Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

Surreal This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

I hate running, hate it with a burning passion. Loathe it almost as much as crappy teen romance-fantasy novels. But here I am, every morning of my pathetic life, worn shoes tapping out the pattern of 17 wasted years on the concrete. I watch the sunrise and the sky come to life every day. I say get as much beauty and life in as you can; there'll be time to sleep when you're dead.

This particular morning was unnaturally cold; the dawning hours of an early May first (ode to flowers and sweet air) are usually as warm as the feeling that fills my heart every May Day. Except for the silly crickets desperately crying out for a mate, the air was still and eerily silent, like the climax of a scary movie.

A boring kind of run, my least favorite sort, and was I glad when the white picket fence of my lovely (boring) dream (nightmare) house (prison) came into view. My parents were still asleep, paranoid insects wrapped in the cocoons of sanity. I hate sleeping almost as much as running. It's a cousin of death, I believe.

Up ahead, I noticed a walker, dancing along the street (this city's too cheap to install sidewalks) with too much pizzazz for an early morning wanderer. Most people up this early are insomniacs, half asleep and dragging their feet with thoughts of king-sized beds, or drunkards staggering home after another one-night stand. None of those early morning inhabitants ever seemed this happy to be alive, though, so this guy sure didn't fit in.

Maybe he's a stoner; the meth making music in his mind, melodies of love and rhythms of desire, dancing feet just another side effect of an illegal chemical happiness. Maybe he's a crazy, who'd killed his wife and was glad he did. Wouldn't be the first stark raving freak around here.

Curious, I picked up my pace. I had to see this one.

The crazystoneddrunkinsomniac stopped dead, freaked at the sudden noise of my footsteps, I guess. I continued to run, though, not wanting to look too obvious or anything. The frolicking man turned to glare me down or tell me to go stick my head in a rather unreasonable place, I assumed, and then he was gone. It was like his happiness was gone, and the wind blew away the fragile shell that remained. Dust to dust, baby.

Fight or flight told me to run, stupidity told me to stop, and I couldn't have told you where common sense was at this point. Unsure what to do, I slowed to an awkward walk and smacked my face a few times, throwing in an arm pinch for good measure. I must be nuts – that couldn't have happened. People don't just disappear. Maybe my hatred of sleep was finally catching up with me.

Suddenly an arctic breeze raised the hair on the back of my neck. I whirled around, clearing a five-foot space in the process. Behind me stood the scariest thing I'd ever seen in my pathetic 17 years. Worse than the crumpled nine-year-old body that lay before me after I tripped and collided with my best friend, Patrick, accidentally knocking him into incoming traffic. Worse than the bruises on my sister's arms and the terror on my mother's face. Worse than everything.

Tall with limbs as long as an interstate, a figure like a kindergartner's stick man stood before me. Black as night and frightening as terrors the night holds. So skinny, so freakishly, freaking skinny, like a two-dimensional doodle on the back of a math test.

To be honest, its appearance was odd, but not scary in the least, truly. However, the air of it, the horror and despair that became stronger with every second I stared into its (empty midnight) face, was enough to make a proud man scream bloody murder.

It stepped closer, leaning in as if getting a good look at me. I instinctively stepped back, fear controlling me as opposed to logic. Obviously someone had drugged me, or this was a lucid dream. But, no, I was awake. I had pinched myself. Doesn't that always mean you're awake? That's what the movies say, at least.

Fear ejected venom into my legs, and I shot off like a lit firework, looking back, never forward. Don't ask me how I didn't hit a tree – I've asked myself that and still don't know. The thing, the monster, the result of scary movies and too much time to think, turned to the right and was gone in a flash. I knew it could move faster than I could ever dream of.

But, whatever.

I hurdled over the white picket fence like I did it every day, face first, and ninja-kicked the front door open like a detective on “Law and Order.” They say when you know you're about to die, you can do things no human would be capable of otherwise. All in the genetics of survival, I suppose.

