Strangers

A Story by Jane D

Don't make eye contact. Don't accept gifts. But most of all, don't say a word.

I am not proud of what I am. A predator. A lurker. I cannot fight it. I wish I could. But Jenna comes back every night and haunts me, asking me why I did not try to find her. I did. I do. I keep doing.

The bench is never occupied. I close my eyes and hum to the rhythm of the breeze; the scent of leaves tickle my nostrils. My suit clings to my chest as the air tries to penetrate it. Footsteps approach, as they always do. It is funny, how quickly little girls succumb to their curiosity of the unknown and allow it to drive them away from safety. That is why I lost my daughter in the first place. That is why the parents of all the girls I took lost theirs.

“Mister?”

The call echoes in my ears. I open my eyes and adjust my spectacles so that they peer at the small figure. Her jet black hair is pulled back into forced pigtails that accentuate her high cheekbones and emerald pupils. Her lips are rosy and thin, and they tip slightly to the left as her teeth bites into it. She holds on to a teddy bear with her right hand. I smile.

The girl inches backwards. Her eyes flicker uncertainly between me and the path she is standing on.

“Yes, young one? My, my, such a beautiful face! What is your name?” My voice is scratchy and old, and my tone always ends on the wrong note, but it puts them at ease. My speech brings a proud flush to her cheeks, and this time it is in my own chest that the caged beast drums.

“Tanya Winchester,” she answers haughtily, her arms wrapping tighter around the furry bear. I lean on my walking stick and rise from the bench, offering my right hand to her. She shakes it without hesitation, although her eyes never leave the cane.

“Can you not walk, Mister?” I chuckle.

“I need a little help sometimes, my dear. You know, you look a lot like my Jenna. Just as cute and charming. Would you like to come with me and meet her?” She narrows her eyes - the name is not familiar. She quickly releases my hand. Danger is written all over her face.

She remembers her parents’ advice: don’t talk to strangers. She steps away and turns around. Her parents are not there. The park is empty. She walks faster, without knowing where she is going. Just away from the scary man. Away from me.

But I follow. At a leisurely pace, but I never let her out of my sight. She knows I do. She can hear the gentle taps of the cane on the stone floor.

“My dear, why are you running away from me?”

She whimpers. She tries to find a way to escape, but there are none.

“Mommy! Daddy!” Her shouts ring in the air. The birds listen in and they look at me accusingly. I frown. They never yelled before. This is a complication.

“My dear, your parents are not here. Come with me.”

She shakes her head, and starts running... I limp on my stick, but begin to fall behind.

“Oh, dear! Come, follow me, and I shall find them for you. That is what you want, right?” I pant, “Please, let me help you.” She looks back at me, her eyes filling with tears. Her worry empowers her fears. After an impregnable second, she finally nods.

“Will you take my hand, dear Tanya?” She takes it wordlessly. Her palm feels soft. I remember the way my daughter always grabs my hand and looks up at me with a smile. Can she replace my little girl? The answer has been a constant no - and the corpses are piling up regrettably - but this time might be different. I want it to be. I can see features of my darling in her. The way she hugs her doll, the way she bites her lip, the way she rebels. Yes, it is very possible.

“Come now, this way. We’ll find them, don’t you worry.” She does not doubt it. I have her now. So easy, so simple. No matter how hard we teach them, they forget. That is why I always get them in the end.

© 2016 Jane D

Author's Note

This is a very short and abrupt piece, and I did that on purpose to add to the effect. What did you think about the story?

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Featured Review

CN Kershaw

Hi!

Wow! Short, snappy and infused with an uncanny sense of not quite knowing who or what the narrator truly is until he divulges his character as the story progresses. Overall and as far as a narrative arc is concerned, I couldn't see a problem with it.

Some editorial notes to consider though. Applying the Chekov's gun rule, I believe some sentences can be condensed to make the short story even more disturbing. For example: 'She can hear the gentle taps of the cane on the stone floor, and it fills her with dread'- 'and it fills her with dread' isn't necessary. Bearing in mind she has already sensed danger and is running away from 'the scary man', as a reader, I can already guess she's filled with dread. I think just 'She can hear the gentle taps of the cane on the stone floor' is sufficient and is directed at the narrator alone, emphasising just how terrifying he is- all he has to do is tap with his cane on the floor.

A fantastic read nonetheless - I look forward to reading more of your work