The Stranger

I was having a bad day. It seemed like every customer that came through the door had a personal problem with me. Especially one of our regulars. As if it was somehow my fault the tea I sold her three days ago didn’t help her lose twenty pounds already. Perhaps I would still be employed if I hadn’t suggested she drink the tea with something other than 3 super sized big mac meals a day. My manager made a big show of threatening to fire me on the spot if I didn’t apologise immediately. I pretended to consider it before removing my work shirt, handing it to the manager, and flipping them both off as I walked away. A lack of self control is one of my many character flaws.

The bus was late as usual as I stood there in the small crowd dumbly waiting for it, a tangled mess of rage and sorrow. City life was much harder than I anticipated and everything was falling apart. Some emo looking fuck was side eyeing me like he wanted to start up a pointless conversation based on my now exposed cleavage. Great. I was about to satiate my anger by asking him if it was the first time he had ever seen D cups in a tank top when I realized he looked incredibly familiar. I hadn’t been living here very long but I had seen this guy around...a lot. I was naive enough to think we just had similar schedules.

Awhile back when I caught my boyfriend cheating (again) and was riding the train to the nearest bar this guy was sitting across from me. I was doing that thing where you think the tears won’t spill out if you just try really hard and don’t blink. Shit never works and I lost it. Through my fuzzy contacts I only made out long dark hair and thick eyeliner offering me a tissue. Embarrassed and angry at myself, I snatched it from his hand and changed seats. Yeah, I know it was rude. But I was in no mood to deal with dude playing white knight you know? Fucks sake I had only been single for an hour.

When I missed my period he was riding the bus I caught on the way to CVS. It was crowded and there was only standing room, but I think he was the guy who gave up his seat for me. I hardly registered his presence at the time, how could I? All I could think about was getting my hands on that test. My mind was too busy trying to convince itself everything would be ok and I was definitely NOT pregnant with that cheating jerks baby. Would you have noticed a random guy at a time like that?

After the abortion I had to call a cab to be released from the clinic due to some lingering effects of the drugs used in the procedure. They called it “twilight”. How fucking poetic. As I waited outside it started to rain and I remember feeling grateful for it. I didn’t deserve the contrasting joy of the warm and comforting sun. When the car pulled up to the curb goth boy was sitting in the back. I stopped approaching, figuring it wasn’t my cab, when he got out and stood in front of me. Cold rain was pelting down on us but he didn’t seem to mind as he handed me a small black umbrella with his silver ringed fingers and painted nails. I didn’t know if it really happened or not until I woke up still groggy the next day and saw the umbrella lying on the floor.

Was this dude stalking me?

The squealing brakes of the bus brought me back to the present. Everyone else lined up to get on but my feet were welded to the ground by a rising panic. All of my anger at the creep had drained away leaving a helpless vulnerability in its stead. He was mere feet away from me now, icy blue eyes flicking from my tits to my face, his pale skin framed around black curtains of hair long enough to kiss his navel. I don’t know what I was expecting to happen but what he did sure as hell wasn’t on my list of predictions. He took off the long sleeved shirt he was wearing and handed it to me. Stunned and confused, the only thing I could manage to do was drape it over my chest and watch him turn and walk away with my mouth flapping open like a fucking barn door in the wind. Line after deliberate line of scars and cuts ran up his arms like a broken staircase of pain.

He took a window seat in the back and continued to stare down at me even as the bus hissed and lurched down the street.

I let three more pass me by before finally getting enough courage to go home. Everytime one rolled up a cold rush of nerves crawled over me as I fought the idea that he would be waiting for me inside. I finally caved when the sun dipped under the horizon and the approaching darkness became a bigger threat than my persistent stalker. By the time I got back to my shoebox apartment I was exhausted, cranky, and being smacked by the reality that I only had one more paycheck coming that might cover the rent if I didn’t eat or pay any other bills with it. I decided a hot bath was in order while I could still afford one.

Sinking deep into the steaming water I struggled to relax. I couldn’t stop thinking about my mysterious admirer and all the times I failed to register his repeating presence. Were there other instances I had missed? How long had it been going on? He didn’t seem to want to hurt me. Despite the scare factor of a man I didn’t know following me around, I had to admit the obvious: his actions were...nice. The real creep out was how he knew where I would be and how he could possibly anticipate that I would be standing in the rain or would sit across from him on the train. Resolving to confront him the next time we crossed paths made me feel better enough to let it go and get on with my business.

I was just about to squeeze a big glob of body wash onto my bath sponge when I felt a tickling sensation on the top of my thigh. I froze. Ruling out the possibility of bugs, as I always rinse out the tub and double check for those disgusting bastards, left me with little other explanation. Water seeped slowly through my fingers from the sponge and drip dropped in an erratic symphony as I lifted it up and away from my leg.

Dangling from the bottom and slowly dragging over my skin was a long black hair.

I had neglected the laundry for the week and had no clean clothes other than skimpy panties reserved for my now defunct love life. Frustrated and beyond tired I picked a red pair that was no more than a god damned string sewed to a tiny triangle and went tearing through the apartment looking for the strangers shirt. I knew I left it in the kitchenette crumpled on the countertop but found it neatly folded on my bed instead. I wasn’t about to wear it after that so I brushed it off the mattress and onto floor. I fell into bed and pulled the covers up to my chin. Despite a nagging unease, sleep took me quickly.

