Don’t Stare

Four minutes until midnight. My watch, illuminated by the small flicker of candle flames and the dim, blue overhead lights, counts the seconds until the next minute ticks over. The air is heavy with alcohol, sweat, hope, and desperation. I slide off the stool at the tall table I occupy with my three friends, and beeline outside while they're too busy chatting up the next table over. The door closes behind me and mutes the din of chatter, clinking of drinking glasses, laughter.

Finally. A moment to breathe. I puff out a breath, the steam wafts up and disappears. So tired. My shoulders sag, even in the chill of the winter night. My eyes ache, begging to close. My mind wants to drift off into oblivion.

I move to the railing of the patio area, the tables and chairs put away for the winter. An inch of snow, hiding ice, covers the ground. I lean onto the railing, the cold of the metal seeping through my jacket sleeves and into my forearms.

Footsteps with the crunch of cleats on the snow packed road maneuver through the parking lot, quiet voices moving along with them. A couple emerges from the dark and tromp up the path. The sounds of cheer ring out through the doorway when they enter. The world is dropped into silence as soon as it shuts.

I blink hard, fighting the sleep building like sandpaper on my eyelids. I scan the parking lot for my friend's vehicle. She drove, but I'll be the one driving us all home tonight. I'm tempted to leave now, catch some Z's. A movement catches my gaze and I glance, only to do a double take. My heart jumps up into my throat.

At the edge of the lot, shrouded in darkness stands a figure. Tall, lanky. Head hunched down, and arms reaching down past its knees.

"Don't ssstare..." A whisper hisses across the lot, swirling around my head.

I'm not, I want to say back, but I am staring. I can't peel my eyes away. My sandpaper eyelids widen, as if trying to let in more light in order to make the figure defined.

Look away. Look. Away.

I pivot on my heel. My foot slides. I grab for the railing as I slip toward the ground. Pain shoots up my arm when my elbow connects with the metal, but I've stopped myself from hitting the ground and cracking my head open.

I laugh at my stupidity. Standing on ice while I'm dead tired. I gingerly rub my arm, glancing back toward the bar. My friends shouldn't be too many drinks in, I could maybe convince one of them to—

The figure stands in the shadow of the bar, just outside the blue light seeping out the windows. My eyes lock onto it. Its head twitches to the side.

"You're ssstaring..."

I shake my head no, but I am unable to turn away from the figure. My mouth bobs open, my breath steams up my vision, breaking the trance. I blink hard and start for the door of the bar. My watch beeps. With a glance, it shows that it's midnight. The roars from inside the bar penetrate through the semi noise proof doors.

"Happy New Year!" I translate the screams of excitement. Another year of people saying it's going to be their year and not put in to work for it to be.

"I am people," I murmur, shaking my head at my own cynicism.

"Didn't your mother..." The voice whispers, drawing the warmth from my flesh.

Despite myself, I spin toward the voice. The figure stands in the middle of the road, head held at an awkward angle. Long fingers twitching on elongated arms, blending with the dark forest of trees silhouetted against a snow landscape beyond it.

"Ever tell you," it continues. "Not to ssstare." The whisper is in my ear, a chill frosting my cheek.

Ever so slowly, I peel my eyes to the side. My heart ramming in my chest. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Nothing. No one is here standing next to me.

I press a shaky hand to my cheek where the cold breath had been. The road is empty of the figure.

Go inside, I tell myself, Get them to take you home.

But if it's not in the road, where is it? My mind argues with me.

The heart attack builds again, along with my blood screaming in my ears.

"There you are!" The chipper voice has me jumping out of my skin. "It's freezing out here, come inside."

I try to laugh it off, the chill still seeps into my cheek, and I turn to greet my friend only to stop midway. The figure stands five, four feet away. In the shadow of a light post. My stupid, tired, dry, sandpaper eyes lock onto it. The chill of its words is again on my cheek, my ear, my face, my body.

"Don't ssstare."