In a fraction of a second, I'd locked the door and sunk to the floor, rolled into a ball, eyes shut and arms over my head. (If I can't see it, it can't see me.) Time passed like it does on an international flight – slowly and painfully, zapping you awake every second with anticipation.

Crap, I thought, as I realized the curtains were wide open in the back of the house. But it was too late, and that feeling of being watched filled my every cell and the blood in my veins turned cold.

But the sun was rising, thank you, Lord O Lord O Lord, it was turning the sky the color of rosy skin instead of bruised skin. And then my hair fell flat against my neck, and my muscles unlocked as if the sun had held the key tauntingly over my head all along. (Cruel universe we live in, it really is.)

Still, I remained curled on the floor like a dead bug. When my mother finally shuffled downstairs, she questioned my health in a shrill, panicked voice. I couldn't answer. Cat (or creepy stick figure) had my tongue.

Mom fled to the refuge known as my father, who knelt before me and sighed, like I was wasting his precious time (which I kind of was).

“Alrighty, son, what can we do to help? What d'you want from us?”

In a heaving, terrified voice, I responded: “A treadmill.”


*
*
*



POSTSCRIPT

It'll come after me, don't worry. I still see it, lurking discreetly in the shadows. Sometimes sight fails me, but my senses never do. Frequently, there is the feeling of endless horror, and I know it's there, waiting to strike. Old age may force me to forget, but it never will. I sleep in fear.

This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.




Join the Discussion

This article has 11 comments. Post your own now!

MegaSock said...
Feb. 9, 2013 at 1:36 pm
So creepy, but cool! I think it's a fantastic idea, from boring to something out of the ordinary! I love the ending with the treadmill, and the beginning how hating running just saved him. The figure kind of reminds me of Slenderman... Great job!
 
Ray445 said...
Oct. 24, 2012 at 12:35 pm
This is great! I pulled me in, and held on til the finish. You are talented!
 
mirandablack16 said...
Jan. 1, 2012 at 4:27 pm
This. Is. AMAZING! I absolutely loved this! It kept me interested and on my toes the entire time! In fact, I'm kinda kicking myself for not coming up with something like this. Keep writing! And, those judges should've picked you. This is great!
 
MumblingMelanie This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. replied...
Jan. 1, 2012 at 4:33 pm
Thank you very much! You're too kind. I'd like to say, however, that I didn't invent the stickman; it's a sort of urban legend and there have been various 'accounts' of seeing it in real life. *skeptical glance* I just thought it was super interesting and worthy of storytime :D So, yeah, thanks again :3
 
JulianneV said...
Oct. 12, 2011 at 3:25 pm

love this so much!

 

 
MumblingMelanie This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. replied...
Oct. 17, 2011 at 8:43 pm
Thank you! :3
 
MumblingMelanie This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Sept. 29, 2011 at 3:50 pm

This is based on a creature I read about on a list on the Listverse. It's by far my favorite 'monster' and it scared me. My story is inspired by accounts I read of the Stick-Man which were all quite lovely and I wanted to partake in the fun. :3

Thank you for reading!

 
MumblingMelanie This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. replied...
Oct. 17, 2011 at 8:50 pm

WELL. This may have three replies when I'm done, but here:

Since I can't post links and I want to give credit to the people who introduced me to the creature in my story (I'm not creative enough to invent such a thing, unfortunately), the website is called Listverse, and the list the creature is on is called Top 10 Bizarre Modern Paranormal Phenomena.

You should most definitely go read it; it's by far my favorite list on the site. (And I do adore that website :3).

 
tomtamtimmy This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Mar. 2, 2011 at 2:45 am
is is really good. keep it up
 
HIPPIEatHEART_writerINsoul This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. replied...
Apr. 25, 2011 at 5:47 pm
Well, thank you very much!
 
AthenaMarisaDeterminedbyFateThis teenager is a 'regular' and has contributed a lot of work, comments and/or forum posts, and has received many votes and high ratings over a long period of time. This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. replied...
Feb. 26, 2013 at 12:55 pm
That is the FUNNIEST and FREAKIEST story EVER! I loved it so much!
 
Site Feedback