The stranger was lying next to me in bed. I gasped and reached up for the lightswitch only to be grabbed by the arm and subdued. The room remained a landscape of grey and shadow, the shape of my attacker an imposing silhouette. He didn’t speak when I begged him to let me go and cried for him to leave without hurting me. He didn’t react when my sobbing reached a crescendo and I was certain my screams could be heard by the other tenants in the building. Instead of silencing me he continued to work, tying my hands and feet to the corners of the bed. With the task complete he stood and loomed over me. I didn’t have to see his face to know his eyes were moving up and down my body. I felt it, slow and deliberate, like a paintbrush relishing every stroke as its color grows bold and deep on the canvas.

He finally moved and I squeezed my eyes shut, doing anything I could to brace for the coming violation. My bonds were tight. There was no way out. His hair brushed my skin as he climbed back in the bed and a barreling wave of goosebumps spread over me me like a quilt. I wailed and thrashed. I screamed and pleaded and promised him I could never be able to turn him in because I didn’t know who he was. I tried to bribe him with money I didn’t have if he would just untie me and leave. I went on and on like for a long time before I realized he hadn’t touched me since securing me to the bed or spoken a single word. Nothing I did could get a reaction from the stranger. His only response was steady breathing and miniscule movements beside me.

We laid there like that for hours. It felt like it could have been days. I went in and out of consciousness several times. My wrists and ankles throbbed. My face slimy from drying tears and unwiped trails of thick snot. Vomit was threatening itself as a coming reality and I fought it back with all I had, terrified of choking on it. When it didn’t come I cried some more until I was almost asleep again. Before I slipped away, the stranger wrapped his arm around my waist and nuzzled his nose against my neck.

The next time I opened my eyes it was daylight and I was alone. All signs pointed to the whole thing being a crazy vivid dream and the relief was indescribable. Of course I was still shaken up a bit so I decided to check my door and the small window in my bathroom. Both were locked. Nothing in the apartment was disturbed. Still, I felt edgy. My body ached and I was still really tired so I did what hopeless and jobless people do: I went back to bed. But sleep wouldn’t come to me. No position was comfortable. No negative thought could be forced away long enough to slow my racing heart. I couldn’t just lay there anymore. With nothing to distract me away from my problems, I decided to tackle the laundry.

My building has a basement facility for residents and it is every creepy cliche you can imagine. The lighting was shit and cast ominous shadows no matter what time of day it was. The machines were all ancient and sang a constant concert of squeaky songs about years of use and abuse together. Hell even the vending machine all half stocked with detergents looked like it belonged in a B-Horror movie with its flickering panels. It was definitely not going to turn into a Tide Ad down there. As an added cherry on top of the shitshake I had to stay down there the entire time, lest my machine or clothes be taken.

He was waiting for me by the door, still shirtless, and pale as ever. My feet hit the bottom step with a thud and his eyes were on me immediately. The laundry basket I was carrying fell to the floor with a clack and clothes spilled out around our feet. He walked around me and locked the door. I no longer had the option to exit. I knew I was going to die down there. But this time I was actually afraid of dying.

Not like when I sliced my wrists in the bathtub. There was no fear, only pain and the desire to end that pain.

That was our real first meeting. He crouched next to the tub and told me I had a beautiful face as he swirled his fingers around in the red water. He took the razor from my hands and whispered to me that I was inches from death but he wanted to give me something special. A chance he never had. Because when he killed himself after being picked on and beaten up by the world he unknowingly had signed a binding contract. He said he can’t remember who he was before becoming a ferryman and he has no idea what the other side is like.

He wanted me to have a choice. I could simply continue dying and possibly become like him and guide the dying to the other side, or I could live and have another chance. The only condition being I would not remember anything. Not him, his offer, my suicide attempt, or the pain. Or the omens...

I took the deal of course. I believed everything he told me like a true victim would.

I believed him as I overdosed in the bathroom after getting fired.

I believed him as jumped off the bridge and into the river holding a positive pregnancy test.

I especially believed him after I found out my boyfriend had a secret kid on the way with another woman and that was why he pushed so hard for the abortion.

The problem was that I couldn’t remember. Every time I could no longer live with the pain in my life I would decide to end it again. I didn’t know how many times I had wasted another chance to get better. He would leave me offerings as a symbol he had saved me, but I only had so many before a bill would be due in full. He said I would know when that day was near. He would start handing them to me personally.

And I ate it all up with a spoon. It didn’t matter if I remembered or not right? There would be signs… I would do the right thing next time… I would get better. Right?

Wrong.

No one ever wins this game. Standing there in the basement in the flickering lights he grinned at me. The gun my father had given me as a gift before moving to the city “for protection” was still in my hands. As the blood poured out my head and down my arm he hugged me, laughing.

“Last call, Princess.” His breath was like rotting leaves in the fall. “I’ll give you one more chance. Just for fun, okay? Because you’re so pretty…”

“Okay.” I cried. “Please… Can you tell me my fate? I won’t remember this anyways.”

He smirked. “Already told you that. I gave you a preview didn’t I? You begged and screamed to live and I held out. For you.”

So why? Why he would let me do this over and over if it meant nothing and I would still die eventually? My fear. He needed me to be afraid of death. Because death prefers it that way.

So before I go, heed this warning.

Be brave. Keep fighting. If we must die, let it at least be in a way that death doesn’t prefer.

Author: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/975b31/the_stranger/