Bad Luck

Tell me, who do dangerous people target? 

It’s the people who walk slowly, looking at their feet or looking around at the beauty of the world. Or at least that’s what most of them target, but some ignore how you walk or how you look at the world, for some, there is no rhyme or reason, just bad luck.

One day you’re walking home. It’s not yet dark, but the sun is setting. There are a few clouds in the purpling sky, but none are threatening to rain on you. You might have something to protect yourself, on your keychain or in your pocket, but it doesn’t matter.

You’re walking home, through empty streets with only the quiet wind to accompany you. It might have been nice, a time to think deeply about things, but today you don’t feel safe. The hairs on your neck are standing at attention and you can’t help but look behind you every other second.

You reassure yourself by saying that there is no reason for you to be afraid, but the goosebumps on your arms know better; it feels like someone else is there, watching you, like you’re a rat, skittering to safety, that they are about to pounce onto and sink their teeth into.

The empty street doesn’t feel safe. The slight breeze feels like whispers, telling you to run. Every time you turn a corner you are prepared for something to jump out at you and every time you turn around you think you’re going to see a figure pouncing.

You’re scared, but you shouldn’t be, you’ve walked this way before, maybe not recently, but you know this path. You know how to protect yourself and you know that something like this would never happen to you.

You just have to keep calm and walk home and then you’ll be safe. Tonight you’ll tuck yourself in, leaving all the light off because there’s nothing to be afraid of, because it’s all in your head, it has to be… Right?

A crunch behind you sends you a foot into the air, but looking back you see that it was just an old chip bag falling out of a trashcan someone forgot to put the lid on. See? Nothing to worry about, nothing to be afraid of. Nothing at all. It’s just your imagination.

Getting back to your walk, you take longer steps, making the excuse that you’re hungry and want to get home quickly so you can make yourself food, but I know better, you’re afraid. You’re terrified that it’s not all in your head, that you’re that one unlucky person who got targeted by the scary man you once saw standing and staring, right through you.

Another sound, a slosh, surprises you once again, but it is nothing, just the wind moving the gross, gass-filled water, pooling by the road. Still, that splash gets your heart pounding and even when you get back to walking, your heart won’t slow. Its thump, thump, thumping quickly in your chest like it wants to run. All your body is telling you to sprint home as quickly as you can, but you don’t because it’s all in your head, it has to be.

Proving yourself right, you get home, intact, without any stalkers or encounters. Before you go inside, you take one last look around to make sure that there is nothing, which you don’t have to do because you were never in danger, you couldn’t have been.

Once you’re back in your familiar house, though you’re home alone, you feel safe. The hairs on your neck take a seat and your goosebumps make themself scarce. 

It’s nice here, in your home. It’s familiar and all the lights are on. It’s been a long day with a stressful end, so you decide to make yourself some food, nothing too hard to cook, just some frozen chicken nuggets in the microwave. 

Once it’s been cooked you take your plate and with it in hand, take a seat on the couch, turning on one of your comfort shows, something nice and calming. 

The familiar show, whispering the same things it always whispers, while cuddled in a blanket in your home, your safe space, with all of that, you are lulled into a deep sleep. Eventually, though, you are awoken, but a CRASH!

You jump from your nest on the couch and look around, the house is still yours but now that it’s dark, only light by the credits of episode three of the show you’d been watching, it feels sinister so your hairs go back to standing and the goosebumps return, ready for danger.

You can hear someone ruffling through the room next door.

They sound big and ready to attack.

You grab your phone and dial 911.

“911, what is your emergency?” the kind-sounding lady asks.

You open your mouth to tell her, but it’s like the thief in the next room is stealing your words as they leave your mouth, never giving you a chance to say a single thing, so you just stand there as she prompts you, desperately trying to save yourself, but unable to do anything.

The shuffling stops and so does your heart.

“What the-” a gruff male voice, fitting who I imagined was stealing from me, says before being cut off by a wet, blood-soaked thud.

Still frozen you stand there as you hear more thuds, the first are directed at the voice you heard, but the later sounds are that of boots walking towards you.

Still stuck you watch as he emerges from the room.

You’ve seen him before, but only in passing, out of the corner of your eye maybe once or twice. He never seemed off to you, but now, walking towards you, with red-soaked black gloves, he’s far more terrifying than any thief could ever be.

You want to turn, to run, but it’s too late for that, you are frozen, trapped in the clutches of someone who’s done this before and will do it again. 

You’re dead, gone, forever and there is nothing you can do, at least not now.