Seen.

Seen.

The world narrowed into a tunnel around me, like it was closing in on me. The sudden caw of a crow rattling my fraying nerves. I kept my normal pace, not slowing or speeding up even though every fibre in my body was begging me to run. I didn’t need to turn around and check because I already knew. I could feel it. It wasn’t so close that I could feel breath on the back of my neck but the sudden change of energy in the atmosphere made me instantly aware that it had seen me and was now following me.

That morning as I locked the door to my house and walked down to the street, my skin tingled with the onset of small goosebumps. I noticed but chose to ignore the many weeds that insisted popping up in between the cracks in the paved pathway along my drive, telling myself I’d get to them at the weekend but also knowing full well that I wouldn’t.

There was an unfamiliar intense eeriness that seemed to befall the world that morning. The sun, barely beginning to wake, was casting a pink glow all around. I enjoyed seeing pink, puffy clouds in the early morning sky, especially when the edges were stained with a lavender tint, like sponges that had been used to mop up some paint. But this was different, this was all around, as though the air had been saturated with this rosy hue.

Given how early it was it wasn’t uncommon for me not to see another person on my way in, not at least until I got closer to the city centre when the number of people and vehicles started to build up. I usually didn’t mind starting work this early. Being up and about during the twilight hours of the morning, walking through a mostly deserted city felt comforting to me rather than un-nerving, like I was the only person in the world. I always felt safe in this city and enjoyed the route that I took to get to work. I had two options, I could walk a direct route, or I could walk through the backstreets. I preferred the backstreets. It didn’t take any longer nor was it a short cut, but it was absolutely steeped in history. My favourite street in particular still had its original cobblestones, a charming sight in place of the usual pot holed tarmac. It was lined by a narrow flagstone pathway, worn to a smooth almost shiny finish with the countless footsteps that had passed over them. The Tudor style buildings on either side of the street, each one more characterful than the last, with their small doorways, crooked windows and wooden accents being in stark contrast to the modern skyscrapers and shopping malls in the rest of the city. The centuries old church that sat nestled into the corner of the street had a warmth to it that wasn’t always associated with buildings of that age. The roof was showing some severe wear and the stone walls, being slowly consumed by moss, were crumbling and cracked. There were signs that showed someone still cared though, as the grounds were being kept in some sort of order, making it feel loved and alive. Most of the gravestones had fallen into disrepair but the grass was being kept under control and the delightful wildflowers that grew in patches made an otherwise somewhat creepy place appear delicate and peaceful. Walking this street to work thrilled the nerd in me that liked to imagine walking these same streets but hundreds of years ago. Imagining the sights and smells. Picturing the person who also walked in this same direction, at this same pace, almost like an exact replay. With this amount of age and history it inevitably conjures up rumours, folk tales, and urban legends and this street was to be no exception.

On a Tuesday evening, once a month, just before the golden hour is distinguished into night you can take part in a ghost walk through the city streets with a guide retelling a wealth of stories of myths and legends designed to invoke fear and unease into the enraptured audience. There was of course the obligatory ‘grey lady’ and child spirits, each with their own tragic story, but it was the story of the cloaked figure that supposedly haunted the church of my favourite street that piqued my interest the most. That the building that I usually drew such warmth from could have such a sinister, foreboding tale attached to it chilled me. The story was not of the usual grey mist or ghostly sounds, but of an entity that simply stood at the gates watching people as they walked past. Seemingly invisible to anyone walking by. Its face and body shrouded from view due to the heavy folds of the raven-coloured cloak that it wore. Watching and waiting for the right person. The person who was next.

As I came to the beginning of my favourite street and began to make the ascent up its slight hill, ready to soak in all of the ages gone by, I felt compelled to look up. My heart froze in my chest, hurting, like a steel hand was holding it in a grip so tight. At the corner of the street, outside the gates that sealed the entrance to the church was a hooded figure. Too tall to be a regular sized person, easily reaching 7ft, it loomed, not in the shadows but as clear as a streetlamp stands on the edge of a path. As its cloaked head turned in my direction the steel hand squeezed harder, my heart feeling like it was tearing at the edges. My breath was coming in quick, shallow bursts, my lungs too afraid to work properly. I should have turned back and walked a different way, but my fear muddled brain decided the best option was to carry on as normal. It was just a story, wasn’t it? It could just as well be an actor, dressed the part to make the next ghost walk that much more thrilling! If it was an actor than bravo on the costume, it’s doing everything right at inducing all kinds of fear in me. As I walked, I kept my head down, determined not to look at it through fear of drawing any more attention to myself, childishly assuming that if I wasn’t looking at it then it couldn’t see me. My heart thumped hard as I grew nearer, heat stung the back of my neck, making the edges of my hairline start to sweat. It seemed to be gaining in size the further, I came towards it. My whole body shaking as I came within inches of it, gripping the handles of the purse hanging off my shoulder with both hands in an effort to control what they were doing and make me feel smaller as I came past. The moment that I no longer could see it in my peripherals was the moment, for a split second, I thought I was safe. The worst was over, I can go on with my day and hopefully at some point, a long time from now, I might be able to laugh about this. That was when I felt the shift. The atmosphere surrounding me pulsed as the world tightened around me and it began to follow.

