Page 19 of When Darkness Calls

He walks over kissing her on the cheek and asking about the abundance of prizes she’s won.

“Sooo…Where’s your friend then?” I ask looking around again for anyone I might recognize that I’ve seen him talking to over the years.

“He’s in line at another food vendor. We just got here like ten minutes ago and neither of us has eaten since lunch, so we split up. I’m getting drinks, he’s getting food.”

“Yeah, that’s smart. We’ve been standing here for a little while. The lines were nothing like this when we got here a few hours ago.” Liz sways back and forth as she speaks. I can tell from the way she shifts her weight that she’s getting tired of waiting. The girl has zero patience.

“Hey, since Issac’s here, I’m gonna find a bathroom. Don’t worry about getting me anything, I’d rather get a lemonade in a bit. I’ll be back in a second.” Liz nods and Issac mutters a “be careful” before they both turn to the big ass menu of flavors and cup choices. I snort. Knowing her I’ll come back, and she’ll have picked something with ten different syrup flavors in a cup that’s practically impossible to use.

Pushing my way through the crowd was just as I had expected, twenty minutes to walk ten feet. It doesn’t help there are no signs directing you to open bathrooms either. Despite how unsafe the place looked, I would be lying if I said it hadn’t been fun. My best friend had been acting like her old self again, and that alone was enough for me to say the night was a win. Coupled with the neon lights, screams of laughter, cheesy music, and the delicious smells from the food trucks in the north parking lot, I would even say I was enjoying myself. Maybe even better than American Horror Story, pantsless, and eating Browniezillas plan, but I’ll never admit it out loud.

To my left, through an open gap between a ring toss booth and one of those dart-balloon-throwing things, I made my way to the backside of the festival. You know the place where all the vendors hook up to power and the trash gets piled fifteen feet high and the workers use it to avoid the traffic of the crowds.

“What are you doing back here?”

I turn to the voice coming from behind the ring toss booth. It was a man. Most likely middle aged, with a full gray beard, wearing a gray shirt that has “security” in bold yellow letters, and a dark jacket with the name Cain stitched on the pocket.

“Hello! I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be lurking around. I’m just looking for a bathroom?” My smile is apologetic, and he seems to soften a bit.

“I gotcha. You’re just short of it actually. It’s a few aisles down.” He points a thick finger behind me. Between the stalls, gaps of light from the festival shine in the alley, highlighting each of the aisles he mentioned. “Right by the exit, but you have to leave the park. It’s in the south parking lot. But if you go back out this way,” he motions to the space I had walked through, “and head toward the entrance, it’s right between the ride park and food trucks.”

“Awesome. Thank you, sir! Have a great evening!”

“You, too, honey. Be careful in these alleys and such, though. There’s a lot of us around here keeping an eye on things, but dark places still ain’t very safe.” His tone is solemn. Almost like he is upset that he can’t promise me the safety his job warrants.

“It’s alright, sir. I understand. Thank you.”

He sent me a small wave and turned walking back up the alley. The security guard’s warning, although a little ominous, kind of opened my eyes. He was right. In all the loud commotion and laughter, I had completely forgotten just how unsafe it truly was here, not just the sketchy ass rides.

Almost a year ago, I had been wandering around in the dark, alone, just like I am right now, and I had been assaulted, almost raped. In a fucking kid’s playground, for God’s sake. Some city sanctioned celebration wasn’t going to stop creepy assholes from doing whatever the hell they wanted.

Ashwood County may be a nice place to grow up because of all the fun things the towns do, but it didn’t change the fact that underneath all the cheery smiles, sweet treats, and colorful banners there’s darkness.

With cautious steps, and a glance over my shoulder every few feet, I make my way around the back of the festival toward the south parking lot. It is getting kind of late anyways, if Liz had gotten her slushie(s), she’d most likely want to leave. I definitely wasn’t helping her carry all the oversized shit she had collected through the evening.

The alley begins to curve as the booths form the circle enclosing the festival within the park. The blind spots aren’t helping my fear in the slightest. It’s not the dark I feared, but the real monsters that may lie inside.

As I come to the edge of the dumpsters lining the back, that icy chill I had felt at home and lately on campus creeps into my bones. The small hairs on my neck and arms rise. A sharp inhale cuts through the muted noise of the alley. My head swivels in every direction to find the eyes that are staring back at me, but the dark casts too many shadows. Too many places one could hide. I was right in between two of the aisles, no matter which direction I walked, the distance to reach the crowd again was close to thirty yards. Whoever was there would catch me by then.

I put my head down, increasing my pace, watching from my peripheral for any sign of movement, or shadows by my feet. My ears strained to hear a thudding footfall or a labored breath. Nothing. But the cold only grew, filtering through my veins reaching every point inside me. My stomach churned.

God, now I really have to pee.

Just as I was approaching the next aisle, a firm hand whipped out, covering my mouth, squeezing my nostrils between the thumb and the side of their forefinger. The other hand wrapped around my waist, pulling me around the wall of dumpsters.

God, no please. Not again. Please, no.

This guy was tallish. His touch was just as icy as the feeling that had been following me, if not more. It was almost the physical presence of that stare gripping, squeezing, tearing at me. There was one of those masks on his face that all the bad guys in movies wear. The one where their eyes and mouth aren’t covered by the thick fabric, but then you’re left with nothing to identify them, especially in a poorly lit alley.

His breath blew hot across my skin, thick in his disgusting lust, rancid from his intentions. Intention I could feel poking me hard in the stomach, churning the anxious waves into tsunamis of revolting realization. There was no one here this time.

The first time was a complete fluke. It was late as fuck and the park was completely empty. It was luck and sheer luck alone that the guy in the white mask had been walking around.

Now, though. Even if I could scream loud enough to break through the middle of this man’s hand, it would only blend into the cacophony of joyous screams and laughter from the oblivious crowd.

The fear seized every muscle. My breaths grew ragged. By blocking my nose, and holding my mouth, the guy had almost effectively restricted any air that would fill my lungs. My cries grew more faint with each gasping breath. Soon the only noise in the space between the man and me was the whooshing of air sucked between the thin spaces of his fingers covering my lips.

The man leaned closer, the putrid scent of his hot breath wafting across my cheek. His smell was so strong. It was cheap, slicked with sweat, and something acrid like vinegar. He smelled like the inside of a sleazy strip club. Crude. Perverted.