CARL
He is running.
Trees slam past him, thick branches tearing at his clothes. His lungs burn. His legs scream. Somewhere behind him... the beast.
He doesn't look back. He can't. Only one thought: survive.
A clearing. He stumbles in, gasping, muscles shaking. How long has he been running? No idea.
He yells.
Anyone. Help.
Water splashes nearby. The world holds its breath.
Then the air changes. Low growl. Cold terror was crawling up his spine. He freezes.
It's there. Towering. Teeth glinting in the dark, shadow moving. Before he can think, it lunges towards him.
***
I wake up in cold sweat, gasping for air as though I've been deprived of it for the longest time. I'm a mess—my head hurts, my body aches, my brain is threatening to exit my skull, as though it hadn't signed up for the terrors haunting my nights for the past few weeks.
To be fair, it didn't.
I rub my face and stare at the alarm clock by my bed: 7:45 a.m. At least I won't be late for the first day of sophomore year.
After taking a shower, I spend the next twenty minutes curling my scattered hair. People can never understand the stress it takes waking up every morning to make sure it doesn't end up looking like a mop that's been used, and then used again, like fifty times.
A partial reason I'm always late to school is.
The mirror reflects a dark-haired, hazel-eyed, warm-skinned version of me, freckles sprinkled across my cheeks, a pimple or two, and subtle dark circles under my eyes- a physical reminder of the stress my own imagination is causing me when I venture into the land of dreams.
More like nightmares, really.
I throw on a simple white shirt, my trusty dark hoodie, and jeans. I grab my father's antique watch from my dresser and head downstairs.
The warm smell of pancakes fills the kitchen. My mom's back faces me as she cooks. My little brother Nico is already at the counter, playing on his iPad. Mum probably helped him get dressed. His hair isn't curly like mine, and he inherited Mum's dark eyes. I ruffle his hair.
"Morning, Mum." I greet her, taking a seat on the counter. She turns, surprised. "Carl, you're ready," she says, sounding genuinely shocked, then places a plate of pancakes in front of me. Her brown hair cascades over her shoulders in curls.
"Well, what can I say? New year, new me." I chuckle nervously and bite into a pancake. She's got every right to sound shocked. Usually, my mornings are chaos-filled, with me rushing to do everything yet somehow getting nothing done. Hey, maybe I'll swap my alarm for a daily dose of fresh night terrors to ensure I wake up early in the morning.
I hear a continuous spurting sound and turn to see Nico dumping layer upon layer of maple syrup on his food.
"You wanna take it down a notch?" I tease. Nico stares at me with those wide, ten-year-old eyes like he couldn't quite get why I was interrupting him, and then goes back to piling syrup.
Kids.
The TV cuts to the familiar breaking news tone.
"The body of 18-year-old Aaron Bryson has just been found deep inside the Ashford western woods," the reporter says, and the air leaves my lungs.
My mum gasps, covering her mouth. She's in her work uniform—a blue button-up shirt with the company badge, Stains Telecom and Co., and blue pants.
"_The victim was reportedly at a friend's party before heading to college and was last seen leaving alone in the dead of night..."
I grab my backpack and head towards the front door."Okay, I'm going to be back late, so don't stay up."
"Wait, Carl..." My mother calls, worry written across her face. She frowns.
"I've got the night shift at Mr Sweetly's." Came my response, I stare back at her.
"Be careful, ok." She gestures towards the TV.
"Oh, that's probably just a bear attack or something." I wave my hand.
I'm guessing by the way her eyes study me, she's probably wondering how her teenage son is completely unfazed by another kid's death. I tend to react differently to these things.
"Carl..." Her tone is still yarning.
"Don't worry, Mum. I'll be fine." I reassure. She heaves a sigh, then turns her attention towards Nico, who continues to drown his pancakes with syrup. As though he feels her looming presence, he looks up at her and flashes a toothy grin. My mum then pulls the bottle away from him. He doesn't even try to hit her with those eyes cause he knows they don't work on her.
***
Ashford is a small town where literally everybody knows everybody. It's nestled in between two mountains close enough to the Appalachians, so you can expect the occasional wild animal attack and some hitchhikers now and then, which is basically about as interesting things get around here.
It's easy to feel invisible, compressed, as you are cut off from much of civilization. People do the same small rituals with the same small cast, over and over, until your very personality starts to feel fucking preassigned.
Since mid-summer hasn't lifted, somehow, I love the scene it creates. Located at the heart of West Virginia, Ashford sits in the foggy spillover from the Appalachian Mountains.
But this year, the fog feels different in a way I don't have words for.
Familiar is as close as I can get to a description.
This morning it reaches up to my knees, thick, undiluted like a soft, ghostly blanket wrapping the earth.
I think of the nightmares from the past two weeks—me running from a beastly apparition. Normally, I love spooky stuff. Like, I hardly get scared even when watching the most sadistic horror films. But when I do, it's like the best feeling ever. I'm not really sure if that's really normal either, but I don't care.
I love being scared.
But this fear is different.
It's not some malevolent spirit that shows you your worst fear before it devours you-that form of 'scary' exists only within the confines of a screen and does me no real harm, aside from a few bursts of adrenaline here and there when something exciting happens.
This dream haunts me. Follows me into my waking life.
I glance at my father's watch. Over thirty minutes until school. Maybe I could take a little detour.
***
Fog drapes the land below like a thin sheet, softening edges and swallowing roads, trees, and houses until they exist only as hints. The sky shifts from deep grey to pale gold, and the first light spills sideways rather than down, catching the fog and turning it faintly pink glinting of the water from a creek.
I raise my arms as if to embrace the sun.
The unease gripping me eases a tad bit.
I drink in the pure, unadulterated beauty caused by the early morning sun and nature.
My dad had shown me this scene long before he left us. He would've loved the view today. We used to go hiking every few weekends, and once, we managed to land way up in Ohio.
I sigh, deciding it's time to leave. I make my way down the hill, then I hear it. Something soft, breaking leaves and twigs—the telltale sign of someone approaching. It stops suddenly. I turn, scanning the red maple and oak trees.
I move faster, then hear my ringtone—See You Again, by Tyler The Creator—coming from my backpack.
I'm in my emo boy era. Fucking sue me.
I pull my backpack down to grab my phone from my back, then, from the corner of my eye, I see a figure zip between the trees.
I flinch, and my bag slips.
Books and paper spilling into the wet grass.
I curse under my breath, scrambling to gather them.
A shift of air behind me makes my senses spike as I bend down to grab a final paper. I feel something coming closer. My stomach drops. My heart pounds.
Something's behind me.
I feel sure of what's coming, yet my body refuses to move. I'm rooted to the spot—like a deer frozen in the glare of the very thing destined to end me. The presence draws closer. Closer. Each breath feels thinner than the last...
My phone rings again from my backpack. Snapping me from whatever trance these fog-covered woods had placed me under.
I check the caller ID.
Damasen.
I look around. The presence is gone. I answer.
"Carl! Where the hell are you?" His voice is urgent.
"Yeah, I'll be at school soon... something came up."
"Well, get your slow ass over here. They're already handing out locker keys."
"Yeah, I'll be there." I hang up and cast a final glance around.
'It's fine, Carl. All in your head.'
I curse under my breath, trying as I make my way out of the woods. Although the haunting feeling follows me out and I can't shake off the feeling of being watched.