Don't Scream 2 Page 16

  I yelped in surprise. The car swerved madly all over the road; cacti and endless hills of sand flashed in the headlights. "Who's there?!" I screamed.

  "You know who I am, Rebecca."

  The voice was familiar. I hadn't heard it in several years. I'd tried to scrub it from my memory entirely. Along with every other memory of him.

  "Alex?"

  The voice laughed behind me, almost in my ear. "Did you miss me?" he said, coolly.

  I glanced at the rearview mirror again. Empty.

  "You're not real."

  "I'm talking to you, aren't I?"

  "You're dead," I stuttered.

  "Correction. I killed myself, after you broke up with me," the voice answered behind me. "But you don't like to hear that, do you?"

  I drove in silence, knuckles white against the steering wheel. I tried to focus on the passing cacti. Saguaro rose up on either side, reaching up to the moon with their needled arms. Like men begging for their prayers to be answered.

  "I didn't... I never wanted you to die," I said into the silence. "I just didn't want to be with you anymore. I didn't mean—"

  "You should've known what that would do. I told you I couldn't live without you."

  "But—"

  "You said you wanted to marry me. To be my wife."

  "I was seventeen!" I screamed, tears burning my eyes. "I had no idea what I wanted! And that was before—before—"

  "Before what?"

  Before the night at the lake house. Before I got drunk for the very first time. Before I felt your hands climbing up my legs. Before I stared blankly at the ugly light fixture on the ceiling, spinning around and around, unsure what exactly was happening.

  "Before you took what was mine."

  A beat of silence. The wind roared in my ears, the tires rolled furiously across the road.

  Then, he growled in my ear: "You liked it."

  "No, I didn't!" I screamed. "And if—if I hadn't been drinking—I would have forced you away, and—"

  I stopped.

  Something wet and warm trailed up the side of my neck. His tongue.

  I whipped around in my seat.

  It was empty.

  I took in a deep, shuddering breath. Kept my eyes locked on the road in front of me, the desert hills, the cacti, the red rocks. "You have no control over me, anymore," I said quietly. "I won't listen to your lies. Back then, I was young and stupid. I'm not anymore. I'm about to get married."

  "You think your husband-to-be is any different from me?" His voice came out low and soft—now directly behind me. "We're all the same underneath, Rebecca."

  I felt his hands press into the back of the seat, against the small of my back. I leaned forward, heart pounding in my chest.

  "No. He's different."

  "Do you really believe that?"

  I glanced into the rearview mirror. My heart plummeted. This time, there was a silhouette in the shadows. Blocking out the stars through the back window.

  "Yes. I do," I said, my voice trembling. "He would never do what you did to me. He's a good man."

  "You thought I was a good man once, too."

  My blood turned to ice. That was true. Once I thought the world of Alex, and my entire world revolved around him. But I was young and stupid then. "He's a good man," I repeated.

  A soft laugh from the backseat.

  "We're all the same, Rebecca. So why not be with me? You loved me, didn't you?"

  "No—I—"

  "We were meant to be together, forever."

  Cold fingers crept over my shoulders, then down my arms. I felt them interlock with my fingers, even though I couldn't see anything.

  "And now we will be."

  He tugged at my hands.

  The steering wheel slipped.

  The car swerved. Then it careened off the road, flying over rocks and sand. I screamed. I stomped on the break, and the car spun, kicking up sand.

  "Stop!" I screamed.

  The car halted to a stop. My whole body jerked forward. My head smacked against the steering wheel. Pain flooded my head.

  Then: silence.

  With a gasping breath, I pulled myself up. I didn't look in the back seat. Instead, I put the pedal to the floor, raced over the sand, and turned back onto the road.

  I expected his voice to start up again—but there was only silence.

  For several minutes, I kept my eyes locked on the road, praying the silence would continue. When it did, I gathered the courage to glance in the rearview mirror.

  The back seat was empty.

  And through the window, the first light of dawn was breaking across the horizon. Streaks of orange and pink, framed by the golden sand that stretched out in every direction. The darkness receded, giving way to fire, to light, to day.

  Tomorrow, I would be married.

  And I was finally ready.

  FIT RUNNING BUDDY

  I got a new fitness app.

  I'm in terrible shape. I run, like, 12-minute miles. Thankfully, this new app—"FitRunningBuddy"—claims to turn even the laziest of couch potatoes into fast runners. They even had a guarantee: If you don't run an 8-minute mile in your first month, get your money back!

