They Walk Among Us

Jump was the only word I had left.

From the edge of the windowsill, I gaze down at the pool, its surface just beginning to freeze over. The ice cracking like it was listening to me.

It's too far.

Jump before it's too late.

I push off the window. My hands leave the sill, but just as my feet break from the edge, something grazes my back.

I fall.

It feels endless, surreal as I plummet, seeing the pool come closer and closer. I gasp at the initial touch. My heart starts beating faster than it already was.

I try to hold my breath but almost instantly suck in a mouthful. I struggle to reach the surface. The water feels heavier, thicker, as I flail my limbs. My eyelids grow heavy; I'm so tired.

Just before I pass out, I catch a glimpse of a dark figure in the second-floor window I leaped from.

Then, flashing red and blue lights—I’ve never seen something so beautiful—approach.

The figure disappears into the dark.

Help me, please.



---



Laughter. That godforsaken laugh.

I watch his bright emerald eyes darken with a sinister gleam. A sharp glint flickers in their depths, like sludge seeping into a crystal-clear lake.

We are watching American Psycho—his favorite movie—in his basement. He puts his fingers to my chin and guides my lips to his.

I smile. It’s my first kiss.

But the smile quickly fades away as he starts removing my blue skinny jeans from my body.

I’m not ready. Not now.

A slow, eerie smile tugs at his lips. I notice his gaze transform—predatory, cold, and laced with cruel intent.

"Stop."

I grab his hand. He doesn’t listen.

My heart rises to my throat. I push his hands away.

My face turns hot.

He hit me.

I squirm, fight, kick—kick harder. My eyes catch a glimpse of a knife as he presses it to my neck.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

Fighting is no longer worth it.

I lay there like a corpse, rotting from the inside out.





---



Tears and mascara run down my face as I look at myself in the mirror.

My dark-stained pants lay on the floor behind me. My hair is plastered to my forehead in sweat and blood.

My cheeks, thighs, arms, stomach—sliced like meat. Like me. A slab of choice cut, exotic and tempting to the point of these men practically drooling. 

I wipe my hoodie's sleeve on my nose. I clean up my face and gather my thoughts. Grabbing myself popcorn is a welcome excuse to spend any extra time I can away from that room.

I can’t get the image of his eyes out of my head—an emerald to what was pitch, soulless black.

I didn't do anything to him. Something just snapped.

I walk back to the couch, confident yet scared.

I thought his eyes would be back to his normal forest green.

They weren’t.

They showed no emotion now. But intent still lingered.

The popcorn drops when I see something gleam in the dark. Right where his hand was.

He isn't finished with me.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he snaps. He sees how afraid I am, and his demeanor changes. His lips turn to a predatory smirk. "You're afraid."

"Nothing, It was fine—I'm fine," I correct myself. Please believe me.

Something reflects in the light of the television.

"What’s—" I swallow hard. "What’s in your hand?"

The knife.

"It’s nothing. Clean up your mess," he snaps.

"I have to go to the bathroom."

His smirk quickly fades to anger as I step over the popcorn, avoiding his hand reaching for mine.

I find my way to the bathroom. His stare follows me.

Everything seems so much darker now. Colder. Like a dark rain cloud on a moonless night. Like when the forest goes silent when a predator is near.

My fingers shake as I push the three buttons on my phone while I lock the door.

An immediate bang makes me jump.

I quickly tell them my address, but I don’t hang up.

"What’s taking so long?" he barks.

"I just got my period."

I look for an escape route. I spot the window. I won’t be able to climb through in time. It’s small. Badly painted. A cheap fix by an even cheaper landlord.

I have to think quickly. My anxiety catches up with reality as I grab the back of the toilet lid. I watch my hands start shaking as he busts down the door. I close my eyes and swing. Something hard. A thud. He falls to the floor.

Moving swiftly over his body, I dodge his hand reaching for my ankle.

I run upstairs from the basement, my heart racing as I sprint for the front door.

I pull on it. It opens—but a hand stops it from opening fully.

