The Last Winter

Saturday: Phantoms of Judgement (18)

Maggie
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I squeeze my eyes shut for a long moment, slowly shaking my head at their stupidity.

I mean, I didn't see them run downstairs, but I certainly heard the echoing sounds of their feet hitting the floor, and the deafening slam of a door somewhere in the distance. Then:

Silence.

I hold my breath and listen more, my head cocked toward the closed door behind me.

Nothing. I hear nothing.

But I did see something. Maybe the others saw it too, and that's why they ran. That's certainly why I'm hiding behind a closed door down the hall from the entrance to the sewers. This place seems to be some sort of old, abandoned office building. There are cobwebs, dust, and dead insects everywhere.

And some kind of wild animal is roaming around the hall. A wolf, I think. I could only manage to catch a glimpse of a blur of pale white in the darkness of the hallway before I bolted, but it is definitely something on all fours.

And something that gives an alarming growl.

Suddenly I feel rather naked without a weapon. I should've held onto my trusty bat while I still had it.

I slowly and carefully move away from the door. I don't hear any quick footsteps heading in my direction, and it doesn't swing open, so I think I'm okay.

I twist around to survey my new environment--a wide open space of various cubicles similar to the one leading to the sewers. I hesitantly cross the floor, wondering if this somehow connects to the office area I had just left down the hall.

Then it hits me like a surging tsunami wave:

An ungodly stench like no other.

The stench of death.

The stench of rotting flesh.

I round the corner just in time to glimpse a bloody carcass hanging from a hook in the ceiling just a few feet from me. The corpse of a large pig, I think--split open in the middle as if ready to be sliced by a butcher. Some things have slipped out and piled in a cold mush right below. Organs, probably. Several flies can be seen crawling over the cold flesh, buzzing with delight. Dried black rivers run their courses down to the floor, having already created a puddle on the dirty tiles.

This horrible exhibit has been hanging here for a while!

I gag and stagger away, then my foot catches on something and I trip backwards, slamming my head against the floor.

"UGHHH!" I cry out through clenched teeth, squeezing my eyes shut against the pain.

I put a hand to my head as I slowly pick myself up from the dirty floor. When I open my eyes again, I spot what I had tripped over: a piece of paper with the permanent black mark of my shoe print on it. But that's not what grabs my attention.

I'm staring at a picture of myself.

My blood runs cold. Somehow, the knot on the back of my head doesn't seem that painful now.

My trembling fingers find the edge of the thin paper, and I pick it up. It's not top quality--definitely not a photograph that Ralph would take. It is slightly hazy and appears to have been taken from a distance.

But it's definitely me--dark hair, bangs. No doubt. I even recognize what street I'm on in the photograph. It's my regular route that I take to walk to the library.

The hairs on my arm stand on end when I realize that I had been walking there alone on that particular day.

And someone had been watching me.