  When I downloaded it, it asked for all the usual info. Name, height, weight. Access to my location so that it could log my distance, calculate my speed. Then it popped up with its first notification:

  Please schedule your first run! :)

  I typed 8 PM Wednesday. I'd do an evening run after work to burn off some of my dinner calories.

  Thank you! We've scheduled your run. :)

  When Wednesday came, the app gave me notifications throughout the day. At 4 PM: remember, Bethany, your run is tonight at 8 PM!

  I dismissed the notification.

  But I got another one at 5 PM. And at 6 PM. In fact, I got one every hour—until 7:30 PM, when they came in every five minutes. Ping! Are you ready for your run? Ping! Get pumped! Your run starts in fifteen minutes! :)

  At that point, I was pretty annoyed. But then, I laughed, as I realized—that's probably why the app is so damn effective. Even the worst of us will get so irritated by the constant notifications, we'll go running just to shut the damn thing up.

  At 7:55 PM, I pulled my old sneakers out of the closet. Then I put on my favorite playlist, put in my earbuds, and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

  I ran down my street, took a left, and entered the park. It's usually desolate in the evening—but, tonight, there was a man sitting on the bench. He looked up at me and smiled.

  I forced a smile back—despite feeling awfully self-conscious about how slow I was going, how heavy I was breathing.

  The first few minutes of the run went well. I'd made it halfway around the pond, and I didn't quite feel like dying yet. That was good. Really good.

  Then I got that prickly feeling on the back of my neck.

  You know the feeling. It's like every muscle, every cell, in your body is screaming someone is watching you! Turn around, you idiot! Yeah, well, I was an idiot this time—and ignored it. Because every cell in my body was also screaming stop and sit down. Walk home. Eat some ice cream. You earned it.

  Then, seconds later, I heard a distinct thump behind me.

  I yanked out my earbuds and whipped around.

  My heart stopped.

  A man stood behind me. The same man that had smiled at me on the bench. Now, he watched me with a different smile. A predatory, wolfish smile. Eyes taking in every inch of my body.

  Heart pounding, I picked up my pace.

  So did he.

  He broke into a run. And he was fast. In seconds, he'd closed half the gap between us.

  I broke into a sprint, my tired legs pumping as fast as they could. No. No. Please, no. I whipped around—the man was only several feet from me, now.

  And something silver glinted in his right hand.

  "Get away from me!" I screamed, pushing myself faster. My legs ached, my lungs burned, my vision blurred with tears. I f
elt like I was dying.

  I glanced back.

  He's right behind me.

  I could feel his hot breath on his neck. Feel the air shift from his movements behind me.

  No. Please, no, no.

  I saw the exit to the park up ahead. Skin prickling, fire spreading through my muscles, I forced myself forward.

  Something cold and sharp pressed against my back.

  I screamed.

  Then, as soon as I felt it—it disappeared. I ran like the wind, stumbling over my feet, until I flew through the park's exit. Then I glanced back.

  The man had stopped. He just stood there, on the sidewalk. No longer chasing. Just watching.

  At that exact moment, my phone pinged.

  With a notification from FitRunningBuddy.

  Congratulations! Your time for running your mile is: 7:47. We hope you enjoyed the experience! :)

  Please schedule your next run now.

  FIGURE OF SPEECH

  It all started on a Wednesday.

  I was getting ready for work downstairs, trying to brush the huge tangle out of my hair. "Hey, David? I'll pick up your suit on the way home!" I shouted up the stairs.

  "Oh, you don't have to!” David shouted back.

  "The dry cleaner's right on the way. Kill two birds with one stone." With that, I yanked the brush through my hair, grabbed my purse, and stepped out the door.

  I froze.

  In the middle of the sidewalk were two dead birds. Gray feathers matted with blood. Mouths open. Eyes staring blankly at the sky.

  Several inches from their heads was a large rock.

  "David?" I called up the stairs. "There are some dead birds out here! Can you come get them?"

  It was a big ask. But I was getting his suit, so we were even.

  Probably.

  David shuffled out, carrying a plastic bag. Turning it inside-out, he crouched and picked up the birds. "They flew into the window again, huh?" he asked.

  I glanced at the rock. It had a small patch of blood on it—and a gray feather. "I think they hit the rock, actually."

  "I'll never understand birds. Smart enough to migrate hundreds of miles, but dumb enough to fly right into glass. Or a rock." He shook his head. "Birds are weird, aren't they?"

  "Ha, you can say that again."