I gulp, my breath shaky. "Please," I whisper.

He mutters my name. "You won’t escape," he chuckles. "Pathetic."

I dare not turn around. Instead, he swings at me, hitting me in the head.

I fall to the floor.

"Please," I beg, "why are you doing this?" I feel dizzy.

He remains silent. Instead, he puts two fingers on my chin and forces me to look in his direction.

"You’re mine," he whispers, pushing my head away. Hitting it off the closed-and now locked door.

Pain shoots through my skull.

It takes all my energy, but I turn on my side and kick him as hard as possible in the knee.

I get up and run.

His hand grazes my shirt as I trip up the stairs to the closest escape route. His room.

I lock the door.

My hands go to my hair. My fingertips are wet. It’s dark, but I know.

Blood. Shit.

I look out the window. Without hesitation, I crawl out, sitting on the edge and staring down at the pool. A thin layer of ice creeps across the surface, fracturing slightly as the wind ripples the water beneath it.

A loud bang. The door slams behind me.

"Effie, don’t you dare!" His voice is laced with something evil.

I look back at the silhouette. I don’t hesitate—there’s no time. I suck in a breath.

And jump.





---



The world stands still as I plummet. The thin ice shatters around me as I break the water’s surface. The shock hits like a punch to the gut. My lungs seize. Every nerve screams in protest.

I flail my arms, trying to reach the surface. The water feels heavy. Thick. The ice gleams like glass from the glow of a nearby streetlight.

I fight to the surface.

Looking up through the water, a hazy silhouette of a man stands at the window.

He’s there. At the window’s edge, staring down at me.

His anger surges through me. For a moment, neither of us moves.

Then the shadow vanishes. He’s coming.

I try to reach the pool's edge, but my body feels weak—stiff. The cold is stealing everything from me—my thoughts, my strength, my ability to move.

I don’t make it. Two strong hands grip my arms.

I thrash, panicking—until a voice breaks through.

"Hey, you're okay. You're safe." It’s someone else.

The world tilts as I’m yanked from the water, my body flopping onto the frozen cement like a fish torn from the sea.

Voices swirl. Someone shakes me gently, their voice muffled as I fade in and out.

Cold metal touches my collarbone.

I stop breathing—then release it when I realize it's fabric scissors. They cut my wet clothes off. Heat packs are pressed against my torso and under my arms as they quickly wrap me in blankets.

"Stay with us," an urgent voice says. It sounds distant.

They check my pulse for the hundredth time.

I’m lifted onto a board—a stretcher—and wheeled toward the flashing lights. Something is placed over my face. Warm oxygen fills my lungs.

A prick—A needle. An IV of warm liquid flows into my veins. My body shakes violently, my heart palpitating—but I start to finally feel warm. Too warm.

I need to get these blankets off.

I finally stopped shaking.

I'm okay now.

But deep down, one question prods my mind—

Did I escape?



---



"I'm so hot."

"Her core temp is dropping," a voice says. "Keep those fluids going."

"BP is unstable," another voice responds.

But I’m okay. I’m warm.

He is coming. I try to say it, but all I do is groan.

The ambulance doors burst open.

Blinding lights. Frantic movement.

"Severe hypothermia," a paramedic states. "Possible near drowning. Lacerations to the chest, stomach, arms, and thighs. Bleeding is controlled."

"Core temp?" someone else asks.

"29 degrees and dropping. She stopped shivering."

"We need to get her core temperature back up slowly. Keep that IV going. Head to trauma room six."

"I'm so hot," I slur, starting to black out.

"We know. Stay with us."

Stay.

I want to, but my exhaustion is so strong, lulling me into a deep haze.

Something hums—a machine—a release of warm air covers me.

My throat burns.

Everything hurts. My sensations are coming back.

"Easy. You're going to be alright."

"She's stabilizing," says someone to my left.

I finally let go. I let exhaustion encapsulate me.

But a thought lingers in the back of my mind—

What if he finds me here?