As I got closer to the heart of the city, commuters were starting to emerge to commence their daily grind. Their presence reassured me that I wasn’t alone but didn’t reassure me to the terrifying situation I was facing. The sound of his robes pulling loose gravel along the path made me acutely aware that he’d closed some of the distance between us.

 I understand if you’re being followed it wouldn’t be immediately obvious to other people passing by. Having someone walk behind you does not immediately imply danger. Quite the opposite-where else are they supposed to walk. But it was wearing a thick, black, hooded robe! Shouldn’t that arouse suspicion? Again, not necessarily that that woman is being followed, but surely it earns a glance or two from passers-by, simply due to the fact that the striking, unconventional attire would attract some attention. But no one looked my way, no one seemed to notice let alone care that a 7ft cloaked figure was now so close behind me that if I were to suddenly stop walking, we would have surely collided. It didn’t appear to be visible to anyone else but me.

I was nearing the shopping mall that I worked in. One more crossing, one more turn of a corner and I’d be there.

“318”

My ears pricked to the sound of a whisper in the air. The numbers meant nothing to me, but I knew they were whispered for me.

“318”

Still a whisper but there was no doubt that I heard it clearer that time.

“318,318,318”

I don’t know what that means! What is happening!

My heart is beating so hard I can hear it pulsing in my ears. My armpits are soaked and the droplets of sweat snaking down my back are almost as unpleasant as the turbulence in my clenching stomach. My arms and legs feel numb from the intense anxiety coursing through me, but they continue to propel me forward. I’m still trying so hard not to give any outward indication that I know that I’m being followed but its futile as I feel sure that it knows I’m aware none the less.

As we start to near the crosswalk, I’m relieved to see that two neatly dressed women, looking much fresher than I feel, are already there and pressing the button. I feel the relief flood into me, knowing that I’d make it there in time to be able to cross without having to pause and wait for the lights to change. At some point I know I do need to stop. I cannot outrun this thing forever but the idea of stopping now feels like the last thing that I want to do. I’m so close. Perhaps once I’m in the safety of a building, the walls providing a sanctuary around me, it will leave me alone.

As my feet continue to pound the pavement a group of people come out of the building to my left. They cut in front of me without any acknowledgement that I’m even there or of the immense cloaked figure behind me. I stumble as I’m forced to stop and let them pass, fear gripping me in a choke hold, knowing that in seconds it would be on me and able to enact whatever it is that it wants to do to me.

It was barely imperceptible but the shift of the energy in the atmosphere took me more by surprise than the sudden appearance of that group of people.

It was gone.

I knew it was gone, I knew I didn’t need to turn and check but the overwhelming need for verification took over and I glanced over my shoulder. No one, nothing! I couldn’t quite allow myself to breathe a sigh of relief, but I felt more determined than ever to get to work and to some form of safety.

As I stood at the crosswalk trying desperately to regain some of my composure, I took deep nourishing breaths and willed my hands to stop shaking. There was no hope for my wobbling legs that ended with feet encased in lead. I ignored the bile threatening to fill my mouth from suppressing the dry heaving I needed to do to rid my body of some of the stress and proceeded to walk as calmly and purposefully as I could over the crossing.

With the traffic started to build so did the increase in noise, distracting and overwhelming senses that were already being pushed to their limits. I knew my building would soon be in sight and id be safe.

As I rounded the corner my insides instantly liquified with fear. Standing, blocking my path, looking taller and more imposing than before was the cloaked figure.

Not knowing what to do, I stood rooted to the spot. Even if I could find the strength and coordination to run fear had well and truly got me in its grips. I was stuck as though the concrete had softened and hardened around my feet eternally gluing me to this spot, forcing me to confront this thing.

The robes, so black they sucked out any light that dared to try and penetrate, began to crumple in the middle as it began to lean forward towards me. Faceless due to the hood obscuring any view of it was now inches from my own. A sharp, cold sensation blew towards my face carrying the same sound as before,

“318”

The shock of the sensation of the cold and hearing the number again made my heavy feet take a step backward, tripping over themselves in the process, unknowingly being so close to the edge of the path.

I swung my arms in an attempt to grab onto something or to prevent me from continuing this fall, but it was no use.

As the bus came roaring towards me, I knew my fate was inevitable and no amount of arm swinging was going to prevent it from happening.

As I continued to fall, I could see the anguish on the drivers face as he knew that any attempt to slam on the breaks was not going to stop it. A flash of light from the sun being able to slash its way through the gaps in the buildings shone onto the windscreen of the bus causing me to briefly glimpse the reflection of black robes and the illumination of the white, rectangular sign adorning the glass, stating the route number, “318”.