by Kyler Navarro
The trees began to blur as night settled, but all that lingered in Sara’s mind was the man. He had approached her last night—maybe he had already been sitting next to her—at her table in the hotel commons. No one ever approached her. She didn’t want to be approached. Not while she sipped her complimentary tea and tried to shake the thought of leaving for home.
“Sara, did you hear me?”
She shook her head. “Sorry, what?”
The question was easy. Sara heard it, she heard it everyday. Not always the same way but nonetheless it demanded the same answer.
“Nothing. I’m fine,” she said in the same cheery tone she used when a customer asked her where an item was. She concentrated her gaze on the weak glow of her sedan’s headlights. “You’ve been quiet.” She swallowed. “The whole drive.”
She had been driving since morning, from New Bank, on a peeling road made worse by the heavy downpour. Her face was dry, every thought, every laugh, every comment meant nothing. She was returning home. Her heart winced at that, pricked by the reminder of what home meant.
“Do you want to go home? Sara.” His name was Fox. He didn’t have a face though. Sara couldn’t remember. He wore a mask. A fox mask, blackened eyes, wearing all black.
“Yes.”
She glanced out the window. The treeline was gone. She was getting close. Her shoulders began to ache, as though tired of carrying the same backpack everyday. But that’s what she did. Monday through Friday, at the university.
Her grip on the wheel tightened. She leaned her foot further down on the gas pedal. Her heart tightened.
“Why do you want to go home Sara?”
That question irked her. Mostly because when she tried to answer it, no words would come out of her mouth. Years of working at Ross made her a great pretender, she knew how to make certain no follow up questions were asked, how to make certain the answer was normal. But Fox was no customer. He knew something. That disturbed her.
“I don’t want to go home.”
He laughed. It sounded more like a cough than a laugh. His fingers galloped against the table. For a moment, he didn’t say anything as he admired the cracks that painted the walls around them. Sara wanted to leave. Sweat dripped from her body and seeped into her clothes. She hated when that happened.
He turned to her and said, “The sooner you stop deceiving yourself, the sooner you start acting in your best interest. If you do not want to go home, say it. If you do not want to leave, say it. If you do not want to die, then … say it.”
Is there a point to living otherwise? There were no trees, but Sara was still passing through them, following the same road she had been all day. She was supposed to be home by now, soon enough her mom would probably be wondering where she was, but her phone didn’t light up. Part of her didn’t want it to, anyway. It would’ve made home more apparent.
“How long have you been drowning?”
“It’s only been raining for hours.”
His fingers stopped. He leaned close to her, the snout of his mask grazing her ear, his breathing moving her tendrils ever so slightly, and whispered, “In the bluntest sense, we are all dead. We die prior to us actually being dead, we just refuse to believe it.”
The brakes screeched as the car jerked to a sudden stop, thrusting her forward before slamming her hard against her seat. She blinked. Up to now there had been nothing, no other cars, no signs of life. But resting on the road before her lay a blue sedan, it’s lights off, patiently waiting for help.
“No don’t.” All around rain continued to pour, its relentless beating forming a cacophony with the scrubbing of the windshield wipers against the glass.
“Why?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Home is safe. Home is dependable. Why not go back?”
His face gradually filled her view—blackened eyes growing wider, cheeks lifting to reveal his teeth, nose twitching at the smell of Sara’s fear.
“It’ll just be a second.” She stepped out of the car, the fresh, cool rain relieving the sweat dripping from her head, and approached the driver’s side door. The windows were tinted, yet still, the outline of a person could be seen when Sara peered close to it. She tapped the window yet they didn’t move.
Drool dripped from his mouth, his eyes twitched, waiting for permission to finish his prey. “I know what it is you hunger for. You cannot keep eating the same meals every day. That is poison. That is death.”
She drove two routes. One to work. One to university. Then back home. She did as she was told everyday. Or more accurately, as she told herself. Oftentimes she didn’t even have to do that, her actions just slipped out, like an animal obeying its instincts. Work. Home. University. Home. Work. Home. University. Home.
Again she tapped at the window, still the figure refused to show signs of life. She put her hand on the door. Then a sound. A sound she had grown numb to—the beeping of a scanner, scanning barcode after barcode as the total rose. When she would lay in bed at night staring into her pitch black room, trying her best to lose the events of the day, the noise would still be there.
“Time is waning, as are you.”
“W—who are you?” she whispered, to whom was anyone’s guess.
She used to love foxes. When she was six, her mom surprised her with a stuffed fox for making it through kindergarten. She would cuddle with it every night, wrapping it close to her body to make certain it never left. At school, she would long for it. It was more than a stuffed fox. It was a way forward. But when its mysterious power dried up she lost any thought of its existence, only to find it thrown deep in the corner under her bed, dusty and ripped and alone.
She is alone now. Nothing can hurt her here, not even her own tedious tendencies.
Her hand pulled the door open. The body was slumped in the chair, no breath. But that wasn’t what scared her. On her face was a mask, a fox mask. She peeled it back and her heart dropped. It was Sara. Eyes blackened, skin gray. She was dead. She had been dead for some time.
Sara’s head shot up. Emerging from the rain was the familiar splotch of orange, a creature on all fours, its face dog-like.
About the Author:
Kyler Navarro is an emerging writer currently studying at Utah Valley University, in Orem, Utah. He loves writing stories exploring the human condition and questioning the future of mankind, primarily writing in the genres fiction, thriller, and science fiction.