When Night Falls

by Kayla Krantz

  One, the voice echoed in her head.

  Angel's heart pounded as she struggled to stay on her feet. There was a knock on her door, and then the worst sound—it opened.

  “Angel! My God! Are you in here?” said Miranda—her friend and neighbor.

  I must’ve screamed, Angel realized in heart-wrenching defeat, her hand clutching the bed post.

  “I-I’m fine, just an accident,” Angel called, turning on her heels to search for an escape.

  “You need to go to the hospital,” Miranda insisted, appearing in the doorframe. She rushed to her side and poked hesitantly at the glass in the back of Angel’s neck. “This is bad!”

  “Please just go home,” Angel said, feeling her mouth run dry again.

  “I’m not gonna leave you alone in this condition on your birthday.”

  Angel’s mouth fell open as she stared at her friend. Thick tears formed in the corners of her eyes; she was out of time.

  “Angel? Angel, what’s wrong?” Miranda demanded, her hands gripping the tops of Angel’s arms.

  “I love you, Miranda, don’t ever change,” she choked, staring her friend in the eyes with the knowledge she wouldn’t be able to kill her.

  Not to save herself anyway.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw him. Standing in the entrance to her bedroom, smiling—gripping a knife in his hand.

  “I’m here to collect on my debt, darling,” he said, eyes shining as he crept.

  “No…no!” Angel shrieked, pulling herself from her friend’s grasp as she fell backward.

  “What? What is it?” Miranda demanded, her gaze darting around, unable to see the demon in the room.

  Lucifer did not stop his taunting strut. He stepped up to Angel, grasping her jaw in his free hand as the first of her tears leaked free.

  “Deep down, you knew it would come to this,” he whispered.

  Without warning, he pressed his lips to hers as his sword plunged through her heart. She grabbed at her chest and collapsed to the floor. What sounded like miles away, Miranda screamed—utterly confused by her friend’s fate.

  Angel never noticed, but Lucifer’s passing words swam in her mind as she lay dying on her bedroom floor in a pool of her own blood.

  Never make a deal with the devil unless you’re prepared to lose.

  We’re no different, you and I.

  I just wear my demons on the outside.

  The Limerick

  There was a mean girl at school

  Who everyone thought was so cool

  One push and she fell

  Through the gates of Hell

  To end the darkness of her rule

  THAT WAS ALL she wrote. Those were her final words. Clutching the tiny piece of paper in my hands, I sat in the wooden kitchen chair and cried in much the same way I had when I first found out. A year had passed since her trembling, distraught hand scrawled those words on this paper.

  The limerick hadn’t been addressed to anyone in particular. It hadn’t been signed from her, either. It didn’t need to be—I knew her handwriting. I remembered her disdain for poetry and thought it an ironic way for her to say goodbye. I couldn’t understand why her final words had been expressed in a limerick. I ran my fingers over it, remembering all I could of my sister.

  One year ago, she committed suicide.

  One year ago, I lost a part of myself.

  My sister was the happiest person I ever met; a girl shining with optimism. That is, until she reached high school. There she learned of the depths of people’s cruelty. She saw the nasty side of a human conscience. For a whole month, before she decided to take her own life, I remembered her coming home with tears on her face every day.

  Whenever I asked what was wrong, she would declare she was never going back to school, then stalk away to the solitude of her room—not to be seen again until the next day. I worried about her, but I knew pushing her to talk wouldn’t make the situation any better.

  I tried to be patient, picking rare moments to ask her questions that she might have considered “prying.” The first few times I tried to get words from her—to get her to talk about the pain making a home inside her—she had been too deep in her grief to even speak.

  A week before she died, she was more coherent; a lot easier to talk to. I began to understand the reason for her grief. Over that last week, I had found out about a cruel joke. Her old best friend, Bianca, had blossomed into a popular cheerleader at the start of her high school career.

  I was sad for what my sister went through, but happy that she opened up to me again. What I took for progress, I should’ve seen as a warning. I learned later on that she probably became vocal during those last few days on Earth because she already knew what she was going to do.

  Tears streaked my face again as I thought about that day. I regretted not being there for her when she truly needed me the most. It was the first night in a while that I had gone out with some friends. I hadn’t wanted to go, but my sister had been persistent that I should go anyways—to try and enjoy myself. Finally, she won. She was right too—I did wind up having a good time.

  Until I returned to a dark house.

  There were many reasons why it wasn’t right. The second I got home, I knew something was wrong. My sister was supposed to be home. If she was, the house would be lit up like a Christmas tree. She always left all the lights on when she was home alone—that was a habit of hers. Even during her depression, she kept light in her life.

  Tonight, was different.

  “Arianna?” I called, creeping through the darkened house.

  When I got no response, I panicked.

  “Arianna!” I called out again.

  Hearing no reply, I wasted no time in tossing my coat to the couch and racing up the stairs to her room. The door was cracked open a bit, but like downstairs, it was dark there as well.

  “Arianna!” I called out again as I stepped into her room.

