The Abandoned Arcade

By Greg Meyer

If you are the type of thrill seeker who isn’t afraid to put more than money on the line, there is a place you can go that will change your life forever. In the downtown of Chicago, there is an arcade forgotten by time. You won’t see it during the day, as in its place is a large dirt field with chain-link fence. You can only see this place once the sun starts to set over the horizon. Graffiti and decades old posters for movies cover the dilapidated brick building. The chain on the doorway gives the illusion that it’s locked, but this is to prevent people who don’t belong from getting inside on accident. You should be able to slip in without any issues.

            Once inside, you must make your way to the front counter. The arcade will appear run down, with arcade games and pinball machines that all date before the mid 80’s. The smell of decay and stale smoke will hang over the place like fog. Go immediately to the front counter and wait, don’t go into the arcade floor just yet. You haven’t paid your entrance fee, and you’re not welcome until you do. As you wait, don’t stare too long in the blackness of the arcade, or you’ll start to see shadows moving. Ignore them, or they might take your courage to play.

Eventually, the Attendant will open the door of his office and shuffle to the counter. He’s an older gentleman, wearing a red striped shirt and bowtie. He will request payment for you to play in the arcade. You must bring with you an object that holds special meaning to you. This is a cherished item, like a photograph of a loved one or a favorite toy. You’ll know the right one, because the moment you think it you’ll try to pick something else, so you won’t have to give it up. Before you give The Attendant your payment, understand this: This is your last chance to escape the arcade without doing the task. Should you feel like you are unprepared, do not have the necessary skill, or care too much for your life to continue, leave the arcade without paying and don’t turn back. If you leave after giving your payment, you won’t make it to the entrance before the lurking shadows catch and drag you into the darkness, never to be seen again.

Hand The Attendant your prized possession and he will judge to see if the item is worthy. If you brought the wrong item, he will declare that your payment is insufficient and kick you out. You will find yourself back in the dirt field, never to see the arcade again.. If you brought the correct item, The Attendant will take the item and state that you are welcome to play. He will take the item for himself, and then hand you a brass token, good for one game in the arcade. Do not lose this token, as you’re literally holding your very life in your hands. He will then ask you to hold out your right hand. Do it, and he will stamp it with the number “3”.

At this point, you’ll faintly hear the bleeps and bloops of the arcade machines, and the rattling of pinballs hitting pop bumpers flippers. The Attendant will call you forward and tell you that you’re free to play.  Do as he says and walk into the dark arcade. As you enter, you’ll realize that the machines are lined up in the manner of a maze. Follow your instincts, and go reach the center of the maze of broken machines with flickering screens. If you come across a machine that’s working, but no one is playing it, do not put your token in the game. The game is not for you, and you’ve essentially thrown your very life away. Don’t be surprised if you hear whispers barely audible from behind you, or see a shadow in the corner of your eye. Just keep going forward no matter what you see or what the voices tell you.

If you travel the maze and find an arcade machine being played by a small boy with curly red hair, then breath a sigh of relief, for you’ve found the correct machine. Go up to the machine and observe the child as he plays the machine. No one knows what the game is called, as the machine has no name, and the title screen is bare. There will be a set of red and blue joysticks and buttons, and the boy will be playing the blue set. Watch the boy play to get an understanding on how the game works and observe his strategies.

When you are ready to play, place the token on the cabinet to queue your turn. The boy will turn to you, and you’ll see his pure white eyes. He will ask in a hopeful voice, “Will you play the game with me?” Say yes, or you will understand true hopelessness. The boy will stop playing, and will let you finish his turn. This allows you to get a feel for the controls and how the game plays. The boy will explain the rules to you as you finish out his turns. Listen to him, but don’t confuse his helpfulness as kindness or weakness. He wants a good challenge out of you; it’s more fun that way. Once the turns are over, the boy will tell you to place the token in the coin slot. Take a deep breath and prepare yourself, because you are literally playing for your life. Insert your token into the coin slot, and the boy will do likewise in the second player slot. The boy will then press the two-player game button and hit start.

