Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-24744467-20170910185807

It was a little past two o'clock in the morning when I saw her walking down the street barefoot, the trail of her gown soaked in mud and dragging behind her. The headlights of Bethany's truck illuminated the slick of her dress in a startling flash of red satin and white skin, and for all my shock I continued down the road for another five minutes before the reality of what I'd seen became clear in my mind.

She looked like a distant memory from another time, gliding along the ground without moving her legs, washed in a strange and distorted light - existing without existing, there and not here.

I pulled off to the side of the road and attempted to rationalize it all. The familiar ache of exhaustion pulled at my limbs, and though my thoughts felt relatively clear, it was obvious that I was overworked and tired. Too tired, perhaps, to be driving another person's car.

The woman I had seen was physical, that much I knew. No otherworldly manifestation looked that real. Her ethereal appearance could be attributed to the headlights reflecting against the material of her dress - and as for the person herself, she was probably coming home from a dinner party or something and her car had broken down further up the road. If it had been daylight I would have asked her if she needed help.

That particular stretch of road had become infamous over the years for the vast amount of crimes that had taken place there: everything from carjacking and petty thievery to murder. I was about to pull back out when the slightest trickle of guilt began to form in the back of my mind. If she was really stranded out there by herself, she was not safe. A missing persons report on the morning news flashed through my thoughts. As tired as I was, I couldn't just leave her there.

I had almost convinced myself to turn around and ask if she needed help when I caught something moving in the corner of my eye.

There, walking along the road, was the woman in the evening gown. I switched the ignition off when I had first pulled over, so there were no lights to catch her satin this time. The night was black as pitch and Bethany's vehicle seemed to blend into the darkness seamlessly.

From my vantage point, I could see the woman, though I don't suppose she could see me. With time on my side, I realized she was not walking so much as she was staggering, almost lurching, one arm held rigidly to her side and bent out at the elbow. Her thumb was sticking up, the rest of her hand folded into a fist, and every few seconds she would jam it in a violent upwards motion three times and bring it down again.

The trail of her gown continued to drag along the ground, and whenever she took a step I could see the back of her bare heel appear from under the gathered fabric. Her hair seemed to sit strangely on her head - as a matter of fact, it looked lopsided, like a cheap wig.

I watched her for a little while. A sensation I can't properly describe coursed through me - uncomfortable, uneasy, the feeling you get when you're doing or watching something that you know you shouldn't be.

When she finally staggered out of sight, I started the car and pulled back out onto the road. Less than a minute had passed when I saw her standing in the woods opposite of the vehicle. She was heading in the direction of the place where I had pulled off. Both of her arms were held up in the air, palms facing out.

She was grinning.

...

The guy at the front desk stood wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve like an overgrown first-grader and then handed me the room key. "Uh, enjoy your stay, sir," he said, voice a nasal monotone.

I raised my eyebrow at him and accepted the key, making a mental note to wash my hands as soon as possible. Beyond the neon glow of the vacancy sign, the world looked impossibly black. The parking lot was empty aside from the truck and a beat-up minivan parked on the other end of the lot. The fact that somebody else was staying there came as less than a comfort than I would have liked. For all I knew, the other car could have belonged to the guy running the place.

The room itself was cold and smelled of disinfectant, and my initial reaction was that it reminded me of a hospital. Everything was the same dull shade of brown except for faded geometric-print wallpaper that wouldn't look out of place in 1960. I was probably going to get cockroaches just from stepping through the front door.

In any case, something was better than nothing. I relieved myself in the unsurprisingly cramped bathroom before trudging off to bed, only taking time to make sure the front door was locked. There was a phone on the bedside table, but there was no way I was going to call Bethany at three in the morning, regardless of what she'd told me when I left her house two days prior.

"Call me whenever, okay? Let me know you're safe." Her eyes were large and dark and begged me to stay, even if she, herself, didn't say anything.

The blankets were scratchy but I was too exhausted to care. I could feel myself sinking down down down, feel consciousness slipping away.

I welcomed it wholeheartedly.

...

There was a tiny rhythmic sound in the stillness and silence and I was instantly awake. Time dragged on tortuously, slowing down to nothing. I held my breath and sat up, staring into darkness. The clock read three-fifteen.

It was tap-tap-tapping.

The curtains were pulled together almost completely, but there was a sliver of a gap between them that revealed her red, red satin and her white, white skin. She cocked her head to the side, wearing the same grin from the side of the road - a grin that would look perfectly normal on any other person, under any other circumstance.