  I flicked on the lights and flew into an emotional fit at the sight before me. She hung from her blue belt, tied to a rafter in the ceiling, her fingers and toes curled in a painful way. Her face was pale and still, with no signs of life. A single tear caressed her cheek. Not even death cured her sorrow.

  A few minutes later the cops arrived. I didn’t remember calling them as I wandered through the house in a grief-stricken trance. The red lights of their sirens sliced through the black night, making me feel like I was walking through the foregrounds of Hell.

  Two uniformed officers carried out the stretcher that held what remained of my sister on it. A thin, white sheet lay over top in a pointless attempt at covering her face.

  The sight was already engraved in my mind.

  I forced myself to not follow it out to the coroner’s van. I sat like a zombie in the kitchen chair. None of the officers seemed to notice me. Finally, one did. He approached me and handed me the tiny paper with her final words.

  There was a mean girl at school

  Who everyone thought was so cool

  One push and she fell

  Through the gates of Hell

  To end the darkness of her rule

  Over the next few days, I scrutinized that paper, absorbing each word it had to offer. I tried my best to decipher its meaning. Every drop of ink on the page was precious. No matter how many times I read it, I couldn’t figure out why she had done it. I couldn’t understand why she chose to end her life.

  Another cop came to visit me not long after Arianna’s funeral. I was surprised to hear her old friend Bianca had been reported missing. After he left, I read the note one more time; the hardest time yet.

  The gears in my brain clicked into place. Arianna had taken more lives than just her own.

  I want to be a beautiful corpse.

  The Nightlock Woods

  A STRUGGLE. SHE wasn’t sure when her life had become a mad struggle for survival.

  “Don’t stray off the path!”

  Her mother’s voice pleaded in the back o
f her mind. It seemed oddly insignificant now. She struggled to remember what had drawn her off the road. Was it a bunny, or a deer? She strained to recall what fleeting thing may well have cost her life.

  She tore through the woods, branches scratching her face, arms, and neck. A few of them drew blood. The hot liquid mixed with the sweat that had already collected on her skin. She hardly noticed the sting, though.

  Her mind was elsewhere—focused on the pain in her lungs. They struggled to take in the hot, unsatisfying air around her. She knew that her body couldn’t continue at that pace. The thought made her mind cloud with panic. She knew that panic would seal her doom, yet still—it swirled in her thoughts and shortened her breath. She couldn’t come up with a plan to escape. In that moment, she couldn’t even remember her own name. The only thing she was certain of was the crashing sound that grew closer with each passing second. The creature was closing in, and she was no closer to escape than she had been ten minutes ago. Despite her desperate footsteps, the creature was faster.

  If only I had the sense to listen to my mother, she thought.

  The Nightlock woods were dangerous—not to be walked alone. Everyone within one hundred miles of the desolate place knew of the number of people who went missing here every year.

  Why’d you let me leave, Mommy?

  The thought made her giggle. She hadn’t called her mother that since she was four. The creature behind her roared, pulling her back to the reality that seemed far away. She leaped over a fallen log, but when her feet hit the ground, she knew that she was in trouble.

  She screamed, her ankle giving out under her weight. That was all it took. She toppled to the ground as she lost her balance, hitting the ground with a heavy thud. There she lay, amongst the twigs and leaves—stunned.

  The forest seemed to move around her. She stared up at the path ahead as the foliage seemed to dance—mocking her. She felt sick to her stomach, on the verge of passing out.

  Lydia, I do believe my name is Lydia, she thought. She sounded crazy, even to herself. The monster crashed through the opening a moment before she slipped into unconsciousness. She heard the music first—old records her mom played constantly, as if to silently insist that they were important. When she opened her eyes, she was home.

  Lydia was afraid to look around—wary that the scene was only a mirage created by her overheated mind. She listened for signs of the creature that had chased her, but that seemed so far away now. She strained to hear any signs of life beside her own. Over the music, she could hear voices coming from the kitchen.

  Lydia stood and slowly made her way to them on unsteady legs. She peeked around the corner to see her mother and brother, Chase, standing there talking. They hadn’t noticed her yet, but they didn’t need to. Lydia ran up to her mother and wrapped her arms tightly around her hips.

  “I missed you, Mom,” she said.

  “I didn’t realize you left,” she said in surprise, placing a gentle hand on her back. Lydia drew back in surprise. She couldn’t feel the comfort of her mother’s gesture. “But, Mom, you warned me about the Nightlock Woods. Y-you didn’t want me to go, but I did anyways and then I got lost. Some creature chased me.”

  “That sounds like one hell of a dream,” Chase said.

  “I’m just glad it’s over,” Lydia whispered, turning back toward the other room. She gasped, coming face to face with the creature. It was in her house. How was it in her house? She stared in horror, taking in its otherworldly aspects. It stood on two feet, with two more raised in front of it. Its arms were long and sharp, like some kind of bug. Its elongated head had a shell, making it almost impossible to seek out its eyes. Its body was long and ruffled with a strange armor that covered its body.

  Lydia screamed, and when she opened her eyes she was back in the field.