As far as people have researched and guess, the arcade game does not exist in our world, so you can’t play it to prepare. From what former players have reported, it’s an early arcade game that plays something like Pac-Man and Pitfall. The player must navigate a large maze, while being pursued by a rival player and computer opponents. There are obstacles to avoid and holes to jump over in the maze, which will drain your lifebar. Falling down a hole, or getting caught by the player will cost you a life. Collecting the tools to escape the maze will both refill health and increase your points. If you collect enough points, you will earn extra lives. The amount of lives you have left are based on the number on the back of your right hand. Everyone starts off with three lives, and losing or gaining lives will change the number on your hand.

You must now escape the maze with at least one life left. I cannot give any other advice on the game other than this. Use the arcade skills you’ve developed in your life, in addition to any tricks the boy performed while you watched him play. He’s hunting you now, and he won’t hold back. Keep an eye on how many lives you have left on the back of your hand. Should you lose a round without a number left on your hand, you’ve lost the game. One word of warning: do not trash talk the boy during the game, or you will find the game impossible to win. Do your best to block out of your vision the shadows that have gathered behind you to watch you play the game. Don’t let the glowing red eyes reflecting from the screen cause your confidence to waver. Remember, this is the moment you’ve prepared for since the day you first held a game controller in your hands.

If you are able to escape the maze, then you’ve won the game. Do not gloat your victory over him, or you will be forced to play a rematch with whatever lives you have left. The Attendant will come and lead you out of the maze. The number on the back of your right hand will determine your reward for playing the game of the Abandoned Arcade. If there are no numbers on the back of your hand, then no reward is given other than the knowledge that you’ve left with your life and soul intact. While this might be a disappointment, I can tell you it’s much better than the alternative.

If you have won the game with a number on your hand, then you’ve earned a prize: extra life in the real world. The amount of extra life is based on the number on the back of your hand. The number will stay on your hand after you leave the arcade, but only you can see that number. When you have extra life, you will not age a day, and your body will never get sick. If you are killed in any fashion, you will wake up moments later with your wounds healed, but at the cost of one of your extra lives. Once the numbers are gone, you will age again, and you can be killed for good. 

Should you lose the game, your soul will be violently stripped from your body. Your body will rapidly decay and turn to dust, your soul robbed of its essence, and what’s left of you will be forced to remain at the abandoned arcade as a shadow for all eternity. It’s a harsh punishment for death, but where do you think the extra lives come from?

I Don't Sleep Alone Anymore

By Greg Meyer

It’s in the middle of the night when I’m jolted out of a deep sleep. I take a second to blink my heavy eyelids and try to clear my foggy mind. Blinking, I glanced at my clock through blurry eyes to read the bright green numbers, 3:30 A.M. Why am I awake? I was having a good dream, too. It was Christmas again, despite it being April, and the trees were decorated in lights.

BARK!

The yelp immediately puts a knot in the pit of my stomach. That bark came from my miniature schnauzer, Patches, and I knew what it meant. Now, I love my dog, but any dog owner will tell you how annoying it is when your dog wakes you up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom.

“Patches, shut up and go to sleep,” I mutter.

BARK!

I exhale a sigh and roll my face in my pillow. The worst part about taking my dog out to go potty is that I have to go out with her. We don’t have a fenced in backyard, and I don’t trust my dog to just run off, do her business, and come back to me. The whole thing is just a hassle, and having to take her out in the middle of the night frustrates me to no end.

BARK!

I growl as I toss my pillow aside. Her last bark had a sense of urgency to it, and she’s whining at the door now. That’s it; I have to take her outside. I don’t want an accident in the house, as I’d most assuredly step in it in the morning in my bare feet. I slide out of bed and put my clothes on in the dark. I can tell I’ve put my shirt on backwards, but at this point I don’t care. If all goes well, I’ll only be outside for a few minutes.

I open my bedroom door to Patches, who then hops around my feet in utter excitement. She races to the front door and swivels her head around to make sure I’m following her, anxious that I might not understand her need. It takes a few moments to get the harness on her, my sleepiness not helping my reflexes in settling down a hyperactive dog, and a moment later we’re out the door.

