Footsteps



Shauna Kirkpatrick parked her car beneath the streetlight and quickly stepped out. She covered the distance to her front steps in seconds, keys already in hand, and unlocked the door and stepped inside. From the safety of her hall, she turned and looked up and down the street. The sound of cars racing up and down the freeway could be heard from the few blocks distant. Other than that, the quiet neighborhood was, in fact, quiet. With a sheepish grin she closed the door. The click of the lock carried across the street to a space between two houses where it was heard and noted by Bryan Crane.

Ten minutes later he stepped out and walked down the block. A nice evening for a stroll, and no one could tell him otherwise. The still quiet neighborhood reminded him of the suburb he grew up in, filled with tiny one story brick homes, each with its own matching brick garage. He wondered why Shauna parked on the street. He made a note to ask her. Thoughts of her quickened his breath and heart. She was his type, of course. Tan skin and dark hair, with just a bit too much makeup and jewelry. She had a voice that was soft and low, with the hint of an accent. “Wait for the beep, and you know what to do!” He never waited for the beep.

Why hadn’t he noticed the footsteps? He wore soft-soled running shoes which didn’t make a sound, yet, there it was. The clik-clok clik-clok of footsteps matching his own. Still, it was a nice evening for a stroll. He laughed to himself at his momentary paranoia. For a moment he had even wished he’d had the knife with him but of course it wasn’t there. He had no need for it yet.

He shook off the urge to turn around or quicken his pace, and instead listened to the footsteps. They weren’t close, so he would have plenty of time to respond if they sped up. Only a couple of blocks and he’d reach his car. The seventeen minute walk might have seemed excessive, but he believed in being careful. Every night he parked in a different spot, in a different direction from her house, but always seventeen minutes away. So intently was he listening to the set of footsteps behind him, that he nearly missed the matching sets that joined them.

Somehow he kept walking. His body grew cold from the sheen of sweat that started beneath his arms and ran down his back. He walked faster, still not looking back. The sickly-sweet sour stench grew and he heard the cruel laughter of the high school girl who was every high school girl, as her boyfriends called him ‘Pits’ and shoved him into the locker room showers and held him beneath the ice cold water. It had been years since they laughed at him, since he let them laugh at him, but he heard it now. The footsteps grew louder and faster and closer and finally he turned. Beneath the row of streetlights they stood. Blood ran down their faces and chests where he’d cut them, and still they laughed. He ran now, his heart beating in his chests, faster and faster, a moment later, the footsteps followed. Faster and faster.
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You've got a real nice piece going here, and while I don't find myself dying to know what happens next (I don't mean that the way it sounds, I would like to know more, but I also find it satisfying as is) I do find myself wanting to know just a little more about the "past."

I think the last two graphs could use to be fleshed out a bit more and maybe a bit more on the girl. Is she from his high school, or is he projecting a "high school girl" he knew on to the face of other women?

At the risk of sounding defensive (and I don't mean to) the story is really meant to be about the stalker. Even the first paragraph isn't really meant to be about Shauna Kirkpatrick, but about how he sees her. I'll be the first to admit that the flaw is in the writing, coming across more as omniscient narration, rather than limited third person, and muddling the focus.

The ending is definitely rushed, though.

I'm just wondering if Shauna Kirkpatrick is an actual high school "friend," or just another in a long line of women he has stalked and fit the same mold.

Maybe its best that I don't know, otherwise, it wouldn't leave me thinking as much.

That's an easy fix, then. Remove Shauna's POV completely. "Show" Shauna's actions from outside her head, and wait until the end of the paragraph to name Bryan Crane as her observer. (It's unlikely that he could hear the click of the lock of her front door from across the street, anyway.)


I agree, but it's definitely worth revisiting. Creepy and crazy is always compelling to read about.

Well, THIS one fits the bill on horror, all right. Frank's advice was good to follow.