Journalist

Glancing out of the window, I realized just how terrifying outside could be when the sun went down. Of course, I knew this already, but the darkness was a constant reminder of what could be lurking in the shadows. 

“Creak,” a twig snapped outside. My window was open, so it was easy to detect the sound. I quickly glanced in the direction of where the noise came from. 

As my eyes further adjusted to the darkness, I noticed something crouched by a tree where the noise came from. Its figure was mostly cloaked in darkness, but the silhouette of a hat gave off the person's spot. Then again, I could just be paranoid. I have had this happen several times when I temporarily moved to a new place. I call it the ‘new place jeepers’. This was different, though as I would be staying here for at least one month to author a report on my observations. Long story short, I am a journalist, and this town has a story I need to cover. 

“Creak,” another twig snapped. It was in the same direction my eyes were already glued on. Was this mystery person positioning their focus on me? What are they do- 

“Knock, knock,” my door sounded causing me to jump up.  

“There’s no proof that was actually a person,” I thought to myself as I walked down my steps. “But if I can get some type of picture, that would make for a good report. Plus, it would probably cut my stay from one month to one day.” 

I looked through the peephole first. It was pitch black outside, so the only thing I saw was more darkness. I turned on the porch light, but the eye hole still reflected darkness...weird. 

“Great,” I murmured, “Now, I have to let the monster in.”  

“Swish,” the door sounded as it opened. Gosh, why was the door so creaky? I am sure my job could have at least outfitted me with a better house to stay in. Granted, I knew why they couldn’t, but that didn’t stop me from complaining.  

I gulped as I looked outside- there was nothing or no one in sight. Had I even heard a knock in the first place? 

I closed my door and went back inside, thinking to myself, “Why am I really here, again?” 

“Let us see, report of strange happenings in this area. This place is abandoned- seriously, I am the only one on record of being here right now- and vacationers that stayed in this house said something about how it felt like their every move was being watched. They furthered that with a description of something ‘breathing down our necks.’ There are more stories like that, and if I found out who/ what was causing all this drama I would get a promotion and that means I wouldn’t have to move around as much. The boss always leaves out some information but that was enough for me. Plus, there is a possibility I uncover a ghost...guaranteed payday. The only issue is that the camera crew helping won’t be here for another two days...tech issue they say,” I thought to myself. 

“Welp, everything in life can live on through writing,” I sighed, powering up my laptop and writing my observations for the night. For a place with no residents, it was a wonder the Wi-Fi worked as well as it did.  

“Shoot,” I sounded. I couldn’t recall if I saw the figure by the tree closest to the house, or near the back. Now I would have walk upstairs just to determine which was which – one of the many downsides of being an accurate journalist. I took my notepad with me this time, set on getting the right answer. 

I looked out the upstairs window and realized my mistake: whether the figure was near the house or far away couldn’t be differentiated in such blackness. If there even was a figure that is. 

“Bummer,” I groaned to myself. 

“Swish,” the unmistakable sound of my front door opening. 

My heart rate rapidly increased and the hairs on my arm rose. “What am I supposed to do? I’m just a journalist,” I said to myself. 

Survival mode kicked in and I grabbed the first “weapon” I could find: my thermo water bottle. I tried to listen for the same “swish” sound of my door closing but it never came nor did the sound of footsteps. 

I finally mustered up the courage to slip downstairs.  

While on the last step, I looked past the banister to see my worst fears confirmed: the door was indeed open. On the other hand, the house was quiet- ghostly silent. The previous creaks I had heard all day were replaced with the pounding of my heart against my chest.  

I could crouch there and wait for whatever it was to come out, or I could go to the kitchen and grab a more suitable weapon. The latter seemed more reasonable.  

I slid into the kitchen with soft footsteps before soundlessly opening the first drawer I saw. Nothing. I did the same to the next.  

“Huh,” my breath caught in my throat upon seeing that the nook consisted of newspapers. Losing track of why I had been looking through drawers in the first place, I read the first headline. It stated, “Couple goes missing in Pineville Ridge, investigation underway.” 

My breathing became more unbalanced for that was where I was at. I knew this place had its troubles, but no one told me about this. 

Each of the following newspapers depicted an ominous headline.  

“No wait,” I thought, “Not everyone disappears. How could the vacationers have reported that story?” 

I checked the newspapers again, this time noticing one that was recent- just four days old. The headline said, “Family that reported an incident at Pineville Ridge went missing. Their whereabouts are unknown. Call 911 if you see any of them or know where they are.” 

“Why didn’t I know this...why are these newspapers just conveniently here. Almost as if they are here to taunt me,” I contemplated 

Before closing the drawer, I noticed an article stuck in the crevice near the back. It looked even newer than the other one. I took note of the date... no wait that can’t be right. The date says today. 

I read the headline just as I had done with the other articles. This time, though, my vision fogged up and my mouth went dry. The headline read, “Journalist named Donny Johnson vanishes after visiting the notorious Pineville Ridge. He was last seen in a blue flannel with jean shorts. Please report any known information to the police.” 

“No,” I thought, “This...this can’t be right. This doesn’t make any sense.” 

“Swish,” the sound of my door closing rang out. 

Realizing why I was in the kitchen again, I quickly maneuvered over to the last drawer and pulled out the largest knife I could find. If my death were already written, who was to say I couldn't go out fighting? 

Suddenly the lights flickered out, leaving me in nothingness.

I swiftly flattened myself into a wall, careful not to make any noise.  

“Creak, creak,” I heard the similar sound of a twig snapping. Why was it getting closer? 

I steadied my gaze, seeing the same outline of a top hat I witnessed earlier. Who was this? 

“You can’t escape fate,” I heard him whisper. 

“You can’t escape fate. You can’t escape fate. You can’t escape fate,” a chorus of voices whispered. 

I realized I was outnumbered and too afraid to use my knife anyway. 

“What...what do you mean,” I choked out in a hoarse voice. 

The top hat man stopped pacing and stood still looking directly at me. “What one has done can’t be undone. We know what you did.” 

“I’m just here to report strange findings. I am a journalist. That is what we do,” I nervously replied. 

“No one comes here by choice. It is the actions that summon them. You can’t escape fate,” the man said to me. 

“I don’t understand,” I said. 

“November 25th, 2014,” he told. 

My heart stopped. How could he...they know this? “I...it was an accident; I never meant any harm.” 

“You were driving drunk, killed a family of 5, and you fled the incident.” 

“Look if I could-” 

“Your fate has already been written.” 

“Your fate has already been written. Your fate has already been written. Your fate has already been written,” a chorus of ghostly voices chimed in again. 

“Swish,” the door rang out as I stood there in horror, listening as the man and his companions left. 

The lights flickered back on just as readily as they had turned off.  

Still certain there was a chance this was a bad dream, I took small baby steps towards the front door. Pulling it open, I didn’t see anyone out there. 

“Whoosh,” I heard the basement door open. Since when was there a basement? 

“I’m out,” I screamed taking off. 

That was until a force unbeknownst to me pulled on my legs and jean shorts. My fingers clung onto the porch steps but slowly loosened as the force increased; I couldn’t hold on. 

The basement door banged shut as I was strung down the steps. 

“You can’t escape fate. You can’t escape fate. You can’t escape fate,” ghostly voices chanted.  

My eyes closed for the final time- my fate had truly been written.