Once Upon A Time

‘Once upon a time’, she said, that’s where we should start. At the beginning, when time had no meaning and darkness veiled what lay within chaos. But I had no recollection of a time when chaos was dark and couldn’t fathom a veil eclipsing time, as I’ve always seen the light and always heard the echo of life. But I obliged her and opened the fountain.

Hesitant to turn the knob, bits of information trickled out of my mouth. Eventually, my words rushed out like a dystopian horror novel, haunting everyone who listened.

The room grew quiet. A thousand eyes burned my flesh, reopening wounds created long ago. My hands clung together. Red knuckles turned white as I took a deep breath and continued.

“His shadow bounced off the concrete wall just outside my window. He stood there, eyes stalking passersby. No one noticed him, but I did. It grew dark. There was less movement up and down the sidewalk as shops closed for the evening. Silence enveloped both of us. And then I heard it. High heels slamming against the pavement. She came into view. Long trench coat. Dark hair. Purse draped over her shoulder. He came up from behind. Hand over her mouth.”

Coffee stained the tiled floor as the woman next to me knocked her cup over. Her trembling hands managed to grab the white styrofoam before it hit the floor.

My eyes shifted to the clock on the wall as the therapist cleaned up the mess. Black numbers shouted 8:35 in my ear. My eyes darted to two brown eyes staring back at me as the therapist tapped my hand.

“Please, continue.”

“Where did I stop?”

“Someone was about to get clipped.”

“Johnny!”

He sunk in his chair as a sigh parted his lips.

“Darla, please continue.”

“He brought the knife to her throat and sliced. Her body slid down to the ground as he stood there looking.”

“That’s it?” Johnny said as he leaned closer to me.

“He was looking up at me, dumb ass.”

“Well, how the hell was I supposed to know.”

“I said I was being stalked. Has anybody been listening to me?”

“Alright everyone, calm down. I think this is a good place to stop for the night. We’ll meet back here again next week.”

Grabbing my jacket, I rushed through the steel doors, ran down the concrete steps, and marched up the sidewalk.

“Once upon a time, let’s start at the beginning,” I mumbled as I crossed the street. A part of me knew this was a bad idea. Some things shouldn’t be said out loud. But I have stories. Hundreds of them I’ve never shared with anyone. Like the night he murdered a man behind the gas station. Or the time he followed me to work.

Numerous reports were filed. No witnesses. Nothing but eyes staring at me. Pointed fingers and whispers debating my sanity.

My pace slowed. My head shifted to the left as an echo bounced off the night sky. A sound I recognized vibrated against my eardrum, dancing with the concoction of chaos and paranoia that found a home within my brain.

I slid my hand inside my jacket pocket and pulled out my mace. My heart crashed against my chest. My eyes widened as the footsteps moved closer. Grasping onto the container, I turned and sprayed.

His screams rampaged up the sidewalk as he covered his eyes.

“Oh, Johnny. I’m sorry.” I reached my hand out to help him but he slapped it away, dropping his water bottle to the ground.

I picked it up, twisted off the cap, and poured the water over his eyes.

“What’d you do that for?”

“I thought you were him.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. And you shouldn’t sneak up on people.”

He pushed me out of the way and rushed up the sidewalk. A few minutes passed before I calmed enough to continue making my way home.

***

Tangled sheets and sweaty pillowcases, that’s what I’ve woken up to for the past three years. Most mornings I lay in bed contemplating why he hadn’t killed me yet. Maybe it’s a game. Maybe he liked being watched. Maybe I liked watching.

My parents never believed I was being stalked. They thought it was all in my head. The police said I made up stories for attention. They were wrong, but what if they were right?

Depressive paranoia. It doesn’t quite describe me, even though that’s what they called it. But my paranoia only involved one person. Him. His name is unknown. Only I’ve seen him. They never found their bodies, even though I told them where the murders happened and other information regarding the crime. 

Heading to work, I spotted the usual crowd. The newspaper stand attendant across the street. A couple of businessmen and women hailing a cab. But someone new stood in the shadows. His back turned, he shifted through the newspaper. 

Pulling my cell phone out of my bag, I snapped a picture of him.

He glanced over his shoulder, tossed the newspaper on top of the rack, and walked down the alley. I knew it wasn’t a good idea, but my feet ran across the street. I peeked around the corner of the coffee shop, and followed behind him.

We walked for a few minutes before he crossed the street and turned the corner. My feet shuffled against the concrete. I stepped up on the sidewalk, took a deep breath, and peeked around the corner. He was gone. My eyes traveled up and down the alleyway. Looking down at my watch, I realized I would be late if I continued. But I came to a decision. It was time to unmask the murderer.

I tried to keep a steady rhythm, but my pace increased with my heartbeat. My head turned right, then left. My eyes darted in both directions as I pressed my body against the concrete wall. And then it happened. His hand wrapped around my mouth, and he pulled me into an opening in the wall. The blackness swallowed us. 

Fighting to break free, I planted my elbow in his abdomen and stomped my boot down on his shoe. His fingers slipped down my face. My teeth grasped onto his finger. Metallic liquid ran down my chin as he screamed.

My hand slid inside my jacket pocket. I sprayed. His screams grew louder. I bolted out of the blackness, stood on the sidewalk in the light of day, and grabbed my cell phone. 

A paint can rolled out of the room as he struggled to find his way outside. Red eyes greeted me. His arms flailed around in front of him. I snapped the camera. The flash bounced off of the sun. I snapped again, before spraying his eyes once more. 

His heavy body crashed against the concrete as I dialed the police. I waited, and watched. My eyes stalked him as he attempted to crawl up the road. His hands reached out for me. I stepped back, grasping my mace, finger pressed against the trigger.

Sirens echoed down the street as two cop cars pulled up the opposite sides of the alley. I threw my hands up and backed away as they placed handcuffs around his wrists.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. It’s him. The guy I’ve been filing complaints about.”

“Stay here. I’ll be back to ask you some questions.”

I watched as they removed his body from the street. My eyes traveled along as they put him in the back seat of the police car. A sigh of relief enveloped me as the car door slammed. I rested my body against the wall and stared up at the sky. A part of me felt vindicated. Another part of me knew this was only the beginning.