The Tempest
By: Chris Pelletier

I walk out the door into the cool summer night. I hear everything, the wind blowing softly, the plastic bag whistling, the keys jingling in my hand. I put the key into the lock. I hear every pin click. I turn, I push, I am inside now. I walk up the stairs, every step echoes. I open the door, the lock clicks as I turn it. I step inside, the door closes behind me. I tread down the hallway, every step crunching the carpet below me. I unlock the bottom lock and turn the knob to enter. The deadbolt is locked, that’s not how I left it. I think nothing of it, I enter the apartment, its dark inside, nothing new no ones home. I turn to my bed and throw down my belongings. I feel a presence behind me. My muscles tighten my heart beats faster. I feel breath now. My hairs stand on end. Do I dare face what is behind me? I turn, I stare, and then it hits me. The blow knocks me to the floor. What just happened? I’m awake now. This isn’t my apartment. It smells like yearn and garbage, smells like blood. My nose is broken, the bloods dried under my nostrils.

I stand up and look around the small room. What did this to me? I see a pipe. I grab it impulsively. I exit the room. Darkness now, fresh air, I am outside. I know where I am. This is my apartment complex. Not far from home, building number sixty five only ten buildings to the left. I shut the door behind me; it reads “Tool Shed”. I still cling to the pipe. I step, the ground crunches below me. The wind howls, the trees whip against the winds. I look above me, the moon shines down upon my body. I feel powerful. I hear a rustle, it’s just the wind. I hear a snap, it’s just the trees. I hear a grunt, it’s just my mind. No, it’s not my mind. I get that feeling again, like a stomach ache. I tell myself it’s nothing. I want to vomit now. Closer, closer, faster, it’s creeping, closer; no it’s all in my mind. But how did I get there? What is behind me? Dare I turn around? No that’s what it wants, then it will strike, I cannot live in fear. I turn around swinging my pipe.

His face is disfigured now. The jaw has shifted over to the right. His teeth lay at my feet, blood spilled all over. He screams, I drop my pipe, is this man? No, he’s just a security guard. I have no time for this distraction, its coming. I quicken my pace. Don’t look back, never look back. The past is behind, that’s where it belongs, and the future is ahead. If I look back I cannot move forward, if I look back I repeat the past. If the future never happens I never find out who did this. Who did this? Everything starts to look the same to me. Building number forty five now, only two more and I’m home. The wind creeps up on me again. I look down at my feet, no blood. Where did the blood go? My nose, it’s fine. Who did this?

Home, I’m almost home. I open the main door and step inside. Just a few more seconds and I am home. A mosquito on the wall, looking at me, waiting for me to move. Should I squash it or just walk past? Why is it starring, what does it want? No you cannot have my blood, not today, not any day. I will pass, hastily I scurry past the insect, it watches me, it feels my pulse. Almost home, the keys in the lock. The mosquito moves, closer, it crawls down the wall towards me, taunting me. I try to hurry; the more I hurry the harder it is. No, not my blood, you cannot have my blood. I shove the door open and slam it shut behind me.

The lights are off, no surprise. I am home alone. I set my things down on the bed. This feels familiar. What is that behind me? The feeling again, like I have to vomit. I am ready for it this time. I turn around ready to attack. I am in bed now, it’s seven AM and I have class at eight. I must hurry to be ready by seven thirty.