The Stalker

Note - Trigger warning - violence, gore, mental health

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting the world in a golden glow as Emma locked the bookstore. The air was cool, the sky a deep shade of purple, and the stars were beginning to show. The town’s streets were quiet from the hustle and bustle of the workday. It was peaceful, almost serene, if you didn’t notice the man following her.

Emma knew he was there, even though she couldn’t see him. His gaze prickling the hairs on the back of her neck, footsteps echoing softly on the sidewalk behind me. She’d been aware of him all day. At first she thought it was a coincidence, someone who happened to be walking in the same direction this morning and also stopped by the Busy Bean for lunch. But as the day wore on, Emma began to suspect that this near constant presence was no accident.

She abruptly turned a corner down a narrow alley between two tall downtown buildings. It was dark, illuminated by the faint glow of lights from either end of the alley. The town's familiar sounds faded away, replaced by an eerie silence that was punctured by echoing footsteps. She paused, waiting for the sound of his footsteps, but the only sound was the rustling of a plastic bag and the yowling of a cat in the distance. Heart racing, she quickly continued down the alley. 

“Emma, you coming in tonight?” The question made her jump out of her skin. 

“You scared the shit outta me, Matt,” she replied, seeing the glow from the bartender’s cigarette in the shadow of The Tavern. “I was on the way home… But, you know what, a drink would do me good.” And settle my nerves, she thought.

“Don’t you live over on Elm? Like, the other direction?”

Emma shrugged. “Whatever. Come on.” Together they headed into the bar.

Light hit Emma’s eyelids. She slit her eyes open, wondering why the curtains weren’t closed. After a second, she bolted up and out of the bed. Where am I? What the hell happened last night? The last thing she remembered was a couple of vodka cranberries and mozzarella sticks at the bar. Emma looked over and saw Matt. She quickly deduced what had happened by the lack of clothes on either of them. “Oh. Shit.” 

Emma rolled out of the bed in Matt’s studio apartment and quietly searched for her clothes. Tiptoeing past the big bay window, with a twin sheet haphazardly thrown over a curtain rod instead of curtains, she got that prickling sensation along the back of her neck. She peered out and saw her stalker, dark clothes, hood up, even though September in North Carolina is definitely still warm. He was standing in the shadow of a giant oak tree, head tilted up toward her. Adrenalin surged through Emma. ‘I’ve gotta get home,’ she thought. ‘I’ll be safe there.’ 

She shut the apartment door quietly behind herself, and crept down the stairs. Whether she was trying not to wake Matt or conceal her movements from the stranger across the street, she wasn’t sure. The back door of the apartment building led to a large fenced in patio space. Emma brought a patio chair to the back of the five foot tall fence and easily climbed over. She cut across someone’s backyard and came out about three blocks from her apartment. As she turned the corner at the end of the street, she looked back and the only person she saw was a middle-aged woman getting into her car. Emma decided to detour to the Busy Bean for a coffee on her way home, she needed the pick me up after what was presumably a long night. 

“Hey Susan,” she said as she came up to the counter. “Large coffee, black, please. Hey, did you see the guy in the black hoodie yesterday?”

“Huh? You want a black coffee? And a hoodie? You’re talking too fast for me to keep up, darlin’,” Susan replied.

“Sorry. Yes, coffee. The guy, in the corner, yesterday. At lunch. With a black hoodie,” Emma gestured to the corner while feeling like she was talking to someone who’s first language was not English.

“I don’t remember anyone like that. I  guess I didn’t notice him. You should kill him.”

“Yeah, you might be right Susan. I don’t know why he’s following me,” Emma sighed. “Thanks.”

Susan looked confused, “Sure. Hey, Emma, are you okay?” Emma was already heading for the door and didn’t acknowledge her. “Okay, have a good day I guess.”

Emma made it home without noticing her new shadow. She locked the door and looked around her small apartment. Everything seemed to be in order. She didn’t think the mysterious man was breaking into her apartment, but you never know. She went straight to the bathroom for some Tylenol and a shower. 

Her phone rang as she was getting out of the shower. It was Matt. Emma silenced it. “I so don’t want to deal with that,” she muttered. There had been previous flings between the two of them, but Matt always wanted a more serious relationship. Emma had made it clear in the past that she wasn’t interested. She wasn’t looking forward to any attempts by Matt to make this a regularly occurring event. She didn’t have anything against him, he was a great friend. Her issue was more that she’d known him since elementary school. Of course, living in a small town, that meant that pretty much everyone was ineligible for dating. 

Emma sighed and shook off that train of thought while she finished getting dressed and fixed her still wet her into a high ponytail. She reached into her bedside table and retrieved her switchblade knife. It had a thin, six inch blade and fit nicely in the front pocket of her jeans. She was pretty sure she’d seen the man in the hoodie a few times last week and he showed up everywhere she went yesterday. Emma was trying hard to be calm and practical, but she was terrified. “Should I call the Sheriff?” she wondered. “What would I say? I’ve seen someone several times in the last week?” She laughed out loud. Emma could probably name a hundred people that fit that bill. She wouldn’t call the sheriff’s office unless she had something more definite to say.

  She had several hours before her shift at the bookstore and her headache from last night's activities was much improved. So she decided to call in for a slice of pizza from Mario’s, the Italian restaurant. Mario’s was the only other restaurant in Reeden, besides the Busy Bean which was only open for breakfast and lunch. 