We made our way to the backyard, Patches dragging me around as I shuffle like a zombie learning to walk again. I hoped she’d go somewhere near the front of the house, but these feelings were futile. The back of the yard with the low hanging trees and bushes is undoubtedly her favorite place to explore. Patches buries her nose in the ground as she sniffs for just the perfect spot, and I tap my foot in the grass impatiently waiting for her to make her choice. This process can take anywhere from a quick thirty seconds to an excruciating five minutes, and I’d rather it wasn’t the latter for the sake of sleep.

“Just pick somewhere and get over it,” I plead with a yawn escaping my mouth.

Thankfully, Patches didn’t feel the need to go exploring, and she did her business. At last, now we can go back into the house and back to sleep. Just before she finishes, there’s a soft rustling noise in the bushes. It sounds like the wind at first, but I start to get concerned when I don’t feel the breeze on my skin. Patches, having finished her business, is at attention with her ears perked at the bushes. She lets out a growl, but I’m not seeing anything, which is freaking me out. The last thing I want is for Patches to get into a fight with a wild animal.

“Come on, let’s get back into the house,” I say as I start to tug on her leash.

Patches lunges a bit towards the bush, but I hold fast and keep in place. Then in the darkness, I see something emerge from the foliage. I could barely make out the shape of the creature, but the body was darker than anything around it. Even stranger, the creature seemed to be covered in feathers, but the shape appeared more snakelike than any bird I’ve ever seen. The only spot of color I could see were the eyes, piercing emerald eyes that glowed like small colored lights in the night. The rustling noise started again, but the bushes weren’t moving. The beast made that noise as a promised threat of attack. I could feel the tension in my leash loosen as Patches whimpered in fear.

In a flash I tug on the leash and sprint towards the house as fast as my tired legs can take me. Patches stumbled from the unexpected pull, but she recovered and got back on her paws in an instant. It didn’t take long for Patches to catch up and run past me, a wild look of fear in her eyes. I didn’t look back; I couldn’t. No way did I want to see how close this abomination was to me. We reach the porch and I’m fighting the screen door to get open, fully regretting my procrastinating in getting it fixed. I take a glance to see how close the creature is to us. This creature was doing a weird slithering motion towards us, not as fast as a run but with an unnatural speed. I could see now that what I thought was plumage on the creature now looked like wavy black smoke that moved in motion with the beast. With another desperate yank I finally get the screen door open and the two of us race inside.

I bolt the door and duck down, my heart literally pounding like I’ve had way too many espresso shots. I know that seems silly, but I didn’t want the creature to know where we were. Patches ran under the living room table, dragging her leash behind her. As my rapid breathing returned back to normal until I heard the thing outside loudly sniffing the bottom crack of the front door. My body froze in place as I waited for this creature to lose interest in me, hoping it couldn’t find a way inside my home. After what felt like eternity, the sniffing stopped and the silence of night returned to my home. After a few minutes of silence, Patches emerged from her hiding place and tried coming to me, but the leash was wrapped around the chair legs. I smiled a bit and came to her rescue, untangling the mess and freeing her from her harness. She immediately climbed in my lap and nudged my hand, demanding some comforting pets.

A few minutes later, we returned to my bedroom so I could get back to sleep. Normally I don’t let Patches sleep in the room with me, but after the scare we had, it would seem cruel to leave her out there. She hopped onto the bed, and I crawled back in under the sheets. I looked back at the clock, 3:46 am. Did that really only take fifteen minutes? I sigh and lay on my back, now to work on getting back to sleep and Christmas in April. I shift onto my right side and look through the curtains into my window when I see them. Christmas lights, countless green Christmas lights in the window, more of an emerald color than green.

The Pipes Are Calling Me

            I bought my new house about one month ago, a huge achievement for a former apartment dweller ever since I moved out of my parent’s house. From what I understood, the previous owner abandoned the house and hasn’t been seen since. Because of this, I lucked into an incredible deal for a place already furnished. The house passed the home inspection, and everything seemed to be perfect. But a few days ago this all changed without warning.

