by Jack Wallen
“When on the trail, I dine Trey style,” I said as I plopped the brick of noodles into the pot.
Just as the water boiled, my phone buzzed. I scrambled to get it out of my pocket and saw that, by some miracle of nature, I had a signal. A text came through.
Erica: Where are you? Are you okay? Please let me know if you’re still there.
“It hadn’t been that long,” I thought. She seemed like she was in a panic. I replied to the text, before the signal faded.
Trey: I’m here. I’m fine. What’s up?
I hit send. Seconds later, the phone rang. Without hesitation, I answered.
“Hey, baby. How are you …”
Erica stopped me short. “Trey! Oh my God, are you okay? Are you hurt? Have you seen any of them?”
“Wait, honey … what are you talking about?”
“Get home, Trey,” Erica shouted. “Come back to me.”
The signal was lost. Her desperate voice rang in my head.
I tried calling her back.
Nothing.
What did she mean by them?
I had no answers. I was over a thousand miles from Montreal, hundreds of miles from the nearest airport. My fiancé was shouting words of fear across the ether.
One thought scrambled the synapses in my brain.
I have to get back to her.
two | Erica
There’s a special kind of hell for professors, and it involves grading infinite midterms. I sat in my cramped office, facing yellowed venetian blinds and my ancient computer, humming away on my desk. I kicked my feet up, leaning back with a stack of crumpled exams strewn across my lap.
The page was littered with red ink. “Fuck,” I said as my red pen of doom committed suicide by student. Einstein, this kid was not. Anne Morin may wish to consider another line of work.
I glanced out into the hall. Only the safety lights were still on, most of the staff and students had trickled out into the damp fall evening. It was just me, a cold cup of tea, and a stack of midterms. The sun had long since set, and the vomit-orange Montreal night sky melted into my space.
I put my feet down and tossed the pen of former doom into the garbage can by my door. It clattered against the rim as I opened my drawer to withdraw another pen. The feet went back up on the table, and I christened the new red pen of doom with a big fat zero.
I turned the page, rubbing my eyes with the back of my hand. My small office was packed with the trappings of nerdom. Picard memes, many iterations of pi, and even a poster of Neil DeGrasse Tyson graced my walls. A moan filtered down the hallway overshadowing the ambient music I had playing. I shivered. Dawson College’s security had improved since the 2006 school shooting. It was probably that old pervert, Professor Shaver. The students made jokes about him going into the closet during lab classes all the time. My own sister, Sylvie, had confirmed it. I pretended not to hear the gossip, but it didn’t surprise me one bit. Just passing the man in the hallways made me want a shower.
I mashed this particular exam face-down onto my desk. Waves and optics wasn’t a complicated topic, but some kids weren’t cut out for science. I sighed and flipped open the cover of the next exam.
Another moan came down the hall. I thought of Trey. He would have something funny to say about this. Maybe he’d even have some lyrics to add. Were there metal songs about dirty old men?
I sat up and dropped my work on the desk. It was past eight, time to get out of Dodge. I wouldn’t have to deal with too much loneliness back at home. Trey’s yearly hiking trip made me realize that there was only one person I needed—him.
I grabbed my phone, stuffing it in my bag. I pulled my black leather jacket off the hook behind the door. My pristine white lab coat hung on the lower peg. Physics didn’t usually need protective gear, but sometimes it was nice to pretend. Other times, it was nice to sneak into the chemistry labs just to drop magnesium into strong hydrochloric acid.
Hey, a girl’s gotta have some fun, right?
Perching my thick plastic-framed glasses on my nose, I looked down the hall in both directions. There was a single open door on my way to the exit. Shaver’s. Great. I locked my office door, testing it twice just to be sure. Students could get desperate, and I didn’t want to find a bonfire in the place of midterms in the morning. Though, that might be a handy way to relieve myself of the onerous responsibility of grading. There were no teaching assistants in community college—we did everything the old fashioned way.