As she left her apartment building for the walk back to Main St. to pick up her pizza, her downstairs neighbor stuck his head out into the hall. “Morning Miss Emma,” the grandfatherly man called.

“Morning, Jack. I’m on my way to grab lunch from Mario’s. Do you want something?” 

“Oh, no thanks, I’m havin’ tuna fish for lunch. I just wanted to let you know… he’s gonna kill you, that man. You really oughta do him in first.”

Emma spun around, “Do you know who he is? Why? What does he want?”

Jack stepped back, fully into his apartment. “I… I don’t know. I mean, to fix it I suppose. Enjoy your lunch.” With that, he quickly shut the door.

Fix what? That made two people this morning who thought she should kill this guy. What was going on? Did they know something she didn’t? If it came down to it, Emma was certainly going to put up a fight. ‘I might not kill him, but I’ll die trying,’ she thought as she felt for the knife in her pocket.

On her way to Mario’s, Emma had the feeling that someone was watching her. She continuously scanned every shadow along the way, looking back as much as she looked forward. She saw a few people, but none of them in dark pants and a hoodie pulled all the way forward. Emma wondered if the man had changed clothes or if she was being paranoid. No one inside the pizzeria seemed suspicious either. She thankfully turned the corner and started back down her street, when she saw him. 

Standing in the shadows of the doorway to her building was her stalker. She froze. He probably hadn’t seen her yet. She could run. She could confront him and get this over with. In her split second of indecision, the man turned and saw her. “Emma,” the voice was very deep and had an almost disembodied quality to it - in short, scary as hell. The terrifying sound of his voice made the decision for her.

Emma dropped her pizza box and ran. She took a right, away from Main Street, towards the edge of town. 

“Emma, wait.” With a glance over her shoulder, Emma realized the man was gaining on her. She wondered if he was some sort of demon, while wishing she wasn’t so out of shape. Reaching into her pocket, gripped her knife tightly.

She had reached the old Baptist Church and cut through the cemetery beside it, eyes on the dense woods in the back. So she didn’t see the footstone until she hit the ground hard. Her left arm slammed another headstone on the way down, and the wind was knocked out of her. Emma, thankful she hadn’t hit her head, gasped for breath as she struggled to get up. She made it two steps when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

Emma spun, flicking the blade out as she turned, and plunged the knife deep into the demon’s belly. He doubled over and she brought her knee up. The demon fell, and up close Emma realized it had no face under the hood. She fell on it, stabbing viciously. Emma heard a far away scream, the sound of the demon dying all the way in Hell. Black blood was pouring from the demon and coating her hands, but it was still moving under her. Her strikes were becoming weaker and her knife slipped out of her blood-slicked hand. Emma didn’t even notice, she kept hitting the demon with her fist, until she felt someone lift her up under the arms and drag her backwards.

Slowly the ringing in her ears faded. “Emma Grace. Emma Grace Hitchins. What in the hell, girl?” Emma was let go, and a portly, bearded man came into her view.

“Sheriff Bill? Oh good, I need to talk to you Sheriff,” Emma panted. 

“Damn right you do, missy,” the Sheriff replied as he cuffed her. “But we’re gonna do that down at the station, alright?”

“Bill, if Matt Garrett dies, we’ll have to charge 1st degree,” District Attorney Allen Fitzgerald said. “But for now, I’m charging her with attempted 1st degree murder. Either way, death could be on the table.”

“I understand, Allen. But I’m letting you know, this girl’s crazy as a loon bat. It’s the Hitchins’ family curse.”

“What the hell are you talking about? The law doesn’t deal in curses.”

“Well, listen. We’ve talked to her. Here’s the tape. But she was going on and on about someone following her and it’s a demon, like she’s lost it, right? But here’s the kicker, when we told her that she tried to kill Matt Garrett… she lost it. I don’t think she was faking either. She kept asking if he was gonna be alright, and how he got there. Meanwhile, the preacher’s wife was out in the garden and saw it was Matt who was following her the whole time.”

“Okay Bill, she’ll get a court appointed, and they’ll try to plead insanity. It probably won’t work though, you know how it is,” Allen sighed. “And this sounds more like someone trying to lessen their sentence, than a ‘family curse’.”

“Well, I was getting there. Emma’s grandpa, he drove off the old bridge out 770. Killed him, his wife, and their two grandbabies. This was about twenty years ago. It was ruled an accident, but he was sober as a babe in church and he was young. I think they weren’t even fifty yet. And those babies, still in diapers. Well that was more than Emma’s aunt could take, they were her little ones. She ODed about six months later. Just tragic, right? Then you think about Old Clyde, he’d be Emma’s great-uncle. Well, he woke up one morning, walked out into the field, and shot all three of his hands. Ended as suicide by cop. They thought maybe it was flashbacks from the war. You know, PTSD. And then there’s Emma’s daddy. John went to the state hospital the first time when he was 23, just back from college. He’s been in and out of jail or mental hospitals ever since. I’m telling you, this family is crazy. But they’re also good, hardworking people. And you don’t need to push the death penalty on Miss Emma.”

Allen sighed, “Bill how many times do I need to tell you. You can’t treat every defendant like they’re personal friends. I’m sure her lawyer will plead insanity, and we’ll have to see what happens.”

“Dammit, Allen, they are personal friends. I’ve lived in Reeden my whole life, for generations back, just like most of the folks here. I don’t do that ‘good-ole-boy’ bullshit, but people are made up of more than one event.”

“Murder’s murder. And that’s all there is to it."