“Hey, you ever get the feeling that you’re being watched?” I asked Shelly—my sister—between crunchy bites of buttered toast. “Not really in a malicious way, but like someone’s just…observing what you’re doing? Like they’re waiting for something to happen.”
“Not really. I’ve had people throw me strange looks, but I’ve never really felt like anyone’s been watching me. Why do you ask?” Shelly replied from the other side of the table, a mischievous twinkle in her green eyes. “Have you been doing suspicious things?”
“I wish. Nothing that exciting and risky,” I said with a grin, before turning serious again. “Really, I just felt like someone’s been watching me for the past couple of weeks. It’s probably nothing, and I hope that I’m not losing my mind. Still, let me know if you notice anything out of the ordinary, please.”
Shelly was absentmindedly putting on her shoes to finish getting ready for work. “Yep, sure thing. Don’t worry about it, Ethan, you’re a good kid. No one’s out to bother you. Try to stay positive. Now, go fix yourself up and get ready for school. Just a few more months left before you’re finished, so tough it out for a little bit longer.”
I sighed and excused myself from the table. I loved my sister and all, but there wasn’t really any way to change her mind on this matter. To her, instead of fretting over boogeymen who may or may not be watching me, I needed to finish my senior year of high school to get into a good college. While that was certainly something important, my fear was also something that mattered, right?
Once I reached the small bathroom that sat across the hall from my room, I saw my own bright blue eyes in the reflection of the mirror. A solid six feet tall with almost no muscle mass to speak of. I wasn’t quite in lanky territory, but I certainly didn’t have an ideal beach body. My sister inherited the darker blonde hair of our mother, but I got the bright blond mop from good ol’ Dad. I felt like I could never get my wavy hair to stay where I wanted it to. I had unremarkable facial features overall, so I didn’t understand how combing my hair before school would help me look any better. My hair had a mind of its own and would be sticking wherever it pleased before I got to school.
As I ran the comb through my hair, a lock bounced and hit me in the eye. I rapidly blinked my eyes in response, and I saw the dark silhouette of a person behind me. I quickly spun around, only to be met with the normal light blue wall and a heart trying to thump right out of my chest. I took a deep breath and slapped my face with both hands before splashing it with cold water.
“You’re all right, you’re just tired. Just a little more on edge than normal. You’ll be fine, Ethan. Just…just make it through the day. Make it through the day and you can relax in bed.” I talked to the reflection in the mirror. He didn’t look any more convinced than I felt.
As I made my way back into the living room, Shelly was just getting ready to head out the door. Her job as the secretary and personal assistant for an early bird lawyer meant that she had to be out the door early. It was a fairly small firm, and he was always exceptionally friendly to both of us, but no one liked to wake up before seven in the morning for anything.
“Heading out now. Don’t forget, we’re going to visit the graves later today, so don’t make any plans. Have a good day, love you!” Shelly gave a brief wave before stepping through the front door. She was in the car and backing out of the driveway nearly faster than I could wave to her.
As messed up as it was, I totally forgot about going to see the graves. At least twice a year, my sister and I always go to visit the graves of our parents. Growing up, Shelly and I both loved brownies that our mother would bake every weekend, so we’d try our best to copy that recipe. We’d both try to get through the entire pan at the graves, telling them about what we’d been up to in our lives. I thought it might sound strange to eat sweets that close to the deceased, but it quickly became a way for us to feel connected with our parents again. It really helped us deal with their passing when I was growing up. Even if it was only for a little while, I craved feeling close to them again. It was bittersweet, but I think we were better people for doing it.
My problems came from exactly how they passed. When I was twelve, Shelly had just moved out to go to college. Everything was fine. Just your average family, albeit slightly lonelier now that we were minus one. After I had gone to bed one spring night, a loud crash from the living room woke me up. Opening my door carefully, I peeked around my doorframe to see a gunman holding my parents hostage, demanding things like money and jewelry. They were calmly cooperating, and it looked like it was going smoothly. It was going well until my shaking hands slipped and I fell forward. I don’t know exactly what caused the gunman to do it. Before I could process what happened, he had shot each of them in the head once. I think that the sudden noise and movement made him panic. I was never certain, and I never wanted to know. Regardless, a twelve-year-old seeing that image is damaging. The gunman took all the belongings that he could and ran out of our house.
