• Trish pressed her evening ritual cigarette between her thin lips firmly. Removing it and exhaling slowly, watching the smoke dissipate into the frigid night air. A couple stray strands of brunette hair fell across her eye as she looked over her shoulder and leaned against one of the many street lamps that lined her average-looking suburban neighborhood. Looking out over the schoolyard of Park Elementary as she had done just about every evening for as long as she could remember, Trish felt an unexplainable yet very tangible unrest that caused her to shiver in her blue hooded sweatshirt.
    Some nights are peaceful. Some nights are velvet blankets that you can wrap yourself in and watch as your woes and worries drift slowly up into the stars, along with the steam of your breath. Some nights are like old friends returning from long trips.

    Tonight wasn’t one of those nights.

    The night that Trish had become so accustomed to and familiar with now felt foreign and untamed. The wide opened space that Trish once found anonymity in now made her feel vulnerable, like a mouse. The gentle frosty breeze that Trish had found comfort in before, now felt like the flapping wings of a bird of prey. Every small gust of wind, every rustle in the trees, every slight motion instantly drew her attention. She backed up hard against the cold light post as the feeling grew ever more intense - the night itself becoming a threat; a slowly encroaching presence.
    A small gust of wind took the cigarette right from Trish’s fingers and rolled a distance across the pavement, coming to rest by a small rock. She breathed an obscenity and abruptly looked over her shoulder again.
    A sinister silhouette caught her eye. She froze, feeling her pulse in her ears as her eyes quickly focused on it.

    “Just a bush,” she breathed to herself, “Just a damn stupid bush.”

    Trish exhaled frustratedly through her nose, embarrassed that she couldn’t shake this groundless premonition. Giving one last glance at the dark outline of the school, she began walking home, at an increasing pace. She shivered as a frontal breeze penetrated her clothing and chilled her slender frame.

    “Trish, your nineteen.” She muttered as she looked over her shoulder again, “Are you really still scared of the dark?”
    Trish would often talk to herself when she was uncomfortable or on edge. Not that it ever helped. It was a nervous habit, like fingernail biting - something she also happened to do. In fact, Trish’s closest friends would always know when she was going through a stressful time; the fingernails on the thumb and index finger of her right hand would be gnawed down, almost to the quick. She could easily hide it however, beneath the sleeves of her favorite blue hoodie. Well not hers. It belonged to her ex and she felt a certain poetic justice in having kept it - never mind the fact that the sleeves were too long for her. She didn’t mind. Over the years, those sleeves had hidden another sort of self-inflicted damage, far more intimate and shameful than ragged fingernails.
    A barely-audible noise caused Trish to stop in mid-step. Slowly turning, she listened for it again. It was the sound of a voice. A child’s voice. It was coming from the school. Trish strained to hear it again, squinting her eyes toward the source of the noise as if that would help somehow. Forgetting her previous disquiet, Trish slowly inched towards the source of the noise, her own fears quickly replaced with concern for any child out alone in a night such as this.
    As Trish got closer, the sound became more distinct. It was the quiet sobbing of a little girl, no more than 8 years old. A strange yet somehow familiar metal creaking sound accompanied the crying in a cold rhythmic cadence.
    Trish’s walking gait quickly became a running pace as she ran towards the shadow of the looming school. She followed the noise, which she now realized was emanating from the playground. She stopped when she finally saw the source, about 20 yards away - the silhouette of a little girl in a sunday school dress and curly shoulder length hair was pushing one of the schoolyard swings, over which something appeared to be draped. The little girl stopped every once in a while to wipe her nose. Trish’s focus fell momentarily on whatever was being pushed in the swing. It looked like a sweater, or some other article of clothing due to the lifeless way it yielded to gravity when it was pushed. Trish called out to the girl in as motherly and non-threatening a voice as she could conjure up as she approached,

    “Hey! Are you okay sweetie?”
    ...Creak...

    “Are you lost? Do you need someone to walk you home?”
    ...Creak...

    “Are you ouchy? Do you need a doctor?”
    ...Creak...

    Trish kept walking towards the little girl, slower now so as not to scare her. Her feet crunched into the playground gravel and after a few steps she stopped, now no more than 20 feet away. Trish tried again,

    “Where is your mommy sweetie?”
    ...Creak

    “...I bet your parents are real scared. Won’t they ever be happy to see you!”
    ...Creak...

    “I bet its nice and cozy at your house. Its cold out here... brrrr!”

    ...Creak...

    Trish was mystified. Maybe the little girl was deaf. Maybe she needed medical help. She reached for her phone, opened it and glanced at the time. It was 1:19am. She decided to call 911 and get police assistance. After all they were great at talking to little kids. Trish could go home, little girl would get a Junior Deputy sticker and a safe ride home. Everyone would win. The soft blue glow of the cell phone illuminated Trish’s face as she called out again to the girl,

    “Hey Im going to call some nice police officers to come get you and take you back home, okay?”

    As Trish said this and began to dial, the creaking stopped. The silhouette of the little girl was now facing her, looking at her. The “sweater” that was draped over the swing, slowly slumped to the ground with a sickly thud.

    And the air itself seemed to become still in the silence that followed.


    (To be continued...)