It Followed Me Home

A little fan fic I wrote for The Mandela Catalog - it can be read as its own thing

It Followed Me Home 

“-there was a new victim last night…”

“Have you heard what they're calling these things?”

“Alternates�"” 

Mark sighed as he overheard the conversation. Pushing his way through the crowded halls, gripping the straps of his book bag. 

The school hallways bustled with activity. Students clustered in groups, their voices blending into a symphony of chaotic chatter and laughter. With hurried footsteps echoing off the hard, polished epoxy floors. 

Lockers clanged open and shut as kids retrieved their belongings, some in a rush, others lingering in conversation. The fluorescent lights above cast a sterile, almost harsh glow, making the space feel both alive and strangely cold. 

The sharp and industrial smell of cleaning supplies clung to the air, adding to the hall's sterile feel. Teachers stood near the doors of their classrooms, watching the flood of students.

As Mark moved through the hallway, he navigated through the crowd, careful not to bump into the throngs of students heading for the exit. 

He pushed open the double doors leading out of the school, taking a single step before suddenly being hugged from behind. 

“Amor!” A familiar, upbeat voice called from behind. 

“I thought I told you to stop calling me that,” he reminded, his voice gentle yet firm, looking over his shoulder to see Cesar's toothy grin and freckled face.  

“You need to stop worrying, amor. There are barely any Español speakers here in Mandela County.” 

Mark huffed at his words. Cesar was probably right. If anything, Cesar’s family might be the only fluent Spanish speakers in town, yet it still worries Mark. If the church found out that he was dating the same sex, he would be done for. 

“Alright, but just tone it down a little, okay…?” he requested. 

Cesar nodded, releasing Mark from his bear hug. 

Mark began walking along the cracked sidewalk, Cesar following him, skipping over the cracks. Someone’s in a cheerful mood. 

“What do you say we head to my place? Pasar el rato?”Caesar Suggested, though it came off more as a playful plea. 

“Can’t, my parents are out of town and my sister is at a church camp. I’m stuck on house-sitting duty,” Mark sighed. 

A pout appeared on his partner's face as he spoke.  

“Está bien. I’ll see you on Monday then, sí?” He asked, earning a small nod from Mark. Cesar waved goodbye as he turned the corner into an alleyway. Mark gave a small wave in return. Watching Cesar trudge through the moss-covered cobbled path. 

After a moment, Mark pulled his gaze away, continuing along the sidewalk. The chilled breeze caused his body to shiver despite the sweater he wore. He could see the oak trees lined up against the sidewalk gently swaying in the wind, the occasional leaf being plucked off and carried away by the breeze. 

After a while, Mark made it to the front steps of his home. The wooden material of the house needed to be in better condition, splintered and polished. The white paint coating the wood was slowly peeling away. There was a small overhang over the porch, little arches decorating its outer ring. There were a few windows here and there, possessing more height than width, and the roof was made out of bland, rustic-red bricks with a chimney perched on top.

Mark pushed open the door and dashed upstairs to his room, slightly annoyed at himself. He should have gone and hung out with Cesar. Suck up whatever punishment his parents would have given him. With more force than indented, he shut his bedroom door and swung his bookbag from his shoulder onto the carpeted floor. 

Mark's room was nothing special. The walls were painted a bland boring tan color. There were a few posters scattered around that Cesar had gifted him, complaining that his room needed more decorations, and honestly, Mark agreed, only if his parents would let him. 

A cross hung over his bed, along with a dark oak nightstand beside the left side of his bed, which was a medium four-post, unlike Cesar, who had one of those beds with the curtains on the sides. Mark thought it was a little girlish but never told Cesar his opinion. 

A mahogany desk sat in the corner with a small ash-colored lamp pushed in the corner of the desk. His leather-padded journal and bible sat in the middle stacked on one another. A bookshelf made of the same wood as the desk housed a few books and trinkets, more items Cesar had gifted Mark. The last piece of furniture in his room was a walk-in closet, that housed nothing but his clothes. 

