even see me or my hound as you open your mouth to scream. The only noise that escapes is a quiet gurgle as you choke on your own blood mixed with her saliva. Your thoughts turn briefly to the ease at which her teeth open your flesh, the tug at your insides as I coax your soul through the shadows. Then, you see me. Your fear flickers. You see her. Your fear novas.
Welcome home.
END
Shawna's Blog of Doom 