She had been following me home every day after work.

I would close the shop, lock the place up, and speed-walk through the piercing cold midwinter. She always kept up, no matter how fast I sliced my way through the wind and snow. The town was small, and the Video Palace was only a ten-minute walk from my apartment, but those walks began to feel everlasting. If I picked up the pace, she’d do the same. If I ran, she matched me.

At first, I thought she wanted to ask me something. The first night, she had been sitting across the street on a bench. I assumed she had been bowling next door, and was just getting some fresh air, however, as soon as I started moving, she jumped up and shadowed me. I turned to meet her, but as soon as I stopped, she stopped. “Hey!” I shouted. She never came closer than 50 feet or so, and the wind was roaring down the street like a freight train.

No reply came.

I took a step towards her, but like a mirror image, she took an equal step back. “Can…can I help you with something?” This time she acknowledged me. She began side-stepping across the street, meeting my eyes for fleeting moments. Back and forth. Her clothes were shockingly inappropriate for a Canadian winter. She was wearing a yellow, faded windbreaker that cut off at her knees, and what appeared to be bright orange stockings. She looked like Big Bird. More than a little creeped out, I shouted, “Hey, I’m going to keep moving! Get home safe!” I turned on a dime and sped off into the night.

My apartment building was across the small bridge over the creek, and the streetlights stop for a while. In the winter, the aurora borealis is the only thing that lights my way. I had just managed to cross the iced-over bridge when I heard crackling behind me, and I was stunned to see the girl from town standing on the other side. She waited patiently for me to continue my journey home, while I considered my options. The vibe I was getting, while not malicious per se, was certainly not warm and fluffy. The cops seemed extreme, so with little else to do, I slowly continued walking. She was tiny, I reasoned. I should feel ridiculous for feeling threatened by this random girl. But I couldn’t shake the feeling, and she wasn’t going anywhere.

By the time I had reached my building, I was running like there were dogs chasing me. I felt like a fool, but the girl was matching my pace, and fear outweighed my embarrassment. My key was in and out of that keyhole faster than I care to say, and the door was locked behind me with equal speed. I rushed to peer through the peephole, but the girl was gone.

And so it went. Every day that week, she would wait for me to finish work and then chase me back to my apartment after closing, like a toddler chasing a bewildered pigeon. I didn’t feel the desire to tell anyone, for obvious reasons, and so I bore the odd situation alone. Each night, I would try various tactics to avoid her. I would leave through the back door, take short cuts, but she always found me.

But not the last night. That night, I decided to change my technique in dealing with the mystery girl. I left work, and as usual, she was there to greet me. We stood there for a moment in a silent standoff, the calm before the storm. The aurora was reflecting on her jacket, making her look like a ‘60s television special. I took it all in.

And then I started to run. Not away from her, like our usual routine, but straight towards her. Her eyes widened in shock, and she took off in the opposite direction. That night, I ran faster than I had ever run in my life. We left the town and she barreled down a pathway through the forest. The woods were dangerous at night. But I followed, knowing I couldn’t stop if I wished to make my journey home in peace again. A flash in the darkness, a loud bang, and I knew she was shooting at me.

This bitch was shooting at me!

She was a horrible shot, however, and she had unloaded a clip into trees and sky, while I remained unscathed. I kept up the chase, knowing I couldn’t give her time to reload.

I sped through the thick black woods, catching glimpses of her outline through the cracks in the trees. We finally entered a clearing by a lake, and I could tell she was getting tired. She collapsed just before we reached the other side of it, and I slowed down before I got to her. She was facedown in the snow, and I slowed to a halt as I pulled out my knife. She barely had time to scream before I plunged it into her thigh and yanked her toward me. The gun in her hand flicked in my direction, but she was too slow. I threw it into the lake before she knew what was happening.

She started losing consciousness, so I gave the knife a tiny twist to keep her mind frosty.

“My, what a fast runner you are,” I said.

I flipped her onto her back and she grimaced, making eye contact. Her eyes fluttered back and forth in terror. I yanked out a chunk of her hair and laughed. I hadn’t had this much fun in months. She weakly fought against me as I undressed her, slowly. And then I made another discovery: a photograph of a young girl.

“And what a beautiful sister you have,” I said.

I recognized her immediately; my most recent ones always stay fresh in my mind. I had picked this little darling off of a playground in Toronto, couldn’t have been more than nine. I’ve learned to eyeball an individual’s age after a few years. I even remembered the newspaper headlines, describing the horror of the search party upon finding her mostly eaten corpse in a river nearby her family’s home. She kicked out at me in desperation.

I pulled the knife out of her thigh and sliced into her abdomen tenderly, surgically. She gasped and widened her eyes, and I started picking at her muscles, ensuring that she wouldn’t die before things got really fun. I told her that I got the feeling she wasn’t really listening; we spent the following two hours that way. I usually don’t love the taste of a woman raw, but I was pleasantly surprised. I kept her alive for as long as possible, but the cold probably finished her off before I could, and I was getting full. I sighed with relief and satiation. I hadn’t expected her to go straight to this isolated location, so close to this iced-over lake. I piled her small collection of belongings aside, broke a chunk of the ice, and dumped the bitch in. Easy clean up.

The job was done, and I couldn’t help but feel perturbed by the simplicity of the situation. I had thought for sure that the girl was a cop, or another crazy. But nothing in her small pile of belongings suggested she was anything but an angry sibling bent on revenge. So where was the revenge? Why had she been following me home all week? Why had she run here, where no one could help her, of all places? Suddenly, things weren’t sitting right, and I wasn’t feeling well. My eyes caught a glimpse of a small glass vial lying next to her wallet. My stomach churned. There was a small note wrapped around it.

I slowly began unraveling the tiny message, and I read it aloud three times before it sank in fully.

“How are you feeling, asshole?”

It all became clear. She didn’t want to be near any phones or people nearby when she killed me, and she knew I would chase her down eventually. She wanted to lure me far from town, so that I would feel safe eating her. She wanted to make sure that I wouldn’t have time to get back before… The gun was meant for me, definitely, but she had a backup plan. Very brilliant, and very sadistic, considering her motivation. She must have downed the poison while we were running in the darkness. She left me with few alternatives.

I quickly fetched the gun and the other clip, and loaded that sucker up.

So here I am, about to shoot myself, alone in a clearing. I can’t say I’m not a little pissed off, but I can respect a clever opponent. I can already feel my legs numbing, and my mind fading. I’m not scared of death, really. Not really. I’m not.

I’m just scared of the instant before.