  The instant I said it, his face went completely slack. His eyes lost focus. The bag slipped from his hands. And he repeated, in monotone: "I'll never understand birds. Smart enough to migrate hundreds of miles, but dumb enough to fly right into glass. Or a—"

  "David. I heard you the first time."

  "Oh, I know!" he said cheerily. As if he weren't acting like a total weirdo. Then he looked down, finally noticing he dropped the bag. "Whoops, dropped it."

  He picked up the birds and disappeared back inside.

  I didn't make the connection right away. With this whole bird fiasco, I was late for work, now. A hundred students would be waiting for me to teach them MECH 203: Introduction to Robotics. Probably hungover students who were also late, but still.

  I ran down the halls of the engineering building. When I got inside, most of my class was there. The lecture got off to a rocky start, but wasn’t a disaster. "Remember, problem set 6 is due on Friday!” I said, as the students filed out. “And office hours start now."

  Class dismissed. I made my way to my office, sat down, and began peeling an orange.

  "Professor Sandling?"

  I looked up to see Evan McDonnell enter my office. The worst student in my entire class. "Hi, Evan," I said, barely able to conceal my disdain.

  He handed me a stack of paper.

  "What's this?"

  "Problem set 5."

  I raised an eyebrow. "This was due a week ago."

  "I told you, I needed extra time. I'm the event planner for our fraternity and we had a huge thing last week. I emailed you about an extension—"

  "That I didn't grant!"

  "Please, Professor Sandling?"

  "No. You're too late."

  "But—I need to pass this class. I promise I'll get everything else in on time. It won't happen again. I promise."

  I hesitated. This guy was a total goof off, but he seemed earnest this time. Some kids were only pushed into action when the threat of failure loomed over their heads. "You can do an extra credit assignment. Due two days from now."

  "Oh, no, I can't hand in something that soon. I—"

  "Oh, come on! Put your money where your mouth is!"

  His eyes widened.

  Then he began to retch. Violently. Choking, coughing sounds filled the room. His body convulsed madly.

  "Evan! Are you okay?!"

  He didn't reply. The chair slid out from under him—he bent over on the tiled floor—retching, shaking.

  "I'm—I'm going to call 911," I said. I grabbed my phone and started dialing as he convulsed on the floor.

  "What is your emergency?"

  "One of my students just started coughing and retching, and he's collapsed on the floor. And—"

  Plink.

  Something shot out of his mouth and hit the floor.

  A penny.

  We both stared at it. He looked at me, shuddering, his face pale.

  "Are you okay?"

  "Yeah, I think so," he replied, his voice hoarse. "I'm... I'm going to go back to my dorm."

  Then he was gone.

  I stared at the penny, every muscle in my body frozen. Put your money where your mouth is. You can say that again. Kill two birds with one stone.

  All of them, within seconds, came true.

  I opened my mouth. Heart pounding in my chest, I said, hesitantly:

  "Time flies... when you're... having fun?"

  In the blink of an eye, the windows behind me darkened.

  I whipped around. It was night outside. Complete with twinkling stars and a full moon. When it had been morning seconds before.

  I glanced at my phone.

  1:17 AM

  13 missed calls

  “What the hell?”

  I ran out to the parking lot as fast as my feet would take me. "David, I'm so sorry," I said into the phone, as I started the car. “I was helping a student and I—I didn’t realize how much time had gone by.”

  When I got in the door, David hugged me and wouldn't let go. "I thought something terrible had happened to you," he said, nearly crying with happiness. "When you didn't come home... I..."

  "I'm so, so sorry. I had a meeting with a student, and then I started grading exams, and I didn't realize it had gotten so late."

  A flimsy excuse. But David was so happy to see me, he didn't ask any questions. He just held me tight and wouldn't let go.

  Days passed. I tried to forget about my little problem. I chose my words carefully, and I didn't have any disasters. The worst was when I told David I was feeling under the weather, and suddenly a horrible tempest blew in, raining down on our little house.

  Then Thursday came. This was a special class for MECH 203—I was bringing in an actual robot. I couldn't wait to see the looks on their faces when I showed them how the robot could climb stairs.

  "This robot is only six-inches high," I said, as hundreds of eyes stared back at me. "But with clever engineering, it will climb these stairs." I placed the robot at the base of the stairs leading back up through the lecture hall. My finger poised on the button, I said proudly to the class:

  "This'll blow your mind!"

  I clapped my hand over my mouth.

  But it was too late.

  READ MORE SCARY TALES AT

  www.blair-daniels.com

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  Blair Daniels, Don't Scream 2