Mark pulled off his sweater and tossed it on the ground, grabbing his journal and a pen from the desk before flopping down onto his bed. He flipped open the journal and started to doodle on the pages. 

�"

Mark was jolted awake by the sound of the downstairs phone ringing, rolling over to see the time on the analog clock on his nightstand. Three twenty-four in the morning. 

Mark slid off of the bed and made his way over to the door, pushing it open and navigating his way down the stairs in the dark. Eventually, he made his way over to where the landline phone was hung on the wall, he plucked it up and held it to his ear, tiredly rubbing his eyes. 

“Mark! Oh, thank God you picked up,” Cesar’s voice cracked through the phone.

Mark’s grogginess vanished instantly. His heart skipped as he processed Cesar's voice, frantic and shaky. He didn’t even register Cesar’s use of the Lord’s name; that didn’t matter now.

“Cesar, it’s three in the morning, why are you calling so late?” Mark’s voice trembled as he spoke, trying to steady himself. There was a heavy silence on the other end, broken only by the unmistakable sound of breathing�"ragged, uneven, and something else… crying?

“Are you crying…? Cesar, what’s going on?” Mark’s chest tightened. It hurt to hear him like this, vulnerable and scared, knowing he couldn’t be there to hold him, to calm him down. 

“It’s my mom, she’s…” Cesar’s voice faltered, and the sobbing grew louder, more desperate.

Mark closed his eyes, taking a steady breath. “Hey there, love, it’s going to be alright. Cesar, please tell me what’s going on.” His voice wavered.

“Ella está muerta,” Cesar choked out, his voice barely above a whisper. “I think… I think it was an Alternate.”

Mark’s pulse quickened. The word “Alternate” sent a jolt of terror down his spine, and though he didn’t understand Spanish, the implication was clear enough. 

“Are your windows and doors locked? Are you somewhere safe? Have you called the cops?” Mark’s voice was rushed, frantic now, the fear and urgency bleeding into every word. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears. He needed to know Cesar was safe, that he wasn’t too late.

“Sí, sí… Everything’s locked and I’ve called the cops.” 

Mark exhaled a shallow breath, trying to convince himself Cesar was going to be okay. “Then get somewhere safe, I’m sure they’re already on their way over�"”

“No! Por favor, come over. I wanna be with you, amor. I’m too scared to be alone…” Cesar’s voice cracked, and Mark felt his heart shatter.

He stood frozen, the phone heavy in his hand. He knew the danger; going out at night with an Alternate lurking nearby was a death sentence. His rational mind screamed at him to stay put, to wait, but his heart�"his heart wouldn’t let Cesar face this alone. He couldn’t leave him, not like this. Not ever.

Mark’s hand shook as he tightened his grip on the phone, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Give me fifteen, I’m on my way. Get somewhere safe, please stay alive,” he breathed, hanging up the phone with a sense of finality.

He rushed to his room, snatching his sweater from the floor and pulling it on in one swift motion. His mind raced as he stood in the doorway, eyes locking on the dresser. He hesitated, every part of him screaming not to do it, not to break his vow. But this wasn’t about him. This was about Cesar.

With a heavy heart, Mark crossed the room and opened the drawer, his fingers wrapping around the cold metal of the handgun. He had sworn never to touch it again, but vows meant nothing when someone you loved was in danger. Someone else's life mattered more than a promise.

He couldn’t lose Cesar. Not tonight.

�"

Mark stepped onto the creaky wooden porch. Its weathered brick walls, interlaced with wooden accents, framed towering arched windows. The front door was crafted with dark, polished wood.

He entered, his footsteps echoing softly on the gleaming hardwood floors. Above him, thick wooden beams crisscrossed the high ceiling, their dark silhouettes casting long, wavering shadows that danced across the room. The walls were draped in lush floral wallpaper, their intricate patterns barely visible in the dim glow from outside.

