Tale 2: Follower

Tale #2: FOLLOWER

'''“I know you’re there. You’ve been watching me for days now.”''' No answer. “If you have something to say, you might as well get it over with.” Nothing. “Look I’ll call the police.”

“No you won’t.” The girl poked her head out from behind the bookshelf. Thankfully, everyone at the library was far too engrossed in their own business to bother noticing our interaction.

“What makes you say that?” I asked.

'''“The police won’t help you. They didn’t before. Everyone in this town thinks you’re crazy.”''' Well, she was right about that. Ever since I came back, I’ve been a social pariah. It didn’t matter to me though. The less people paid attention to me, the easier I could do what I came back to do.

“What’s your name?” I asked, conveniently skirting around the previous topic. The girl looked down at the floor.

“Not here,” she whispered “follow me.” I did as she said and followed her into one of the many small rooms in the back. I sat down at the small table as she closed the door.

'''“So. You know who I am.”''' I said. The girl nodded. The lighting in the tiny room allowed me to get a better look at  her. She had choppy black hair that looked like it hadn’t been washed in days, covered by a thin gray hoodie. Her smudged dark eyeliner against her pale skin made me feel like I was sitting across from a literal corpse. She looked tired and paranoid and held an expression that I’d seen all too often before. She knew something. “People tell you stories, right?” she mumbled “Stories about this town that nobody else believes?”

“They do.” I answered. The girl shifted in her seat and crossed her arms.

'''“So, like, do you do anything? After hearing the stories, I mean.”''' There was a moment of silence. I knew where this was going. This wasn’t the first time.

“Has your friend killed anyone?” The girl looked up at me and her eyes widened. For a moment, it almost looked like she was going to run out the door. “Don’t worry,” I sighed '''“I’m not some vigilante or anything like that. Even if I wanted to take action, there are forces at work that would erase me from existence if I so much as thought about it.”'''

“So you just, you just let people get away with murder?” She didn’t seem upset or angry when she asked that question. In fact, I think I even detected a hint of relief.

'''“This town wears a mask so tight it almost believes it’s real. The people who buy into that bullshit are the same ones who failed me and everyone I ever cared about. Why would I lift a finger to help end the nightmares this place created for itself?”''' I sat back in my chair and glanced out the door. I leaned over and grabbed two books from my backpack. '''“Here. Act like your reading. If anyone sees us talking like this, they might get suspicious.”''' The girl complied and opened one of the books to a random page. Looking down, she began to talk again.

“I’m Deandra.” The girl squeaked.

'''“Nice to meet you, Deandra. My name’s Faith.”''' I turned a page in my own book. “So, what’s your story?” Deandra turned a page.

'''“I work in the mall at one of the clothing stores. I think-” She paused, fighting back her own nerves before continuing, “I think one of my coworkers is dead.”''' I looked up from the book I was pretending to read.

“A lot of people die here, Deandra.” Deandra paused and met my gaze as she leaned in closer.

'''“You don’t understand. He’s not just dead, he’s LIVING dead.”''' I lifted my book from the table and sat back in my chair.

“Go on.” Deandra looked out the door to make sure nobody was around. “If anyone catches you doing that they’ll get worried” I said, “just tell me what you came here to tell me.” Deandra quickly picked up her own book and held it close to her face.

“He doesn’t get hurt, he barely bleeds, at first I thought he was just super lucky or had some sort of health condition but...” she paused. The same type of pause you would expect from someone who was about to get sick. '''“The other day, I grabbed his lunch by mistake and took it home. When I opened it, at first I thought they were just french fries. But when I picked one up,”''' Deandra’s lips started to quiver and her eyes began to tear up.

“Deandra,” I said softly, “what did you pick up?” She peered over the back cover of her book and I could hear the genuine fear in her voice when she spoke.

“A human finger.”