Nightwatch

Dusk swallows me whole at the riding stables. I'm pressed against earth that bites back with frost. The motorway tunnel yawns in the distance, dark as a throat.

I burrow into leaf litter, frost gnawing through the sweat-damp tracksuit. Stupid. I peeled off too many layers. Left skin exposed to teeth of night. My internal calculator clicks:

THERMAL REGULATION FAILURE: DAY WARM NOT EQUAL TO NIGHT ARCTIC. CLOTHING NOT EQUAL TO DISPOSABLE ARMOR. PRIVATE PROPERTY = FORBIDDEN.

Darkness thickens. Absolute. Suffocating. My teeth chatter, a relentless rhythm against unbearable cold. Tears tracks icy paths down my cheeks.

Childhood monsters oozes from the dark. Chittering.

"Handsome Man," I whisper, a thread of sound so thin it barely reaches my own ears. "Handsome Man, turn the light on."

Telepathy. How many times must I tell you? The faint hum feels like correction, like discipline.

Then, halos. Twin orbs of light, breathing in the trees. I know he is watching. The Handsome Man. My silent sentinel. The night falls strangely devoid of animal sounds, only the distant, mournful barking of dogs cutting through oppressive quiet. Something is happening deeper in the woods. I feel it, a resonance of unseen movement. I have to remain motionless. A shadow among shadows. Survival depends on silence.

Just before dawn, a figure detaches itself from the tree line and vanishes into fading darkness. The Handsome Man. He has to be at work before anyone notices his absence.

The first hint of light, a pale grey smear on the horizon, is cold comfort. I have endured.

In the morning, compelled by a desperate hope, I venture towards the riding stable house, but it gapes empty. Soon, a man arrives, his eyes widening at the sight of me. "I got lost," I raspe, my voice hoarse from the cold. "Spent the night in the woods. Could you call me a taxi?" He stares at my bare feet, a flicker of fear in his gaze. "Wait for my boss," he mumbles, motioning vaguely towards the sun. "Wait in the sun."

A horse rages in the ring, hooves slamming earth like war drums. It halts before me, nostrils flared, eyes wild with something I recognize. Terror. Then wheels, galloping away from whatever it has seen.

The boss arrives, a stern man with an unsettlingly blank expression. I repeate my request for a taxi, but time stretches, the minutes congealing into an hour. "Are you mad?" My tremor shakes the words loose. "Can't you SEE? I'm ICE!" He tosses a horse blanket, stiff with old sweat. Better than nothing.

Then, blue lights. Not a cab. Cops.

Interrogation Protocol:

OFFICER:"What happened?"

ME:"I spent the night at a friend's place. Then I went for a stroll in the woods, got lost. Fell in a stream, the mud sucked my shoes away. Didn't have my phone. Tired, cold, so I just waited for morning."

OFFICER:"Where from? Someone waiting?"

ME:"Village. 20km east."

OFFICER:(Radio crackle) "Just out the hospital, eh? Who's this friend?"

ME:"Handsome Man."

He steps away, whispers into comms. Returns smiling, a knife disguised as kindness.

OFFICER:"A friend is coming to pick you up."

RED FLASH.

Every instinct screams danger

ME:"No!" My control frayed. "I don't know anyone here. I'm not from here. I have no friends. I just got out of the hospital because I was drugged. I'm not talking to anyone but the Sheriff!"

OFFICER:"I've already called the magistrate," he stated, voice clipped.

ME:"The magistrate?" My mind reels. "Why the hell have you called the magistrate? I just got lost in the woods! I want to go home! I want a taxi!"

The stable-hand shoves massive boots at me, clown-feet anchors to hide the evidence. Eventually, an ambulance arrives. Another hospital. More questions I can't answer. The policeman follows, and to my surprise, he finally calls me a taxi. "Next time, bring your phone," he advises, his frustration clear. "Even if it's off, we can find you."

As I wait outside for my ride, I hear the policeman speaking to another man, his voice low but sharp. "...after this, my promotion is fading away." Why did he call the magistrate? The question burrows into my brain like a parasite

We stop by Handsome Man's house. No one is home, but a woman with large sunglasses, washing her car next door, eyes me with an unnerving intensity. "Let's move on, next village, would you mind? I have money there," I ask with the most charming attitude I can muster. "Mh," he grunts.

The village, at last. "Wait, I need to get money," I tell the driver, then turn to 23, the tobacconist. "Can you lend me some money? I'll pay you back."

"I have no money, sorry," 23 replied, her gaze fixed on the concrete-block boots. My keys were inside my apartment. I walk the short distance. The landlord isn't around. Pushing hard, I force the door open. My neighbor next door look up, her eyes immediately drawn to my feet. Something flickers in her expression, recognition? Disappointment?

"Here's your money. Thanks for the ride." I hand the driver a few crumpled packets of cigarettes.

Home. Finally. After almost a week, I am back. I check my phone. A couple of friends had messaged. Quick replies. Then, a message from the Handsome Man:

"What happened to you?"

"I got lost in the woods."

"Are you okay now?"

"Yes, I need to rest."

A couple of hours later, I wake and check my phone again. A new message from the Handsome Man.

"You do and undo."

"To grow up, you have to do and undo."

"Fuck off. Undo your family, not mine. I had to go to the police station with my aunt and my MOTHER for a two-hour interrogation!"

"What, when did it happen?"

"Leave it. It's important that you are fine. Rest. You need it."The words feel hollow.

The paranoia doesn't whisper, it detonate. Reality fractures. The next fourteen days become a fever-loop of shattered mirrors and humming walls, where every shadow has teeth and every silence screams.