Walking With Shadows

The crunch of dry leaves behind me wasn't my own. Every time I paused to adjust my backpack, the rustling stopped a half-second too late, like an echo that didn't know its cue. I kept my eyes locked straight ahead, but the hairs on my arms stood up. Suddenly, the thin shadow stopped, took a loud breath, and started running. I froze. I couldn't move. When I finally looked behind me, someone—or something—was rushing right at me. I started to run immediately, but I was too slow. A heavy hand clamped down on my shoulder. I tried to shake him off (I was sure the stranger was a “he”), but then—POW. Everything went black.

A splash of freezing cold water shocked me awake. I gasped, coughing as the icy water hit my face. I tried to jump up, but my hands were tied tightly behind my back. I was sitting on the cold concrete floor of a dark, dusty basement. A shadow moved in the corner, and a stranger stepped into the dim light. He was wearing a heavy dark coat, and his eyes were cold and unfriendly. He didn't look sorry at all. He just stared down at me with a grim smile and said, “You shouldn't have been walking alone tonight.”

"What do you want from me?" I demanded, trying to keep my voice from shaking, but he only laughed—a low, chilling sound that echoed off the damp concrete walls. He took a slow, deliberate step closer, leaning down until he was looking me right in the eye, his cold breath brushing against my face. He smelled like rain and old copper. Slowly, he reached into his heavy coat pocket and pulled out a roll of thick, silver duct tape, tapping it slowly against his palm with a rhythmic, terrifying thump, thump, thump.

"I want you to stay quiet," he whispered, his voice dropping to a crawl that made my skin prickle with dread. "Because if you make so much as a whisper, if you even think about screaming for help, I'll make sure you never speak again. Do we have an understanding?"

I swallowed hard, staring at the tape in his hand, my heart hammering so hard against my ribs I was sure he could hear it. I forced a stiff, subtle nod, just enough to show compliance while my mind raced. The metallic thump, thump, thump of the tape roll finally stopped. He seemed satisfied with my terror, straightening up and peeling a long, loud strip of silver adhesive from the roll. The sharp, tearing sound echoed viciously in the small room. He stepped forward and slapped the tape firmly across my mouth, pressing it tight against my cheeks.

"Good," he muttered, tossing the remaining roll onto a rusty metal table nearby. "Now wait here. I need to make a phone call. Don't go anywhere." He chuckled at his own cruel joke, turned on his heel, and walked up a flight of creaking wooden stairs, slamming a heavy metal door shut behind him. The click of a deadbolt sliding into place signaled my total isolation.

For a long minute, I just sat there, breathing heavily through my nose, fighting the rising tide of panic. The basement was dark, lit only by a single flickering bulb hanging from a frayed wire in the center of the ceiling. The air was thick with the scent of mildew, rotting wood, and the stale smell of old copper that lingered from his presence.

I couldn't just sit here and wait for whatever nightmare he had planned next. I needed to move.

Slowly, I began to shift my weight, testing the bindings on my wrists. The rope was thick and coarse, biting deeply into my skin with every movement. My hands were tied behind a thick wooden post that supported the floorjoists above. I wriggled my fingers, trying to gauge if there was any slack, but the knots were professional and tight.

I began to survey the environment around me, looking for anything that could give me an advantage. To my left, a stack of old, water-damaged cardboard boxes sat slumped against the wall. To my right, beneath a layer of thick dust, was a loose wooden pallet. As I shifted my feet to get a better angle, my heel struck something solid beneath the edge of the pallet.

I stretched my leg out, dragging my heel backward through the dirt. It caught on a sharp, metallic edge. Painstakingly, I used my shoes to nudge the object out from under the wood until it caught the faint light of the flickering bulb. It was a broken piece of an old, rusted hacksaw blade, discarded and forgotten in the grime.

Hope flared in my chest. I couldn't reach it with my hands tied behind the post, so I had to slide my entire body down, scraping my back against the rough wood of the pillar. The splinters tore through my shirt, but I ignored the stinging sensation. I stretched my legs out completely, pinning the rusty blade between the soles of my shoes. With agonizing slowness, I managed to lift it, bending my knees up toward my chest until I could drop the piece of metal blindly into my bound hands behind my back.

The blade was small, cold, and jagged. My fingers were already numb from the tight rope, making it incredibly difficult to get a secure grip. Twice, the metal slipped, slicing shallow cuts into my palms, but the adrenaline overrode the pain. I positioned the serrated edge against the coarsest strand of the rope and began to saw.

Scritch. Scritch. Scritch.

The sound felt incredibly loud in the dead silence of the basement. Every few seconds, I paused, straining my ears to listen for footsteps on the floorboards above. Nothing yet. Just the muffled hum of rain starting to beat against the ground outside. I kept sawing, my forearms burning with exhaustion, the rusty metal slowly chewing through the fibers of the rope.

Suddenly, a loud thud rattled the floorboards directly above my head. Heavy footsteps began to pace back and forth. I heard the muffled, angry tones of the stranger's voice, though I couldn't make out the words. He was arguing with someone on the phone. The urgency in his voice meant my time was running out.

I sawed faster, ignoring the friction burning my wrists. One strand snapped. Then another. With a final, desperate twist of my arms, the remaining fibers gave way. My hands fell free.

I didn't waste a second. I reached up and ripped the duct tape off my mouth, wincing as it tore at my skin, and took a deep, unrestricted breath. I stood up, my knees shaking violently from sitting on the freezing concrete for so long.

I needed a weapon, or an escape route. I looked up at the stairs. The metal door was locked from the outside. I looked around the room and noticed a small, rectangular basement window near the top of the foundation wall, choked with cobwebs and grime. It was small, but if I could break the glass and crawl through, I might make it out into the storm.

I grabbed the heavy, rusted metal table legs and dragged it quietly across the concrete, positioning it beneath the window. As I climbed onto the table, I heard the heavy deadbolt on the door upstairs slide back with a loud, definitive clack.

He was coming back down.

Panicking, I looked around for something to strike with. My backpack was sitting on a workbench a few feet away. I remembered what was inside—a heavy, solid steel thermos filled with hot coffee I had packed for my walk. I lunged across the table, grabbed the backpack, and unzipped it just as the basement door swung open.

The stranger stepped onto the top step, his eyes instantly scanning the room. He saw me standing on the table, the ropes severed on the floor. His cold face contorted into pure rage.

"I told you to stay quiet," he growled, bounding down the wooden steps two at a time.

I didn't wait for him to reach the bottom. I reached into the bag, hauled out the heavy steel thermos, and flung it with all the strength I had left straight at his face.

The projectile caught him squarely in the forehead with a brutal crack. He cried out, losing his footing on the slick wooden stairs, and tumbled backward, crashing heavily onto the concrete floor at the base of the steps. He lay there, groaning, clutching his bleeding head, temporarily dazed.

I didn't stop to see if he would get up. I turned back to the window, used the base of the thermos to smash the glass pane, and cleared away the jagged shards with my jacket sleeve. With a desperate heave, I hoisted myself up into the narrow opening, scraping my shoulders against the rough concrete foundation.

I wriggled through the gap, tumbling out into the pouring rain and the dark, wet grass of the backyard. The cold night air hit my face like a lifeline. I scrambled to my feet and ran blindly into the trees, leaving the dark basement and the stranger far behind me, running until the sound of my own footsteps was the only thing left in the night.