Heavy velvet curtains swallowed what little light the street offered, plunging the room into a near-complete darkness. The air hung thick and heavy.

As Mark made his way through the eerie silence, his heart pounded. Every creak of the floorboards beneath him echoed unnervingly through the halls. Finally, he reached Cesar's room, its door slightly ajar. The soft glow from the hallway barely illuminated the threshold, casting a long shadow across the floor.

Everything in him was urging him to go back, to leave, but he continued forward. Carefully pushing open the door, tightening his grip on the handgun as he stepped inside. His movements ceased, his body tense and rigid as he surveyed the scene before him. 

Cesar’s cold, lifeless body lay on the floor,  blood spewing from his neck, staining the polished wooden floor. His gingered hair was a mess, his eyes were wide open in shock, pupils dilated. Crimson blood coated his tan skin, dripping down his clothes. There was a kitchen knife sitting a few feet away from his body. 

Tears formed in the corner of his eyes as his knees buckled out from under him, falling to the ground. His grip on the handgun was so tight his knuckles were turning white. Why? Why Cesar? Why couldn’t it have been him? 

Mark’s breakdown was short-lived as he heard footsteps around the halls, that thing was still here. Mark shakily stumbled up from the wooden floor, clutching the door frame as he looked around. Tears blocked his vision as he tried to scan around in the dark, looking for the source of the footsteps. 

That’s when he heard it,  laughter. It sounded like metal grinding against each other. Those creatures were good at copying appearance, but not voice. Mark quickly reacted, running out of the room and through the front door.  

�"

Mark frantically locked every door and window in the house, returning to the safety of his room and sitting on the bed. Taking a few deep breaths to try and calm himself, but the image of Cesar’s body remained. 

That’s when he heard it, the soft footsteps of the creature. It followed him home…

“Mark~” The voice called out, it somewhat resembled Cesar’s voice, minus the grinding and distorted sounds mingled in there. A sick parody of his friend twisted into something malevolent.

“I have a surprise for you~” It sang.

Mark’s heart pounded in his chest as he recalled the news reports and the rumors circulating school about how these creatures work. 

How they tempt their victims to kill themselves with psychological warfare, how they only become hostile if attacked, and how they steal their victims' identities afterward. Each whispered tale had seemed like just a ghost story, until now.

Mark wasn’t going to fall for it, he couldn't, not only was it a sin, but he had to stay strong for Cesar, he had to stay alive for him. But fear pressed down on him, suffocating him as he curled under the covers. It had to go away by morning, right? It wouldn’t stand outside of his door all night, right? They weren’t that persistent, were they?

He lay there, listening intently to the silence, every creak of the house sending panic through him. The seconds ticked like hours, his mind racing through a thousand terrible possibilities. He thought of Cesar, of their last conversation, of the plans they made�"now shattered.

�"

Mark awoke to the sound of… scratching? He groggily sat on the bed, rubbing his eyes, trying to shake off the haze of sleep. The scratching was real, insistent, coming from the door.

“Mark~” The Alternate called out again, its voice an eerie echo in the darkened room. 

It was still there, waiting, patient. Mark felt a cold dread seep into his bones. He was effectively trapped in his room, with no way to call for help. The only phone in the house was down in the kitchen, and there was no way Mark was opening his bedroom door with an Alternate lurking outside.

He would just have to wait, wait, and hope that the creature goes away, or that help arrives, and hope that help arrives sooner than later. But how long can he hold out? How long before the terror drives him to the brink?

“Mark~”

The sound of his name, so twisted, so wrong, made him wince. The best thing to do was to keep himself occupied, to keep his mind from spiraling into the abyss. So, he grabbed his notebook, hands shaking, and started doodling, anything to distract himself from the horror just beyond the door.

But the scribbles on the page did little to ease his anxiety. Every stroke of the pencil seemed to echo the slow, deliberate footsteps outside. The Alternate didn’t seem to be in a hurry. It just stood outside the door, not attempting to break it down. It didn’t seem to be in the mood to play mind games on Mark either, only calling out his name, a chilling persistence, as if it had all the time in the world.