I felt like I spent an eternity just trying to get them to wake up, helplessly crying out to them and shaking their lifeless bodies. I think that even then I knew that they weren’t coming back. Part of me just held on to that glimmer of hope. Shock was probably another factor. People quickly came to assist, as the gunshot was loud enough to wake up the neighbors on both sides of our home. They made their presence known by screaming at the sight before them. They tried to shield my eyes and pull me out of the living room, but it wouldn’t erase the sight of my dead parents before me. The rational part of my mind knew it was the gunman, yet I could never stop thinking about what might’ve happened had I not slipped off the door frame. Would they still be with us? Would the gunman still have pulled the trigger? I tried to make sure that night didn’t influence my normal life. No matter how hard I tried, there wasn’t a day that went by where I didn’t miss them.
Aside from the guilt that would resurface every time we visited their graves, there were other problems. I would wake up on random nights screaming from nightmares. They weren’t always related directly to the murders, but they were always bad enough to keep me awake the rest of the night. Along with those, I would occasionally see things. Things like the silhouette in the mirror were commonplace, but I think heightened stress had something to do with that. Any doctor I visited attributed it to a form of PTSD, so that’s just what I told people if I absolutely needed to. Usually, though, I was able to just keep all of that inside. Shelly’s the only person I could regularly talk to who knew about those issues.
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I knelt by the picture of our family that we keep on our coffee table. Shelly was twelve in the photo, which put me at six. I only vaguely remembered getting it taken, something about being promised candy if I smiled and sat still like a good boy, and it’s the best one we have of all of us together as a family. I felt my eyes water and a lump form in my throat. I wasn’t a super tough and macho person. Thinking about my parents always made me want to cry. I knew I had to get out of the house before I let it get too bad. I whispered an apology to the picture, something I found myself doing frequently.
With that, I put on my best normal face and tried to steel myself for what was sure to be a long day of school and an even longer trip to the graveyard. I was hoping school would be the easy part, at least. Winding down the senior year shouldn’t be too much of an issue. My grades had always been decent enough. Nothing remarkable, but never close to flunking a class. Plus, most of my teachers seemed to enjoy having me. “Always reliable” was something I’d been called by more than a few of my instructors.
The walk to my bus stop was a short one. The apartment that my sister and I shared was located just a couple blocks away, so that was a stroke of good fortune. The brief walk to my stop was a cool and pleasant one, something I was not going to complain about, as it had been unseasonably warm through fall and winter. Shamrock, being in northeastern Oregon, had cold winters as the norm. I appreciated not having to walk around in the normal, mid-January freezing temperatures while being allowed to escape the warmth we’d been dealing with. So long as I couldn’t see my breath, the weather was good enough to get by. The walk was nice and quiet; a perfect way to start the morning after I got frazzled in the bathroom.
One benefit of living in a smaller town was the amount of land surrounding everything. Houses had large yards, everyone in Shamrock loved to decorate, and I got to see it every day on my way to school. Various Christmas and New Year decorations were still up, and they all created a happy feeling throughout the area. Neighbors helping neighbors set up lights and dancing Santa inflatables. The town also set up a large Christmas tree in the busiest hub, Gable Square. Toy and food drives were up and running there every day during the holidays. Giving and holiday warmth was something that my town took very seriously.
The nature in our town was also something we put on a pedestal. In warmer months, we had lush, green forests with plenty of trails for eager hikers. Someone could just walk for hours and be alone with the wilderness and their thoughts. Animals that I assumed you wouldn’t be able to find in a city could be found in abundance here. Even the colder months had their charms. The naked trees gave a sense of eeriness if one liked that kind of thing. They allowed people to explore and really see how dense the forests around them were. Due to our high standards of maintaining our nature, people often flocked to our town in the summer, turning it into a small tourist trap.
