Things That Go Click in the Night
By
Mark Campbell
Things That Go Click in the Night
Copyright 2013 Mark Campbell
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Click, clack.
Anne jumped. What was that noise? She froze in place, trying to pinpoint where it had come from, but all she heard was the typical night noises, the sound of a lonely car on Main Street and off in the distance, the soft rumble of the highway.
Must have been a cat, thought Anne as she started off again, or maybe a raccoon, she’d seen them around the dumpsters before. There certainly didn’t seem to be any other living thing out and about tonight, the bar stragglers having finished their stumbled sojourn home. Not that there were a lot of those, not on a Wednesday, and not during the summer. But there were always some, the few townies and those crazy select who had opted for summer school. Come fall semester the small college town would always have something going on, even this late at night.
Come to think of it, how late is it really?
Anne checked her phone: 4:06! Had she really spent four hours at the diner?
It’s a good thing I don’t have class in the morning. After all that coffee it would probably be sunup before she fell asleep.
If it hadn’t been for Steve she would probably still be there. His subtle hint that the diner had a ten-cup refill limit had been enough to yank Anne out of her research paper and realize that it was time to go home.
I’d feel bad about leaving him all alone, but I wasn’t exactly great company with my head buried in my laptop and books. It seemed like this paper had taken over her life, but it was 30% of her grade and anyway, Steve was busy doing his homework as well, at least when he wasn’t covertly staring at me.
Anne sighed, even if she was interested in dating right now (and keep a 4.0, I don’t think so) it wouldn’t be Steve. Oh, he was nice enough, in a friendly “I may be stalking you soon” kind of way, she just wasn’t attracted to him.
There really must be more to a relationship than the fact that he makes great omelets.
Maybe she should stop spending so much time there, but it was the only place in walking distance open all night.
Can I help it if I do all my best work late at night, not to mention hyped up on caffeine?
Click, clack!
Anne whirled around. There was that noise again and definitely closer this time. She tried to scan the shadows around her, but didn’t see anything. Stupid beautification program; the trees along the sidewalk obscured most of the light coming from the street lamps. Although her eyes had acclimated to the dark all she could see was the neatly trimmed lawns of the houses along the street. The houses themselves were dark, save for the occasional night light. The pounding in her chest seemed like the loudest noise around. For an instant Anne imagined it would wake the residents of the houses; angry homeowners coming out to see who was making all the racket, or calling the cops with a noise complaint.
At least then I wouldn’t be out here alone, she thought, with just a hint of hysterics. She took a few deep breaths.
Come on, she told herself sternly, you walk this street all the time. But this very rational thought didn’t keep her from reaching inside the front pocket of her back pack and retrieving her tiny bottle of pepper spray. She only carried it because she had promised her dad that she would—after all this was a pretty quiet town—but she suddenly wished she had something more substantial.
Like a baseball bat! Why did this familiar street suddenly feel so creepy, darker than usual? Why did the subtle, normal night noises around her seem so abnormally sinister? Her mind involuntarily went back to the reports she had heard of a couple guys abducting and raping several girls near campus. But that had been years ago and on the other side of town.
Besides, she tried to reassure herself, they caught those guys.
But there are always more sickos out there, the panicked part of her brain protested. Anne patently told her brain to shut up and scanned the area again: nothing.
She considered going back to the diner, pretending that she had forgotten something, but Steve might take that as interest in him. No need to fuel the obsession. Besides, what was she going to do, stall until sunrise? No, she needed sleep and wanted to be home. She was almost halfway there now anyway; it was only a few more blocks to her apartment.
Hoping the silence from her brain was agreement and not frightened stupefaction, Anne grasped her pepper spray tightly and set off again, hurriedly crossing the street to the parallel sidewalk. She peered over her shoulder as she turned the corner, casting a weary look at the shadows behind her.
Wham! She rebounded off something unyielding, though not overly hard. Whipping her head around, she saw a figure of a man in the dim light, directly in her path. Anne let out a startled cry, too frightened to even scream. She tried to backpedal, but with the weight of her backpack, all she managed was to fall on her rear. She attempted to break her fall, but by doing so, the bottle of pepper spray flew from her hand. Her panic-stricken mind was torn between the realization that she had just lost her only defense and the feeling of humiliation from her total lack of grace. Her brain was running at five times its normal speed and the two thoughts collided into one hysterical one: do serial killers get turned off by clumsiness?
The deranged madman reached down to her, wearing a convincing imitation of surprise.
“Are you all right?” the psychopath said with what she was certain were well rehearsed tones of concern. “You came around that corner so fast, I didn’t see you.”
Well played, creep! cried the still hysterical part of her mind, but the rational part was beginning to catch its breath and noted that the man had made no moves toward her, except to offer a hand up. Okay, maybe not a serial killer? Either way, she looked around quickly for the bottle of pepper spray. She hadn’t heard it hit the street, but the black bottle must have blended into the shadowed grass lining the sidewalk. She looked back at the man, who was still looking alarmed, but a slight smile was beginning to form on his face.
He was laughing at her! The sudden feeling of indignation shed the last vestiges of hysterics, even if her heart was still threatening to explode out of her chest and go scurrying all the way back to the diner. Ignoring his offered hand, Anne pushed herself up, clutching her backpack straps tight and taking a small step back. The man stood up as well, withdrawing his hand and placing it, along with the other, into the pockets of his denim jacket.
“I’m sorry if I frightened you,” he said amicably, “I really didn’t expect to run into anyone this late at night.” His teeth flashed in a smile as he stressed the word “run”, but in a friendly way that seemed to say that if he was laughing at anyone, it was at himself and not her.
“N-no,” she stammered, “it’s just, well, you startled me.”
“Well, again, I’m sorry,” he said taking a look around as if he was just noticing the dim street lights and shadows. He looked back at her with a slight frown. “Do you always walk by yourself this late at night?”
“What are you a policeman?” she replied, harsher than she had intended, but her heart was still pounding and it felt good to vent a little. “I’m a big girl.”
He looked down at her with an arched eyebrow. He wasn’t amazingly tall; probably just a little over six feet, but that still put him a head talle
r than her. Plus, she wasn’t exactly Xena. Although she worked out regularly, it was mostly aerobic. He probably outweighed her by at least fifty pounds, a great deal of it muscle, if the way his arms stretched his jacket was any indication, not to mention how solid he had felt when she had run into him. Now that she was taking the time to actually notice him Anne realized he was actually pretty cute. It was hard to be certain in the dim light, but he looked to be mid-twenties, with a well defined face that seemed quite comfortable with that reassuring smile and just enough stubble to be sexy. His hair was either dark blond or brown and fell roguishly just above his shoulders. She didn’t normally like long hair on men, but he wore it well. Not like a model or a pretty boy artist, but in a way that exuded rugged masculinity…
Snap out of it! Anne mentally snarled at herself, this isn’t some romance novel, it’s a deserted city street at 4 a.m. and he is a complete stranger: a very attractive, well developed stranger…
She mentally shook herself again. Must be the adrenaline rush; get out of here Anne, before you embarrass yourself. “I was working on a paper and lost track of time,” she told him, in a more congenial tone. “I only live a few more blocks from here.”
“Still,” he replied, “I’d feel a