During a shower, I noticed the water rose above my ankle. Stopping the water, I reached down into the drain and pulled up a clump of wet, gray hair. Great, I groaned to myself, just when I thought I escaped having to do any home projects. After work I scraped out what I could, dumped in some liquid plumber, and let the hot water run for fifteen minutes. When I came back, the water drained just like normal. With the job completed, I finished the night relaxing with a college basketball game on my flat screen with my orange cat on my lap and went to bed.

            Two days ago I jumped in the shower as usual to get ready for work. While washing my face I felt something brush against the side of my foot. Flailing around, I rapidly scrubbed the facewash off and expected to find an insect crawling around. Instead, unnaturally long strands of gray hair gracefully floated by my feet, moving like the feelers of an insect. I yelled and stumbled out of the shower, eyes stinging from the facewash, and took the shower curtain with me as I fell. Frustrated, I drained the water and started pulling the hair out, but the hair seemed abnormally long. I must’ve pulled roughly three feet of hair out that morning. The drain kept making noises like it was still struggling to empty the water in the pipes, so I accepted that I’d have to clean again later that night.

Now, I’m a pretty stubborn guy, so I’m don’t give up so easily when I think I can fix a problem. So, after work I went back to the bathtub and repeated the steps I did the day before and the drain operated as it should. Satisfied, I went to the kitchen and attempted to wash some dishes. About a third of the way in, I reached in the soapy water to pull out another glass when I felt something soft through my dishwashing gloves. Pulling it up, I found myself holding a literal ball of tangled gray hair that somehow found its way through the sink drain. After removing the dishes, I pulled all the disgusting hair out and put some cleaner in there, too. I felt sick to my stomach, so I wandered back to my couch and started to work on my laptop, the cat sleeping behind me on the couch.

While surfing the internet, I noticed an odd noise that didn’t fit in with the whirring of the laptop and soft purr of my cat.  I heard all of these odd gurgling and groaning sounds deep in the bowels of the house. I got up to listen closer to the noise. As I moved across the hardwood floor, I heard the sound creep along with the movements of my feet. I opened the basement door and snooped around, but I didn’t find anyone down there. As I passed the sink to go back to the couch, the drain gurgled and croaked like when the last of the water in a sink goes down the drain. Shaken, I decided to call it a night and go to bed.

Yesterday morning, I woke up and went to take a shower when I made my horrible discovery. The walls in my hallway had long red strands of hair running along side them and fastened in place. Every drain in the house now had red hair pouring out from the pipes. Trembling, I ran to my front door to escape, but the red hair sealed my escape route like a net so tight that I couldn’t budge the door. Every window had the thin strands of hair covering the locks and glass. I tried cutting the hair, but only ruined all of the pairs of scissors in my house.  I tried punching the window, but the strength of the hair kept me from landing a single punch on the glass. After these failed attempts, I discovered to my horror that the hair was still advancing around the house, having already enveloped my bedroom door in the short time I left it. I tried to use the phone, but the hair cut the power during the night, and my cell phone no longer had a charge. Banging on the windows and screaming for help was out of the question. I’ve never seen a soul pass by my place, and the mailbox is down the road. I tried looking for my cat, but couldn’t find her anywhere. Just before I gave up, I noticed tufts of orange fur littered the kitchen sink. I can’t imagine what happened to her, but I think I’m about to find out.

I’m in the basement now, it’s the only room left in the house that the hair hasn’t completely taken over. I retreated here when I couldn’t navigate the hallways anymore. There’s no food, and only a jug of water to sustain me. I got a little bit of sleep last night, but not much. Every time I close my eyes, the hair gradually extends its reach down here. The pipes continue to groan on the basement ceiling, letting me know it’s still searching for me. It’s odd, but I swear I think I’ve heard it chuckle a few times. It’s only a matter of time now before the hair claims me as its next victim. I’m like a fly trapped in a spider’s lair, with the web slowly cocooning around me. With these last few moments, I can only think of one thing, one regret out of this whole ordeal. I should’ve called a plumber.