When I got to the stop, I saw a new person waiting there. She looked to be around my age, albeit much shorter than I was, at least a foot shorter. She had brown hair, a couple of shades lighter than her medium brown skin, cut in a stylish bob that ended in gentle waves. Chocolate brown eyes stared at me, her button nose crinkling every few seconds, forcing the light splash of freckles she had to move.
My town was small and not experiencing any real population growth, so new faces were always a rarity and always stuck out. Although I was curious about the new girl, I didn’t want to be rude and just stare, so I turned my gaze to the street, which may have been ruder in hindsight. I tried to daydream while waiting for the bus, but I kept noticing the new girl throw sideways glances at me as if I was the new person showing up to school and not her.
The looks wouldn’t have been so bad if I didn’t feel like she was disgusted or pissed off every time I felt her gaze. I was hoping that it was just my mind playing tricks on me, but I just couldn’t shake the feeling of contempt I was getting. Still, I tried my best to not let her bother me, though it didn’t take long for my paranoia to build back up. Thinking about people watching me brought an unsettling feeling to my stomach. I wasn’t quite ready to get sick right there. I also didn’t think I was that far from it.
Why is this girl watching me? What does she want with me?
I felt my panic attempt to take over my body and rational thinking. My heart started pounding and adrenaline ran through me. The girl gave more strange looks, and I was doing my best to not let my reactions show despite my body desperately wanting to give in to my fight-or-flight response.
Before my thoughts could get any worse, my giant yellow savior on wheels pulled up. School buses were usually rowdy and gross things, and mine was no different. That didn’t matter so much. Right then and there, it was seriously feeling like a safe zone. At least if something happened to me on there, there would be people around to see it, even if it was just a driver and a few uninterested students. If I was attacked by a girl a foot shorter than me, someone would have to call the cops, right?
The second the bus opened its doors, I was inside. I could not get away from her fast enough. I quickly took a seat in the middle, closed my eyes, and sighed in relief. I took a few deep breaths filled with the bus's stale air. Most of the other seats were empty. A low-population bus route in a low-population town would result in that. Around fifteen kids could be found on my bus, maybe thirty on heavier days, so sitting by myself was never a problem.
My moment of peace was ruined when I felt the space next to me shift. Sure enough, the new girl was sitting next to me. In my haste to get a seat, it didn’t occur to me that she could just take a spot next to me, and I mentally cursed at myself. Why didn’t I just let her go first so I could sit as far away as possible? Aside from feeling like an idiot, I felt the panic begin to rise in my chest once more. I was trapped between the new girl and the window of the bus, and I could almost feel the anger rolling off her in waves. I hated feeling trapped by people on a good day. It was not one of my good days.
“Hello, my name is Loriana. I’m a new student, and it’s nice to know someone shares the same stop that I do. I hope that we can become friends and you can show me around the school.” Loriana’s words were uttered practically through gritted teeth. Her greeting seemed very stiff and rehearsed, and poorly rehearsed at that.
First impressions told me that Loriana was not a great actor. Although, to her credit, she seemed a lot more composed than I felt she really was. That didn’t do a whole lot to help the feelings of uneasiness I was dealing with. Another thing that surprised me was that she stuck her hand out for a handshake. Without verbally greeting her back, and after making sure my own hand wasn’t trembling, I gave her what was probably the weakest handshake I could muster with a palm that was surely gross and sweaty.
I silently sent prayers to deities I didn’t know if I believed in, and I hoped that there weren’t people out there who didn’t wish me harm. After my parents’ murder, I was always concerned that I was a sort of loose end waiting to be tied up. This Loriana person wasn’t reassuring me much. Ultimately, I tried to not judge her harshly. Everyone has their own story and reasons for how they act, after all. Sometimes teenagers are just really damn awkward and socially inept.