step by step

black roars outside but within these windows, the seatbelt keeps me safe. 

every 10 minutes or so, headlights flare in the rearview mirror. the whoosh of wheels against pavement is comforting, but inside every light will be overwhelming. 

unforgiving. 

a commercial comes up on my phone, so i tear my eyes forward, away from the screen. 

the house is 12 paces away – 2 to get out of the car and shut the door, 7 to close the distance between vehicle and porch, then there are 2 stairs and it takes 1 more wide step to reach the large door. 12 steps between me and the little gray demons floating around at home. one hovers over the juice stain i left on the carpet recently. one roams around the living room where i fought with my sister and hit a little too hard. the one who appears the most distorted sits on the couch where my grandpa slumped when i made him cry. 

but my seatbelt is strapped on and i am secure in the passenger seat, so no gray shapes can come in with their empty, eerie eyes. 

headlights flare again, blinding me for half a second. white dots swim around my vision… they look like eyes. i blink fast, making them disappear and reappear and disappear and reappear. i tell myself that the outside world with those cars and stupid blobs covered in milky eyes that never stop staring can’t seep into my haven. my seatbelt is on. my seatbelt keeps me safe. 

the engine tapers off into some vast distance where perhaps the demons are birthed from and then silence settles in. silence except for the soft purr in my ears that sounds like murmuring. it seems to seize me and quivers under my flesh. 

step. 

my fingers freeze. 

drag. 

i ignore the scraping pavement and keep my focus on my phone. the strip of polyester hugs my shoulder. nothing outside can bother me here. seatbelt. on.

step, drag. two porch lights perch above the doorway and one hasn’t been able to turn on for a month. the remaining beam barely reaches the car hood. 

step. 

one more shine of headlights. i squint my eyes towards the rear view mirror.

drag. 

objects in mirror are closer than they appear. 

step. 

the reflection turns dark. 

drag. 

there’s a shape. 

step. 

it’s coming towards me. 

drag. 

i can’t focus on my phone anymore, so i rest my head against the passenger compartment, listening. each step is 1 heartbeat exactly. each drag takes almost 2 thumps. 

STEP. DRAG. it’s getting louder. my pulse beats faster. each step is 1 and a half beats, each drag closer to 3. 

STEP. drag. 

i peer through the window. the shape is diagonally in front of me now, making its way across the driveway, towards the front door. outlined in dim yellow, their neck circles from right to left. to their right is the tall, brown, wood furnished door with a single red chinese ornament hanging slightly off center. left is my car in the driveway and myself inside the car. i duck down and pray the red scares her off. it’s almost midnight and my body is just barely below the window. if she turns, if she walks – 7 steps from the porch to the car – if she peers in, she will see. 

the steps stop. i tap the phone screen gently. it turns on and i thank whatever entity is above that my lock screen is a dark color. my thumb swipes up and i try to punch in the 6-letter passcode.

my thumbs tremble and miss the numbers. 

BANG. 

i drop the phone. 

the echo quakes in the air surrounding me.

i count my heartbeats again. 1 thump. 2 thump. 3 thump, 4 thump. 

5 heartbeats pass and i only hear the steady thumps and my unsteady breathing. 

i inhale and peek up to see her with her knuckles against the main window. the window’s blinds are drawn so even i cannot tell whether the foyer lights are on. 

i remember the stories. they look for signs of people inside the house. they look for openings, and they break in. or they check the parked cars. they try the handle first to see which idiots leave their cars unlocked and if the doors don’t budge, they smash. 

i wasn’t planning to stay here overnight. just for a few hours. just to feel safe in my seatbelt away from the bitter house and its noisy inhabitants 12 steps away, and secluded from the roaring universe surrounding it. 

she’s still at the window. 12 steps away. if i unbuckle and open the door and run – another drag. 

it’s slow, this time. it spans 4 heartbeats. 

i reach to unbuckle. feel the button. i can’t see, but i know the button is red. click. 

i untangle my arm from the strip. it slides into the retractor smoothly. quietly. i press both hands against the seat. she still hasn’t made another sound yet. my leg muscles flex. my lips purse together. she’s still at the window. 

my right hand finds the door handle. i’ll pull it. my left hand and my feet will push off. i’ll jump and i’ll run. i’ll sprint into the street. 

i can escape. 

my right hand closes around the handle and – 

step drag. 

my head snaps up. 

she’s no longer at the window.

step drag. 

the shadow grows taller. 

my right fist releases. 

STEP. 

she’s only 7 steps away. i don’t have time to run now. 

and the seatbelt is off. i took the seatbelt off. i’m no longer safe. 

DRAG. 

i bundle my fear up and tighten my core to hold it in. i feel its weight weakening my muscles as i hide, head between my legs. if my head is not visible then i do not exist, and if i don’t exist then i won’t be hurt. i fumble to pick up my phone from the floor but i close my fists around air. i can’t find it. i can’t call anyone for help. 

STEP. 

i give up searching and place one hand over my mouth and the other above my head. they told us to cover our heads in an earthquake to protect our skulls. i do it now to protect my soul. my eyes are shut. i feel my heartbeat thudding and pray that my family can hear the sos rhythm of the beats. 12 steps for them to come rescue me. 

DRAG. 

i bite my fingers hard as if i could transfer my fear to flesh. that way i don’t scream. try to stay still but panic rocks me back and forth. i feel the car wobble on its wheels and wonder if my teeth are making my hand bleed and how little some blood on my hand matters compared to what they may do to me. 

compared to what i have done. 

step. 

3 steps left. please let my family hear my silent prayers, even though they didn’t react to the bang. please come out and help me. 

draggg.

wait. 

this rhythm is wrong. 

step. 

irregular steps. 

draggggg. 

irregular eyes. 

empty eerie eyes that are always staring – 

knock. 

the sound is hollow against the windowpane. 

it vibrates through my skull. 

i press my feet to the floor and my chest to my legs. i am not safe and she’s here, she’s found me, she knows SHE KNOWS – 

roaring black outside. i want the black to come in now, to blanket me in darkness, darkness to hide myself from her and from what i’ve done. tears pool on my eyelashes and one rolls down my face. i think it lands on the floor. it doesn’t make a sound. 

my sister’s fall didn’t make a sound, either. 

cranberry juice stain on the carpet. large brown spot in the middle of the living room, small splatters painted around it. 

she shoved me first. i pushed back. she’s so skinny. did i push too hard? 

grandpa screaming. his voice brittle, cracking around the edges. he hadn’t raised his voice in 12 years. he never raised his voice again. 

grandpa on the couch, head in his hands. body trembling. 

hands on his chest. body collapsing. 

chest still. body unmoving. 

metallic taste on my tongue. there’s blood filling my mouth and there’s still blood under my nails.

no one is inside the house. i don’t have any family left. 

cool air slams against me. 

i squeeze my eyes shut but don’t see the photos of my life’s camera roll scrolling by – instead, i see juice and screaming and two pale bodies. i blink and it blurs away, i blink and it clears up to a standing silhouette and arms spread open and a million empty, eerie eyes. i blink but they don’t blink back and i try to blink again but my eyelids don’t close this time. 

the arms spread even wider. the arms are covered in eyes – 

they wrap around me and i grin as my eyelid-less eyes scream.