The Disposable Camera

My family never owned a camera, so if I wanted to take pictures to remember trips or summers by, I’d have to buy a disposable camera. Every year I would buy a few disposable cameras and use them periodically over time. When I didn’t need them, I kept them on my desk so they’d be available when I needed them.

            It was September of 2000, and I had finally used up the three cameras I purchased in the spring. I worked at a grocery store at the time that had a photo-developing department, so I brought my cameras in before I started my shift. A few days later, I picked up the three envelopes full of pictures and brought them home to thumb through. I remember being so excited to relive all the fun things I did during the summer, as the past month back at school made it feel like summer was a distant memory.  But something seemed off to me. At the store, the lady behind the desk had given me an odd look when she told me to enjoy the pictures. Her expression and tone to her voice bothered me, like she didn’t believe what she was saying. I shook it off at the time, thinking I had simply put meaning into something that wasn’t there.

            I arrived home from work and went straight to my room. Opening each package, I viewed them in chronological order, thumbing through each photo carefully, as to not smudge them with my prints. The first stack of photos didn’t cause any sort of alarm, as they all were from a camping trip at the beginning of summer. I flipped through the glossy photos one at a time, occasionally chuckling at the ridiculous poses or situations involving my friends. The next stack of photos brought immediate disappointment. There were a higher than normal percentage of photos that didn’t come out. The picture would be completely black with the exception of some large yellow flashes of light somewhere in the blackness. I guessed that the lighting was insufficient or something went wrong in the process. There were about five of these pictures in this stack, along with the normal expected photos.

            I moved onto the final stack, all taken near the end of summer. The same issue continued with these photos. I’d get through a couple before reaching another black photograph. Out of frustration, I resolved to either take a photography class or develop my disposable cameras at another store. But just as I neared the end of the stack of photos, I found one that put a deep dread into the pit of my stomach.

            The photo was of… I’m not even sure how to describe it. It must’ve been around five in the morning, because the room was lit by the dim morning dawn. I was in the corner of the photo sleeping in my bed, but I wasn’t the only one in the photograph. There, holding the camera, was a girl.  Or at least I think it’s a girl. I couldn’t tell exactly her age, but her skin was ghastly pale and shriveled, although not from age. She looked soaking wet, with strands of knotted long hair obscuring part of her face. The girl wore a gown that had once been white, but was now horribly stained. Her gaunt face stared straight into the camera, her cheeks sunken in and jaw lazily open. I could see into her mouth and her decaying tongue, with blackened pointy teeth. But what stood out to me the most were her eyes, her bright yellow eyes that could easily have been mistaken for a cat. They glowed behind the strands of blond hair stuck to her face.

            What’s odd to me was the girl’s face, as she didn’t look malevolent or particularly evil. Instead, she appeared almost fascinated by the object in her hands. Had she ever seen a camera before? I stopped myself. Why was I even thinking this? The more important question loomed in my mind. What was she? Was she human? And if so, was she living, or something much worse? But if she wasn’t a human, what creature could she possibly be? She had some degree of intelligence to operate a camera, but besides that I had no idea what I was dealing with.

            The thought of something that grotesque invading my space while I slept filled me with absolute horror. A part of me wondered if this was all an elaborate hoax played on me by my older sister, but I didn’t recognize the face, and there was no way she or any of her friends could’ve created that face with makeup. I went to her room with the picture to double-check. When she recoiled from the picture, I knew this wasn’t some sort of prank. She asked me what the heck was that thing, but I couldn’t give her an answer. I took the picture to my parents, but they weren’t much help. Sure, the photo freaked them out, but all they said to comfort me was that they would look into getting a home security system for the house. At this point I knew I was on my own about this.

            I spent the rest of the evening trying to make sense of it all, eventually falling asleep after putting the picture into my bag. I had to go back to the camera counter at work and find the answer. That morning I woke up and shut the window in my room. The weather was still warm, so I kept my window open for the cool air. I had to shut it, as the stench seemed particularly pungent that day. Arriving back at the camera counter, the lady who gave me the pictures the day before was working. She asked if she could help me, and I pulled out the photo of the mysterious girl. The woman grimaced as she stared at it.    

