Prelude.
684 Words
Rule number one: Never stay outdoors past midnight.
Grace hurried through the streets, sticking very close to the lights and avoiding the shadows and the dark alleys. The dainty gold watch on her left wrist read half past midnight. The shadows seemed to grow larger, l*****g at her feet, and she clutched the black suitcase handcuffed to her right wrist, until her knuckles turned white.
Her pace picked up, the eerie and unsettling feeling in the pit of her stomach growing to the size of a black hole.
The pavement was still slightly wet from the light drizzle of rain earlier, and little worms wriggled around in the muddy puddles. A car whizzed past her, and she waited a minute before making sure the road was empty, and proceeded to hastily cross it, landing herself in the darker parts of town.
Her black kitten heels made loud click-clacking sounds and Grace wished she had changed into her tennis shoes instead. Something moved in her peripheral vision and she swallowed hard, walking faster, and trying not to break into a run.
“In a hurry, young lady?” someone called from behind her.
Rule number two: Don’t speak to anyone you meet outside after midnight. They might be one of them.
Grace continued on her path without looking back. She heard footsteps following closely behind her, and stealthily pulled out a black pen from the pocket of her pencil skirt. She pressed down on the cap, activating the tracking device, and without a second thought, swallowed the cap. The footsteps behind her grew louder, and she desperately prayed for help to arrive soon.
Rule number three: Don’t run when they follow you. You can’t outrun them. Just keep walking.
“It’s rude not to answer people when they speak to you.” The throaty voice came again, making the hairs on the back of Grace’s neck stand on edge. She could hear her heart thrumming in her ears and it took everything in her not to take off running. The rhythmical click-clacking of her heels continued.
“What’s in the suitcase?”
Her blood froze, but the muscles in her leg kept diligently moving her forward. She wanted to turn around and see the person following her, but she remembered her grandmother’s voice warning her not to.
Rule number four: Never turn around when they are walking behind you.
A car engine revved in the distance and hope swelled in Grace’s chest. A little more forward, she told herself, only looking ahead at the next intersection, where the streets were less dark and there was a higher possibility of finding help. She moved a little faster, risking a slow jog, and hoping the car moves in her direction and finds her before it became too late.
“Ah, how very rude. Why won’t you turn around?”
Grace blinked, trying to control her heartbeat. A few more steps, she encouraged herself, and kept going.
Tires screeched, and a loud crash cut through the empty streets. Fear gripped her, and the little hope she was nursing died away. The voice behind her stifled a chuckle.
“Oh Grace, you reek of fear. But its okay, Ophelia was scared to death too.”
Grace stopped dead in her tracks, her breath caught in her throat. She wanted to turn around, she wanted to scream, but most importantly, she wanted to run.
Throwing all caution into the air and ignoring the rules her grandmother had taught them, she did a one eighty degree turn, coming face to face with the red orbs of the shadow behind her.
Rule number five: Never look them in the eye.
Her blood curdling scream filled the streets, and suddenly all became quiet. Only the slight hum of the night air could be heard.
The streets were once again empty and deserted. Grace Clemonte had disappeared, along with the question she was dying to ask…
“What have you done to my sister?”
- Writer