I kept my head down, walking as fast as I could down the hallway. My ratty old sneakers padded down the granite tiles, and the scuffed halls were covered in cheap black and white posters announcing midterm break events. I keep getting older, but the system always stays the same age. I glanced at a sign. Strip karaoke Christmas carols in two weeks. Not even the failing heaters or infirm air conditioning could stifle the spirit of youth.
Another moan. Just what I needed, an awkward encounter with the resident pervert. It was bad enough that his seniority let him teach the good classes, but dammit, he could at least close the door.
Against my better judgment, I glanced in the door. Shaver was standing, facing the window. His pants were on, thank goodness. His hands dangled at his sides. I kept walking, sneaking around the hall to the staircase. Another moan chased after me. Maybe he just liked to moan? Trey would have something funny to say. I sighed. If he was here, I could text him and have him meet me. But it was just a creepy man in an old building. Montreal is full of both of these things.
I pulled out my cell, focusing on it as I walked down the stairs. My chest fell when I saw no new messages. I hadn’t heard from Trey in a few days, which was unusual. He’d always had good signal in previous years. I skimmed our recent texts for my favorite message. 3.14159. Pi. It always brought a smile to my face. The man knew me so well.
I stowed the phone and walked into the basement, which connected to one of Montreal’s many underground malls. We’d picked our apartment because of location—it connected to the mall, and so did the college. There were months of the year where I didn’t need to go outside, and that suited me perfectly.
I stepped out into the mall. The stores were still open, their glaring neon lights cutting a swath through the murky gloom of the basement. The air was still—not even the familiar rumble of the metro disturbed it. My eyes scanned the storefronts as I walked—I didn’t see a single shopper. I pulled my old canvas bag and coat closer to myself and set a fast pace to the entrance of Westmount Square. I could go home, lock myself inside and take a long shower. I knew just the metal band to take my mind and ears off of creepy Shaver.
I crossed the threshold to the apartment complex. A man wearing a rumpled suit sat on the floor against the wall, his head resting in his hands. His read rocked back and forth, and a groan escaped his lips. Without thinking, I adjusted my heading to walk on the other side of the hall. With nobody else around, no security cameras and just the mildewed tile walls for company, I was taking no chances.
My heartbeat echoed in my ears. This is silly, I told myself. It’s just some bum. There is no reason to be worried. I had a death grip on the strap of my shoulder bag as I walked faster.
As I was about to reach the elevators, I heard a growl behind me. I looked back over my shoulder. My eyes went wide as the man dragged himself to his feet, swaying as though he were a reed caught in a breeze.
My fingers leapt to the elevator controls, mashing the up button. My eyes were wide and my heart was caught in my throat. He shambled closer, his gait erratic but determined. The door of the elevator shuddered open with an unceremonious ding.
I backed inside, hitting floor three and every button next to it. Bent fingers reached for me, the distance between us closing.
I rammed the close button with my fingers. “Come on, come on,” I pleaded from between my clenched teeth.
The door ground shut, creaking on its ancient bearings. I got one last look at my assailant before the door slid shut in his face.
/> His eyes.
I will never forget his eyes.
Clouded over, murky with cataracts. Unseeing. Unliving.
Milky white.
I backed into the corner of the elevator, with nowhere else to run. I sucked in breath after breath, resolving to take tomorrow off if I could.
three | Trey
I had only one choice … to pack up my gear and head for an outcrop or clearing that would offer a goddamn cell signal.
“Fuck,” I shouted as my shaking hands could barely manage to get the bivvy folded enough to stuff in my pack. For a brief second, I considered leaving my gear behind. The moment the idea came to me, I heard Erica’s voice of reason in the back of my mind, warning me of recent incidents on the trail. So I packed.
From behind, the moan returned. I froze. My hand scrambled around my belt for a multi-tool. It wasn’t there. “Fuck,” I whispered again.