The room began to spin and swirl and shimmer. I was sure my heart had stopped.

If I wasn't expecting the tapping, I certainly didn't expect the thud when her head struck against the window. She did it a second time as I reached for the phone and heard nothing but silence against the line - it wasn't working. Of course. I scrambled out of bed just as the glass gave way, shattering on impact as her head smashed against it for the third time.

Something slipped to the floor as she crawled through the opening, shards of glass crunching beneath her bare feet. Her head gleamed smooth against the neon glow from outside.

The room was black. The light switch was at the front door, which she was standing next to. My pulse pounded in my head. I felt like I was going to faint.

I moved without thinking when she raised her clenched fist in the air and opened her mouth to release a guttural, animalistic howl. I ran for the bathroom and slammed the door shut as she rushed forward. There was no lock. Pressing my weight against the door, I frantically looked for anything that might become a capable weapon.

Windowless. Featureless.

The door was fake wood and I knew it wouldn't hold long.

The shower sat directly across from the door. She was howling and pounding pounding pounding, the door shuddering in its frame. I waited for a break in the cycle. Raced for the shower. When I reached the curtain the door burst open and she marched in, growling like a rabid animal from behind clenched teeth. The curve of the knife caught the light as she brought it down hard from a wide arch. It slammed into my stomach as I rushed her, unable to get away but succeeding in knocking her down. She grabbed onto the shower curtain as she fell, the rings snapping.

She plunged forward, stabbing wildly, growling, grinning. In the harsh fluorescent light I saw her clearly for the first time as the knife dug into my body again. The top of her bald head was red with drying blood, streaks running down her face. There was nothing manic in her expression: she looked like she was posing for a picture. Jolly, even, as if she were about to burst into laughter.

When she finally rose from her crouching position, I slammed forward with as much power as I could muster and made a run for the doorway leading to the bedroom. Clutched at my wounds. A strange sensation of emptiness began to take hold as swiftly as I felt something slipping out and away. My hands did not shake as I reached to unlock the front door. She was growling, grinning, marching toward me in the dark.

I saw a bundle of bloody hair in the corner of the room as I fled out into the parking lot. The guy from the front desk stood just outside the door to the check-in, smoking a cigarette in wide-eyed horror. I grabbed his shoulder and pulled him into the office, barely awake and gasping for air around the blood rising in the back of my throat.

"Lock the door. She's trying to kill me."

Check-in Guy stuttered and stammered but did as told. It wouldn't hold her for long - it was a glass door with enormous windows on either side. He approached me, looking thoroughly terrified. I felt my body beginning to give up, but he caught me before I hit the ground and helped me into a nearby chair. It matched that godawful geometric-print wallpaper in that godawful room of mine - tacky and hideous and I couldn't help but laugh.

"N-n-now buddy, you just sit tight, I'm gonna get some help--"

"Call the police," I said. My voice sounded strange and distant. "Call the police."

"T-t-t-the police. That's right. That's right... I'm gonna call the police..."

He fumbled for the phone on the desk but froze with the receiver halfway to his ear. From the dark, back lit by the neon glow of the vacancy sign, she staggered to the door and held her face and both hands to the glass, no longer grinning but smiling gently.

She made eye contact with Check-in Guy, then her gaze drifted over to meet my own.

Blew me a kiss.

Smiled again.

Skipped off into the night, like a little girl going to play with her friends.

...

Bethany was there when I regained consciousness. The police were there, too.

They told me everything.

A woman returning home from a dinner party.

Her car had broken down, but she managed to get it off to the side of the road. It was so dark that night, black as pitch - you'd never see a car with its lights off if you weren't looking for it.

Someone escaped from prison the week before. I remembered hearing about that on the news after the police mentioned it. She'd been hiding just outside of town. Took to stalking the road at night, the area's history clearly not lost on her.

The two women ran into each other.

It was dark.

The woman from the dinner party had no chance.

After receiving the call from Check-in Guy, the police found her doing the waltz down the side of the road, growling, grinning.

She'd scalped her. Was wearing her skin and hair as a wig. Stole her dress, cut off her bra. Left her in the dark, where you'd never find her if you weren't looking for her.

She didn't resist when they arrested her.

I'll never be the same again. And despite what everybody keeps telling me, I'll never feel safe again, either.

If she broke out of a maximum security prison once, what, exactly, is going to stop her from doing it again? 