Maybe he was safe. Maybe it was just trying to scare him, to make him break. But the doubt gnawed at him. Could he really outlast it? Could he hold on to his sanity as the night dragged on? 

�"

It was now day two, and the creature was still there, calling out to Mark and scratching at the bedroom door. The relentless sound had become a constant background noise, an eerie soundtrack to his growing despair. 

Hunger and thirst were already starting to gnaw at him like ravenous beasts. His stomach rumbled painfully, and his throat felt dry and raw. He didn’t keep snacks or drinks in his room; his parents wouldn’t allow it.

Ignoring the Alternate was becoming difficult. The mimicking of Cesar’s voice was starting to chip away at his mental defenses. Each time it called his name, he felt a pang of pain in his chest, a reminder of what he’d lost. 

It wasn’t just the voice�"it was the way it lingered on his name, stretching it out like a haunting lullaby, the way it mimicked the slight accent, the inflection that Cesar used when he was teasing or excited. How did it know those details? How could it replicate Cesar so perfectly, so cruelly?

He had tried to distract himself, to focus his mind on anything but the horror outside. He read the few books he owned, but every word on the page blurred together. 

It was hard to concentrate with the constant scratching on the door, a slow, methodical sound that seemed to vibrate in his skull. He tried counting the scratches, but they were erratic and unpredictable.

Eventually, his paranoia started to eat at him. He could feel his sanity fraying at the edges. He pushed his desk chair against the doorknob, wedging it tight. It was flimsy protection, but it was all he had. 

He paced the room, his eyes darting to the window, the door, the shadows creeping in the corners. Once the sky began to turn to dusk, the long fingers of twilight reaching through the glass, he started obsessively checking the lock on his window, his fingers trembling each time he touched the cold metal.

Every footstep he checked, every scratch he checked, every spoken word he checked. His nerves were raw, his body tense and aching from the constant vigilance. The hours stretched, each one longer than the last, and he felt himself unraveling, bit by bit.

He was on and off with doodling and writing in his notebook but just didn’t have the energy. His drawings became more frantic, more chaotic, and filled with jagged lines and dark shapes. 

He could feel his hands trembling, his thoughts becoming scattered. After a while, his emotions caught up to him again, crashing over him like a tidal wave. The events of that night, Cesar’s body, the lifeless eyes, the blood… It was too much.

Mark curled up under the covers of the bed, trying to shield himself from the world, from the memories that wouldn’t leave him alone. His breaths came in ragged gasps, as he wept in his grief, silent sobs shaking his entire body. 

The tears flowed freely, soaking his pillow, and he didn’t bother to wipe them away. His shoulders shook, and he hugged himself tighter, feeling the cold seep into his bones.

He cried until his eyes burned and there were no tears left to shed. Exhaustion weighed down on him like a heavy blanket, and at some point, his body gave in. His sobs grew quieter, his breathing more shallow, until he finally drifted off into a restless sleep, haunted by images of Cesar, of the creature waiting outside, of a never-ending darkness.

�"

It was day three, and Mark had already lost his mind. He was curled up in the far corner of the room, his body trembling uncontrollably. He hadn’t stopped sobbing ever since he woke, his tears now a dull ache in his eyes, his throat raw from crying. 

Thoughts ran haywire in his head, spinning out of control like a storm he couldn’t escape. His mind was a whirlpool of fear, guilt, and despair, each thought louder than the last, accompanied by a relentless ringing that filled his ears, drowning out even the mocking calls of the creature outside.

He clutched onto his rosary and Bible, holding them close to his chest as if they were the only things anchoring him to reality. He could feel the worn beads of the rosary dig into his palms, the metal of the crucifix cold against his skin. 

The handgun lay just a few feet away from him, its presence both a threat and a twisted promise of escape. His eyes darted toward it every few moments, but he forced himself to look away. Not yet, he thought. Not yet.