            “Someone’s dressed a little early for Halloween, don’t you think?” she asked.

            “I didn’t take the picture,” I countered. “I was wondering if this picture had been edited in any way, or if there was a mix up with the film?”

The woman shook her head.

            “Nope, those pictures were developed just like any other ones I work on.”

            “You’re sure there hasn’t been a mix up at all?” I replied, hopefully.

            “I’m positive. I have those photos ingrained in my mind. I wish I could forget ‘em.”

I could tell she didn’t have any other information for me, so I packed the photo and started to leave.

            “Oh, well thank you for your time. Have a good day.”

I took a few steps towards the exit when I stopped in my tracks. One word stuck out to me like a splinter on my index finger. I looked back and shot her an inquisitive glance.

            “Photos? What do you mean? I thought she was in just that one.”

            “Take a closer look,” responded the woman.

            I felt nauseous. I had to check the other photographs back in my room, all of them. Back at my house, I searched each of the black photos, when I noticed they all had one thing in common: they had one to two yellow flashes, or eyes in them. Slowly the outline of my room revealed itself in each picture. My amateur stalker friend wasn’t just one time offender; I had solid proof of eight visits in my hands. I thought back to all the garbage photos I threw out years previous, how many of those contained these eyes that pierced the darkness?

            Now that I had the evidence in front of me, I vowed to make sure this never happened to me again. My night visitor somehow made her way into the house through an entrance downstairs, but not anymore. That night my parents went to bed around ten, as they were never exactly night owls. I double-checked each downstairs window and door, securing each one as I moved from one to the next. With the house secure, I made my way upstairs and got ready for bed. After all, I needed my sleep, and I figured my parents believing the freaky picture as a valid reason to skip school an unlikely outcome. With all my preparations complete, I slipped under the covers and turned the light off, hoping to get some rest.

            It shouldn’t come as a surprise that I spent most of the night wide-awake. Every single creak and bump in the night caused me to jolt up and reach for my tennis racket. Hey, when you have limited options for protecting yourself, you take what you can get. I’ll admit that I felt embarrassed the first couple of times I waved the racket around, but the whooshing noise at least gave me a peace of mind. Eventually, I’d place the racket back and the routine would restart all over again. Feeling bored, I played my Game Boy Color to pass the time and ease my mind. Around three in the morning I grew tired of video games and decided to try something different. The end of my bed partially sat next to the window looking out to the backyard. Tired of waiting for something to happen, I moved my pillow to the other side of the bed and stared out into the distance. I only had a small area to look through, but I could see enough of the backyard without adjusting too much. We didn’t have a fence for our backyard. Instead a row of large bushes acted as a natural barrier to the property. Beyond that, a few yards away sat the creek I used to explore as a child. With nothing better to do, I watched the backyard and hoped it would give me peace of mind. I had the window open to keep cool in my normally warm room. I found watching the trees sway in the wind particularly soothing.

            About an hour later, just as it was hard to keep my eyes open, I heard a rustling in the bushes that perked my warning senses. Looking over in that general area I noticed the branches shaking, and a dark crouching figure emerged into my vision. I didn’t need a second look to know my stalker had arrived. She crept cautiously on all fours through the backyard, making her way towards the window. In a flash I spread myself flat on my bed and kept my ear in the direction of the window. I heard nothing at first, breathing a slow sigh of relief that my plan to lock the downstairs windows and doors succeeded in keeping that creature out of my house. My relief, however, turned into fear when my ears picked up a slow but steady scraping against the wall of the house. The girl didn’t need to use the downstairs windows to get inside; she used the brick wall to scale up to my window!