  It was just a dream, she thought.

  Looking around, she noticed she had landed among dark plants with sharp leaves. Nightshade. She was lying in nightshade. She heard a horrendous growl behind her and risked a glance over her shoulder. It was the terrible creature from her dream, again—standing over her, drool was leaking from a crack in its armor that had to be its mouth.

  If she didn’t do something fast, she would be just another victim of the Nightlock Woods. Well, here goes nothing, she thought, gathering a handful of the deadly plant, the tips digging a bit into the skin on her palms.

  I love the serenity of three A.M.

  When everyone else is asleep and I can pretend—just for a while—that I rule the world.

  Savior

  I SAT IN the corner, staring up at the man before me. His face was veiled by the shadows, making it impossible to make out any definite features. Hunched over a table, fingers to his lips, she watched him chew precariously on his fingernails. His eyes stared ahead, though he seemed to register nothing in the room.

  I wondered what he was thinking about.

  The clock hanging from the nearby wall ticked. I could hear every second pass by. I blinked, still staring at him. I wanted to talk to the man who had saved my life, but my mind was void of anything to say.

  It was obvious what I should say—I should thank him. But, I couldn’t. My tongue was tied, a mess of stutters and mumbles.

  Tick, tick, tick—the clock duly reminded me that another minute had passed by. I thought of the world outside—the one that had been destroyed.

  I couldn’t help but wonder where he had come from and how he was able to act fast enough to save my life. All I could do was freeze in the moment that really mattered.

  “You know what those things are, don’t you?” he asked me, breaking the stronghold of silence.

  I jumped. His voice was raspy, as though he hadn’t had anything to drink in days. My heart pounded, but I tried to coax my own voice into coming out.

  “They’re zombies,” I mumbled.

  He nodded. “Then you know that they would’ve wasted no time in ripping you to pieces. What were you thinking, just staring at them like that?”

  “I-I just-”

  I stumbled over my words again. My brain raced far too fast for me to keep up.

  “You, what?”

  I pursed my lips, finally finding the words.

  “That was the first time I’ve seen one,” I admitted.

  He fell silent. Straightening his back, he moved a few steps closer to me.

  “It would’ve been the last time too,” he scoffed. “How is it possible you’ve never seen one before?”

  “Once the outbreak happened, my sister never let me outside. S-she protected us…and got food… so I didn’t have to.”

  “Then what where you doing in that alley by yourself?” he asked.

  “Looking for her! She hasn’t come home in two days,” I wailed. My shock was wearing off. Grief seemed to find its way to the front of my mind, and the memories from before my encounter with the zombies flooded back to my mind.

  “Then I have news: she’s dead,” he announced.

  He bent closer to me, a sliver of light from the boarded window illuminating his face. It was the first time I had seen it. He had a strong face with deep set eyes and a five-o-clock shadow. From the way his silver blonde hair hung in his sapphire blue eyes, I knew he was about my age.

  “No, I need to find her,” I argued.

  He shook his head. “If you go out there alone, then you’ll be killed. I didn’t save your life for you to throw it away.”

  Anger rose in the back of my throat. My sister was the only person I had left in the world—the only one I had to hold onto. And this stranger had the audacity to tell me to not go after her?

  “I didn’t ask you to save me,” I snapped.

  “I wasn’t about to watch another person die,” he retorted.

  I searched his face, anger on the tip of my tongue, poised to attack. My eyes locked onto his. He had saved my life. My heart softened, noticing how worried his eyes looked. The realization hit me that he had lost loved ones as well.

&n
bsp; I sighed. “Look,” I said, guilt chewing me up inside. “I appreciate what you did for me. If my sister is still alive, I bet she would appreciate someone doing the same for her. But I really do need to find out what happened to her.”

  “Then I’m going with you,” he replied.

  I was stunned. “What?”

  “You heard me,” he said. “I’m going with you.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “I’m not gonna let you go alone,” he said. “Besides, there’s nothing left for me here.”

  My eyes narrowed. “No offense, or anything, but I don’t know you.”

  “It’s understandable if you don’t trust me, but believe me when I say that living in this world is hard alone. If we watch each other’s backs, we’ll be okay.”

  I swallowed hard. Taking in his words, I knew perfectly well that he had a point. I knew that if he hadn’t saved my life, I would be dead. I was too feeble to defend myself, and if I wanted to live long enough to figure out what happened to my sister, I would need help.

  I met his eyes. “Okay.”

  He smiled, revealing a set of pearly white teeth. “I had a feeling we’d be fast friends.”

  Smile to hide the darkness of your thoughts.

  Revenge

  THE RAIN POURED down as I wandered the dark back alleys of the city. I had been warned not to walk them many times, but I knew well enough on my own. It wasn’t too far from here that my sister’s mutilated body had been found in a gutter. They never discovered her killer, and the case quickly grew cold.

  She hadn’t been the only one to fall victim to the cruel hands of the twisted mind roaming these streets late at night. She was one in ten, but I wasn’t worried about my safety.