He had started rehearsing lines and phrases from the Bible, muttering them under his breath like a mantra, his voice barely more than a whisper. 

"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want… He maketh me to lie down in green pastures… Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil…” 

His voice faltered with each repetition, the words felt hollow, meaningless. He would occasionally get down on his knees, clutching the rosary, praying desperately, pleading for someone, anyone, to save him from this hell. His voice cracked as he begged for forgiveness, tears streaming down his face. 

“Please, God… please… forgive me… help me…”

Mark didn’t understand what he had done to deserve this. Why was he being punished like this? Was it because of him and Cesar? Was it their relationship? Even with all he had done to follow God's rules while keeping Cesar happy, it still wasn’t enough. He felt a gnawing guilt deep in his soul, a fear that maybe, just maybe, this was his penance for something he couldn’t even name.

As he wept in his self-grief, his body shook with the force of his sobs, until he suddenly felt the cold metal of the handgun hit his foot. He glanced up, his vision blurry, looking around in confusion before his eyes landed on an…angel…? He blinked, wiping the tears from his eyes, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

Their figure was tall and slim, with soft, almost ethereal facial features. Long, curly golden hair flowed down to its shoulders, catching the dim light, almost glowing. It wore long, white silky robes that seemed to shimmer with every slight movement, and on its feet were simple, tanned sandals. A pair of big, fluffy bird-like wings were folded behind its back, feathers gleaming like polished ivory.

“Do not fear, little lamb. Your prayers have been answered,” the angel softly spoke, its voice gentle and melodic, like a comforting lullaby. Mark gazed up at the angel in awe, his breath hitching in his throat. His prayers had been answered…

“I’m here to bring you to paradise,” the angel calmly continued, bending down to pick up the handgun off the floor. It held the weapon delicately, almost reverently, before offering it to Mark. He looked up at the angel, puzzled, his heart pounding.

“I don’t understand…” he murmured, his voice shaky and uncertain. The angel's smile grew wider, its expression one of serene patience.

“The living can’t enter Heaven,” it explained softly. The words seemed to hang in the air, chilling and heavy. Mark was taken aback, his eyes widening.

 “But it’s a sin!” Mark protested, his voice barely more than a whisper, the desperation clear in his tone.

“Says who?” The angel’s voice was still gentle, but there was an undercurrent of something darker, something almost mocking.

“The Bible�"” Mark began, his grip tightening on the rosary.

“You humans made up your own rules,” the angel interjected, its voice sharpening just a fraction. “You don’t follow the rule of God.”

Mark’s mind reeled, confusion mixing with fear. “What about my family?” he asked weakly, his voice trembling.

The angel giggled softly, a sound strangely out of place, almost childlike. “Don’t act like you care about them now,” it mocked, its smile widening. “Don’t you want to see Cesar again?”

“Cesar, he made it up there?” Mark questioned, his heart clenching with desperate hope. The angel nodded, its golden curls bouncing slightly with the motion.

“Yes,” it replied, its voice warm and inviting. “He’s waiting for you, Mark.”

Mark’s breath caught in his throat. Cesar… up there… waiting for him? His mind was torn between hope and fear. The angel's smile grew even wider, its pupils dilating unnaturally, as it gently shoved the handgun into Mark’s hands.

“Pull the trigger,” it tempted, its voice a soft, seductive whisper, its hands closing around his, guiding them to position the handgun under his chin.

“Pull the trigger,” it repeated, its voice like honey, sweet and thick, coating his mind in a haze.

Mark’s hands shook violently, his finger hovering over the trigger. His heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. He felt the cold barrel of the gun press against his skin, felt the angel’s hands guiding his own. The room seemed to close in around him, the walls shifting, the corners darkening.

For a moment, he could almost see Cesar's face, smiling at him from somewhere in the light, his eyes full of love and understanding. "Come on, Mark," the angel coaxed, its voice both soothing and insistent. "He’s waiting for you."

Author's Note

Any feedback is appreciated :)