Then I heard the snap of a twig. I froze. I wasn’t a fighter. Hell, the only time I could recall going even slightly aggro was fighting off some campus stalker of Erica’s. I was always shocked they weren’t creeping on her from every fucking angle. Although she’s far too Canadian to admit it, she’s smokin’ hot.
The crunch of leaves shook me from my fiancé-induced reverie. There was no way to reach a weapon without moving, but keeping my back to whoever was about to attack certainly wouldn’t buy my existence any time. At least facing the aggressor would allow me the opportunity to defend myself.
Very slowly, I turned. There was plenty of moonlight to illuminate the moment. Even still, shadows danced over the pinhole clearing. When I finally faced the source of the sounds, what I saw spooked a few years off my life. A tall, thin man stood about ten yards from me, his arms at his sides. Very gently, he swayed. He faced me, yet didn’t advance. The junior high slow-dance was the only movement. The soft moan was the only sound. After my turn, I remained perfectly still and silent. With a jerky, almost drunken, motion, the man twisted his head to the right, then the left. When I finally was able to focus on his eyes, it dawned on me why his swaying was so odd. The dude was blind … his eyes a sour milk white.
Sympathy flooded my system and I asked, “Are you lost, man?”
The second he heard my voice, his moan intensified, and he shuffled toward me.
“Whoa, dude,” I insisted. “That’s close enough.”
He continued forward.
“Seriously, man, you’re good right there. If you need help, just let me know and I’ll do what I can.”
The man’s arms reached up as he came at me. I ducked out of the way and shot behind him. He stopped, still facing my point of origin, and started swaying again.
What the fuck? I thought, but remained motionless. This wasn’t some fucked up fan hoping to score an autograph or snap a horn-raised selfie with the front man of Doubletap Suicide. This was the real deal ─ a freak among freaks.
My hands clenched into fists and relaxed as I held my breath.
Johnny rotten eyes finally turned and slowly shambled off into the darkness. As he drunk-walked away, his moan rattled from his throat as a call to arms for his fellow freaks. I could only hope he was alone on the trail.
Once the sound of the creep faded into the distance, I went back to packing my gear ─ only this time as silently as possible. In all my years of hiking the Appalachian Trail, I’d encountered plenty of odd souls, but I just had to run into someone like this in a moment of near crisis.
I’m coming Erica, I thought as I zipped my pack. I made sure to douse my fire with dirt and check the area for trash before I took off at a near-jog ─ in the opposite direction of old, white eyes. As I moved, I held my phone up so I could check for a signal. The second I spotted even a single bar, I’d stop and place the call.
I had no idea how much time passed before the first sign of a cell signal appeared. I stopped and held the phone up to get a closer look. There it was. Before the signal disappeared, I tapped the quick dial button for Erica and held the phone up to my ear. “Come on, come on,” I whispered.
When she answered, a rush of static threatened to crash our party.
“Erica, can you hear me?” I said.
“Ye─ You’re break─” Her voiced cracked and snapped in the speaker.
“I can’t understand you, sweetheart. You’re breaking up.”
“What about now?” she said.
“Yes, yes. It’s so fucking great to hear your ─”
The line went dead. I pulled the phone away to see the signal was lost.
“Fuck,” I hissed. Instead of throwing a full-on tantrum, I continued my hike. This time I wouldn’t stop until I had at least a strong enough signal to hear more than static and silence.
Hearing her voice, even through the ghost in the machine, filled my heart with teenage lust as well as a poet’s longing.
My breath came in ragged gasps before I realized my feet were hitting the dirt at a sprinter’s pace. The pack pounded against my back and my lungs threatened to mutiny. I pushed through the pain. All I could think about was Erica. She was always there, driving me forward, motivating me through every stage of life. Without her … I stopped the thought short. There was no without her option in my world.
I chanced a glance at my phone.
Two bars.
Not enough. I wanted three.
Before me was a steep, rooted ascent. The payoff would certainly be a strong cell signal. With that thought in mind, I pocketed my phone and started the climb. With each step, my thighs burned with pain. Nearly half-way up, my right foot slipped from a root and I nearly dropped. Luckily, my left arm had a death grip on a sapling that held strong.
