Page 3 of When Night Falls

Shadow Creek is a marvel. Dark maroons and rustic oranges mix with vintage accents, stone walkways, and those daunting black metal street lamps with four glowing glass orbs scattered up and down Mainstreet. All while dark green ivy presses against the decaying red bricks of historic boutiques and Victorian houses.

I lift my face up to the little sliver of sun that peaks through the dark clouds cuddling together in the sky as I exit the therapist building. The same one I swore never to go back to, but after realizing that I was a bully to Dr. Laramie a few days ago, I went back to try outteeth-suckerone more time—the crippling anxiety and self-doubt started to become unbearable—and to my surprise, she wasn’t that bad. Maybe she really took what I said to heart. I also kind of wanted to apologize even though I don’t really regret what I’d said, but I digress.

Heat spreads across my cheeks at the feel of the inviting warmth radiating from the sky. The October sun is my favorite because it’s not too warm but it’s bright enough to create an illuminating glow against the gloomy seasonal colors.

I decide to head back toward Mainstreet which is about a thirty-minute walk from the Shops of Shadow where thetherapy office is alongside the town’s grocery store and police department.

One thing I love about this little town is that everything is within walking distance. I’m one of those souls that likes to feel nature lick my skin as my thoughts get lost in the horizon, enjoying people watching and the feeling of Earth moving beneath my feet.

There’s no sidewalks down the twisty road of Hollow Echo Drive, the strip of road between Shops of Shadow and Mainstreet, so I walk the edge of where the dirt-grass mix kisses the side of the road, keeping closer to the looming trees that line the forest next to me. I work my way West to head back home and I hear the crisp, serene sound of the namesake itself, Shadow Creek. It cuts through groups of trees and swishes under a small bridge. But what captures my attention the most beyond the haunting mix of spruces and pines is Hollows Trace Manor.

Hollows Trace is eerily beautiful. Alluring. Enchanting. I can't see the whole of it from where I stand, but I don't dare trespass further than the outskirts. As captivating as the castle is, I’ve seen my fair share of scary movies and I have a feeling that whatever is on the other side of the property line is nothing but danger.

On each side of the large, ornate mansion are other smaller buildings scattered around the land between bunches of dark trees. I've heard no one speak of the property, not that I expect many conversations regarding another person's home, but it seems so extensive and too mystical to not be a topic of some sort. One of the other things that I was drawn to when I relocated to this curious town.

A few days ago, I tried looking it up on a home listings websiteand there was zero information on it. Kind of like the address doesn’t even exist and no pictures of proof linger on the internetso the only knowledge I have on the residence is from what I can see with my own eyes.

I stop right in front of the wrought-iron gate. Its bars end with pointed tips, and the gate doors are held by deep red brick columns laced with that infamous dark green ivy. Beyond the gates is an ominous driveway made up of dark gray stone, encased by a mix of towering Black Spruces, old Spanish Cedars, and enchanting Monterey Cypresses. The castle itself is made up of all light grey brick and limestone with black trim, the roof steeples into turrets throughout the structure. There are arched windows and spacious balconies placed all around the building and a pair of black double doors open up to a set of stairs that lead down to the stone driveway. A water fountain with a gargoyle statue in the middle is the staple of the front yard, the driveway wraps around it in a circle shape before branching out to where I stand.

I think the most elusive part is that the castle backs up to a cliff that overlooks the sea, known as Cliff Island.

I’m staring out into the bewitching scene before me as the wind starts to howl and the little sunlight that was given is now descending into the darkness behind the clouds. I don’t let my eyes shy clear of the mansion though until I catch the glimpse of bright yellow lights breaking through the fog that layers the horizon. I look down the road to see a car traveling right toward me.

It's not like cars don't travel this road—it's the main road to get into or out of Shadow Creek. But as the sun dips below the line of darkness allowing night to fall like a blanket over the town, owls and night winds seem to be the only sounds this town welcomes. That and the secrets of the night-walkers—people who walk the nightly hours presumably to rid their head of all the problems and stresses they're burdened with. Regardless, since the time I’ve been living here the one thing I noticed was most peculiar isthat cars are never on the roads at night, so I immediately feel a lump forming in my throat at the idea that…

At the idea of what, Cyn?I think to myself.No one is out to get you.

I clutch my backpack straps over my shoulders and steady myself to prepare for the walk back home, already having lost some time by gawking at the ghostly structure of Hollows Trace. But the closer the dark window-tinted car gets, the heavier my feet seem, remaining planted to the gravel.

I lock my knees, trying to hold absolutely still as if whoever is in the car won’t see me but I know that’s just not the case. And unfortunately, it seems to slow down to a creep, the tires crunching over the gravel. Then, it stops.

The headlights are almost blinding, but I don’t dare do anything short of breathing. My warm breath can be seen in the form of cloudy steam as it leaves my lips and enters the cold sky. It’s getting chillier and I’m only wearing a leather skirt and a chunky-knit sweater, so it’s safe to say I have goosebumps forming along my legs.

I feel like minutes pass by while I hold a staring contest with the ominous car and there’s no sign of human life inside. No one gets out. No one honks the horn to try and scare me and the engine rumbles quietly as it stays parked in the middle of the road.

Finally, I force myself to put one foot in front of the other, cautious of my movements. I focus my eyes straight in front of me to see the road ahead while I move forward. I don’t dare turn my head to give the stalled car another glance, actually kind of creeped out and wanting to get out of this situation badly. So I keep walking until the car is behind me and that’s when my heart pounds in my chest in tandem with my feet as I decide to take off toward Mainstreet in an all-out sprint.

3

of shadows & roses

Lucynda

I haven't gone on a run in a while.

Not that me running from a mysterious car in the night can be considered a casual hobby. But leisurely, I used to go on long, therapeutic runs. It was a way for me to escape my house and the family I was sofortunatelyblessed with. In a way, I've always felt like I was born to be on the run; running from something that I can never seem to escape—the pain of knowing I was never wanted.

But here I don't feel that nagging weight that tells me I have to run and hide from something, even though it feels as though someone has been watching me and I literally made myself believe that the creepy automobile actually was after me.

It’s the paranoia that settles when you have to walk on eggshells around abusive and bully-minded people.

I make it back to the center building on Mainstreet just before the rain starts to pour, though I wouldn't mind getting caughtin the rain. I bend over, hands on my knees, and do my best to calm my breathing. I need to get back into the habit of running if just for routine purposes, though I know it can be a calming coping mechanism just the same. Part of me also suspects that my shortness of breath is in combination with the adrenaline rush I feel heavily in my bones. My heart thuds quickly in its chest cavity. For what? I don’t quite know but it suddenly loses purchase when I round the building to the stairs leading up to my apartment entrance. Then dread washes over me all while still feeling the effects of my adrenaline-laced heart.

A black rose.

It’s the fifth one to show up at my doorstep since I moved in a few weeks ago. I don’t know who it’s from or why it’s here, but I suspect that it’s from someone who knew the person who lived here before me. The only reason I believe that is because the day I moved in, the entire apartment was emptied save for a single black rose placed delicately on the marble countertop. So, it’s up to me to break this person’s heart and let them know that the intended subject of their morbid but romantic gifting has since moved on.

I unlock the door with my key, kick off my shoes and throw my backpack down on the ground. I head straight to the junk drawer in my kitchen for a pen and find a piece of paper lying around. I start to scribble:

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