1
Tag
by Keith Kennedy
"I'm walking home from my friend's house. We've just watched a movie. It's late enough that there is no one around.
The distance between his place and mine is minimal. Five city blocks, omitting Pythagoras, three south and two west.
I get to only the second block before my isolation is disturbed. I see a woman walking west, toward me. My pace is going to take me past the intersection long before she crosses the street.
She's tall for a woman, and thin, black hair long and scooped forward over her shoulders.
I'm reminded of Asian horror films and I feel a little bit scared and a little bit racist. I can't tell what her ethnicity is from this distance, not in the dark.
I walk past the intersection. She's walking toward it, head tilted down. Her hair is very long and very black. So black that it stands out in contrast against the faintly-lit suburban night.
There's no reason for me to look back. In fact, there's reason for me not to. I'm a man, she's a woman. It's late and we're alone. No need to risk making her uncomfortable by checking her out.
I can't help myself. Too many horror movies.
I look back.
She's walking across the street. Only her feet aren't moving properly. The legs are slow, like she's being held slightly off the ground. Like a puppet pretending to walk, a marionette faking forward movement while being controlled from above.
I stutter-step and turn to see better, horrified.
Her arms are like those of a mannequin. They're pale and held at right angles, one thin elbow thrusting backward, the other held at her waist, two hands frozen in karate chops.
I must not be seeing what I think I'm seeing. I start walking backwards away from her.
Her head turns. No, it gets readjusted. It's looking forward, then it's turned, like a jump-cut, like a frame is missing from real life. She's looking at me, a pale sliver of face between two straight waterfalls of glimmering, black tresses.
Convinced I'm not seeing this woman gliding across the street, posed like a real boy, I choose normalcy. I return to my walk, assuming I've become confused by the dark and its ability to instill terrors. Already, after only three steps, the image in my mind is hazy. It was too dark to see what I saw. It was only an impression. Fact was, I'd only turned briefly, caught a snippet of time. She was in mid-stride, that's all.
This gets me eleven paces further along the sidewalk before I'm forced to look again.
She's impossibly close.
Not where she should have been. Not twice as close.
But six feet behind me.
She's no longer a marionette. Now she's an engine of speed, long legs moving swiftly, head tilted as before, hands at her sides.
It's too much. I can't accept the possibility of anything supernatural, so I step off the sidewalk to let her pass.
For a moment, it's the right decision. I'm sure she's going to go straight past. She's in a hurry. I misjudged her speed before. I didn't see what I thought I'd seen.
She's two feet from me.
Maybe she's just crazy. A strange lady out at night, off her medication. Wouldn't be the first time.
One foot away.
She veers toward me, her mouth opening in a shriek. I fall backward, like a camera knocked off its tripod. I see the world pass before my eyes, night sky, stars then stillness.
The woman fills my vision. Her mouth is a wound, red around the outside, red within, small, spiny teeth wriggling like erect worms.
She sucks air, sealing her lips momentarily together. A black pearl of drool escapes and touches my face. It feels like ice and it burns.
The pain is jolting and I feel the adrenaline of fight or flight.
Cold air rushes from her gaping maw and stills me. She wheezes like an old motor. Her eyes peer into mine.
Her eyes are wide, yet normal.
That's it. It's black now."