I placed my foot on the exit of the steep trail and fished the phone from my pocket.
Three bars. I tapped the icon and the phone rang once, twice, three times …
My lady finally picked up.
“Erica?” I nearly shouted.
“Yes, baby,” she replied.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
She paused. Sweat collected on my lip and at the base of my neck.
“Baby?” I prompted. “What’s going on? Your last message sounded desperate. Who were you talking about? Who’s them?”
“I was leaving work and … I feel like an idiot. It was probably nothing more than Shaver up to his usual creepiness and a few stray drunks. I’m sorry if I worried you.”
“It’s okay. I had a run in with my own creep show tonight.”
I relayed the story of white eyes to Erica. The stories held an eerie similarity … enough that I decided to make camp at my current location, so I’d have a signal should she need to reach me.
Erica assured me she was fine and we cut the call short. I had to save my battery for the long trek to the next hostel. That was my goal now. Getting spooked and hearing Erica’s desperate voice was enough to have me thinking I’d been away long enough. It was time to fall back into the loving arms of desire and never leave.
Until the next tour.
In record time, I had the bivvy back up and was zipped into my bag. The autumn wind had picked up and I was starting to lose body heat quickly. My eyelids were weighted from the night’s drama. It was time I drifted off into a dreamscape paradise and left the images of milky eyes behind.
four | Erica
I lowered the phone. It trembled in my cold hands. I set it down on the coffee table before blowing onto my fingers and rubbing them together. My hands warmed, but the shaking didn’t let up.
“Get a grip, Erica,” I said. Beast, our shaggy Maine Coon, glanced my way before returning to his slumber. He hadn’t budged from his customary spot on the left side of the sofa. I scooched over and began running my fingers through his long fur. After a glower, he relented.
I needed to think. That hobo in the halls and Trey’s own experience couldn’t be a coincidence. We are over one thousand kilometers apart. Blind people didn’t wander the Appalachian Trail. They also didn’t tend to follow girls in
to elevators.
I sighed. Beast had started purring—his deep rumble soothing the aches in my marking-ravaged fingers. There had to be a logical explanation. A clearance sale on Halloween contact lenses? Laser eye surgery gone horribly wrong? A whole other class of eye color that we hadn’t realized existed until now? Okay, the last one made no sense at all, but the other two could work.
Thinking about Trey alone in the woods left a pit in my stomach. He was alone in nature with no signal and a dying battery. I was here in a third floor apartment with a solid door. At least if the creeps came here, we could barricade the door and hide out.
Our apartment was small, but cozy. Metal posters lined the walls, as did Trey’s collection of autographs. It seemed like he’d met every metal artist in existence. The wall of fame boasted almost fifty autographs, with new additions coming all the time. At this rate, we’d need a new apartment. Beast’s ears shot back, his eyes wild as he stood and bolted to the bedroom.
“Yeah, whatever cat!” I called after him. Cats. They had no sense of perspective.
A siren wailed down the street below. I got up off the couch, rolling my shoulders. I peeked out the window and groaned. Snow fluttered down. It was too early for the white shit. I did a double-take. This snow had a greyish tinge to it. It must be the pollution. I was grateful for my living situation—I didn’t know what would turn snow grey, but I didn’t want it on my skin.
People milled around in the street below. They walked in a random, aimless fashion. Their hands dangled by their sides. Some stood still, swaying to an unheard rhythm. It was like a night at the most eerie dance club known to humanity. I didn’t get it. It’s just some gross grey snow. This is Canada. We’ve all seen snow before.
I pulled out my chair, dropping down in front of my desk. Maybe some terrible YouTube videos would take my mind off of the day’s events. Being alone with only grouchy Beast for company was small comfort. Rotten eyes, grey snow, cats who didn’t accept their role as hand warmers. What was the world coming to?