HORROR
Caroline Havens: At Work
I walked near the road. I should've taken the cash. I didn't have money, and the network had slowed down after night fell.
I don't feel well in this darkness. There were trees that weren't visible. I walked on the pathway, nearly screaming sometimes because of letterboxes, the electricity poles, banners, flickering lights.
They seemed like someone—men.
My mind was already going chills, my complexion pale. I didn't want to be kidnapped or pinned. Worse? I can imagine being torn. The gazes from the emptiness creeping over my skin.
I wanted to curl up, but I had to leave. The hands I can't deflect, the evil smirks—felt as if I was hallucinating more than ever.
I have to be faster. I didn't have any money, so I had to go alone. I felt like I'm being watched by nothing but everything. The nervousness, chills, heartbeats.
My steps echoing in the eerie. Would I be safe? How many openings are there to run?
Can I run in these heels? If I fall? I have to carry this bag… what if just one hand's short and I get caught?
This feels like dying every minute. Then there was light—I saw a flickering of roadside lights. The bench wasn't empty.
I slowed down. Should I turn back?
Do I have anything I can use as a weapon?
There was a man in a deep-black suit, his fingers locked under his chin. Ankles resting on his knees.
Is he waiting for someone? Or is he tired from his job? He seems really big. I could escape if I hit the vital points. I should just keep up my pace. It could be my worst decision ever.
But then something even more horrifying caught my eyes. The stick—golden and luxurious—resting near him.
It's the same one our manager told us about… the one he was beaten with.
Welver?
He's a big businessman. He might not do anything petty… he's dangerous, but I don't think he'd be interested in me.
I can ask him for the way? Can I? I shouldn't. If my question got on his nerves? He might overpower me with his long, luxurious stick.
As I got closer, his visual was even more complex.
I mustered up my courage, prayed to God, and spoke.
"Sir…" God, please—he didn't hear me. I can still get away. I started to walk past the bench, but—
"Wait."
Deep and scary voice. Am I done for? Can I get out alive? I should grab his stick before he can.
"What is it?" he asked, still staring at the ground. Is he one of those depressed types? Nihilist?
"I was just asking if…"
"…"
"If the route is safe?" I said it.
Will he stand up and say something like 'I am what you should avoid' and then pin me?
If he does that, I should stay calm—he might have some pity… or if he kills me? I haven't even lived my life yet.
I can already feel the scratching, bear-like nails tearing skin.
"Yes."
Huh? That's a miracle. A man that isn't being flirty or creepy? Minding his own business?
"Thanks!" I bowed a bit, still watching his feet. If he stands up, I'll throw sand in his eyes and—
He leaned down and looked in my eyes. Is it because I zoned out while bowing?
His lips had a scar, and his face was… I don't have time for that. But his eyes—deep red. I've never seen such.
Why isn't someone like him in here but that Verens… Ugh! I forget the name always.
"The route is clear. Take this if you need."
He threw a knife on the ground, but it was near his leg. If I tried to pick it up and he pinned me down? Such ugly tricks?
He might've understood my thinking and pushed the knife onto the road with his shoe and walked away in the opposite direction.
Shit! Did I lose my golden chance?
I should get going. And why the hell does he have a knife so casually?
I picked up the knife and went back into the abyss. I didn't want that moment to end. Now I'm back—fearing, trying to save my dignity while handling my cramps.
I pray to God—if only men could also get these.
Why punish us women?
With the knife hidden in my pocket, I fazed through the darkness. There was a metallic smell in the air I couldn't understand.
There was liquid on the ground, but I ignored it and walked past.
And finally reached my apartment. I opened the door, looking here and there to check if someone was following me or not. I slowly stepped in, listening for any sound.
I turned on the light and closed the door. Locked it.
Stuck the bell on the door, and a mousetrap on the first step. If anyone came in, his leg is dead.
The apartment owner knows about this, so only a stranger would bleed.
I closed all the windows and curtains. Stuck tape on the curtain edges and finally changed my clothes.
I called Manager Charles—he seemed to be on glucose.
Now I regret even thinking a little good about that Welver.
I finally slept.