            Thinking fast, I slipped onto the floor and crawled underneath my bed. The closet sat on the other side of the room; no way could I make it over there in time. The bed skirt on my bed frame obscured almost all of the area underneath my bed, so I could count on that to keep me hidden at least. I stretched my arm for my tennis racket when the unmistakable squeal of my window screen slid upwards. Crap, I realized in my panic I forgot to lock my own window! I gave up reaching for my racket, and instead concentrated on keeping my breathing quiet. Under my bed skirt I saw a shriveled hand with sharp, black-crusted claws extend to the ground with the grace of a stalking cat remaining absolutely quiet. The flaky pale skin dripped with beads of water, the familiar stench of the creek seeped into my breathing air, tainting it. Her other hand followed close by, her arms bending down as she slunk to the soft carpet. I could see her blonde hair now, knotted and matted together, dangling and mingling with the floor. I clenched my teeth to keep them from chattering, but I couldn’t stop the rest of my body from trembling. I prayed the noises wouldn’t give away my location. By now, the girl’s feet hit the ground, but they appeared distinctively different from a normal person’s foot. Sharp dragon-like claws protruded from the tips of her toes, and translucent webbing connected the toes together. Along with her feet, I recognized bits of the white gown I spotted from the picture. The stains were much clearer now, even in the darkness of my room; it was blood.

            My invader stood up from the ground and lurched around the room. She made a quiet hissing sound as she walked, which I think was the noise of her breathing. Her feet stopped next to the side of my bed, and the hissing continued in a much more rapid pace. She had to notice that I wasn’t there like she expected. The bed sheets shuffled around above me as she climbed onto my bed, followed by rapid bursts of harsh hissing. The covers hit the side of the wall and she dragged her claws across the sheets in frustration. I knew this incensed creature stood mere feet above me, and I hoped and prayed she wouldn’t look below. Almost as if she heard me the movement stopped, and her hand reached down to the floor, groping around towards the sheets. The tips of her hair hung near the bottom of the bed skirt and I gulped in terror. The hand reached over towards my arm, only to pick up my Game Boy, which had fallen from my bed in my attempt to hide. She brought it up to her, and I could hear her click the buttons. Oddly enough the hissing died down, and in its place she made a slight chirping noise.

            The Game Boy didn’t hold her attention forever, as she climbed off of the bed a few minutes later and moved about the room. She uttered these short cooing noises, like she was calling out for me to come out to meet her. The girl made her way to my closet and managed to open it. Good thing I didn’t hide in there, or she would’ve found me. Clothes and hangers fell to the ground, and the coos became more frustrated. Making her way back to the middle of my room her movement stopped, just when I felt I could catch my breath. She just stood in one position right by my desk, which unnerved me. I didn’t know what she was doing, but her feet remained planted in one spot. I heard soft scratching noises, so I knew she was up to something, but I didn’t dare take a peek and risk getting caught. I didn’t have a watch on me, but she stayed that way for what felt like eternity. Why wouldn’t she just go? Was she studying the room, looking for hiding spots? After a long time passed, she took a few steps away from my desk and then went back to my window. I heard her make one final cooing noise before she made her decent down. She put the screen back to its original position, followed by the scratching noises of her climbing down the side of the house.

I waited with baited breath for a good ten minutes more, making sure this wasn’t some sort of trap. When I knew the coast was clear, I went straight to my window, shut it, and turned the locks. No way would I make that mistake again. I surveyed the room to see if she had destroyed anything, and to my relief she hadn’t. Exhausted, I flopped back in bed and worked on calming myself down, trying to make sense of what happened.

That morning before school, I went to my desk to grab the picture of the girl. I planned on showing the picture of the girl to the police and tell them my ordeal from last night, but I couldn’t find it or the other photos she took of herself. They were missing. The night before, I left the girl’s picture on top of the other recent pictures, so I assume she took it while standing at my desk. Frustrated, I gathered my schoolbooks for class and threw them in my backpack when I discovered one parting gift left to me from my stalker. There, in the open notebook on my desk, was a crudely made drawing of the girl on top of my bed with a bunch of junk underneath it. That’s why she stood in place at my desk for so long. As I studied the drawing further, the blood drained from my face from a frightening revelation. It wasn’t a bunch of junk underneath my bed; it was a picture of me trying to hide.

 I never saw her again. I hope I never have to. I never sleep with the window open, no matter what floor I sleep on wherever I go. I always keep them locked, and I never ever look out from the blinds when I hear her scratching softly on the other side of the glass.