The Marked Ones

Tap, tap, tap.. I tried to focus on everything else but the sound.

Darn! I'd gotten that bathroom sink fixed three times already this week. Every thing was wrong with this house, this bloody community.

Events of last night's nightmare resurfaced violently, I tried to ignore but I couldn't. The nightmares had become too frequent lately.

Sweat trickled down my forehead into my eyes. I blinked.

"Emily, you shouldn't have"

Old joey's words replayed in my head.

I had gone out last night to throw the trash, only to have old joey who lived across the road come out almost immediately, not to particularly do anything but just stared at me with this weird expression and said those words.

Now what got me frightened wasn't the fact that he knew my name, even though we've never talked.

After all I just moved in and this was a really small community. Besides I knew his name.

It was the look on his face. In his eyes.

Almost like he was trying to say;  now  you really gonna have it coming".

I knew old joey sleepwalked. I'd hear his wife come out at midnight screaming his name for him to come back in.

But last night was different. He looked normally sober. And besides the night was still early.

His voice was very low, gentle, barely above a whisper. But I heard it.

In the deathly still night and perfectly empty street, I heard the words clearly.

I had fumbled back into my house with trembling hands and shaky legs. My heart was literally beating in my mouth, my mind working at 15000kilometres per second.

What did he mean? What had I done? Get a job at café down the road? Gotten this house? Talked to his wife? Moved to this town?

Oh don't be ridiculous mily, joey definitely didn't know you before you moved here. Or did he? Of course not.

But then this was Vale-fucking town where nothing and no one was normal!

What the shit did he mean??  I wanted to scream.

I don't remember how I had gotten myself to doze off but it didn't last long. Fifty minutes later I was up, panting , soaked in my sweat, breathing through my mouth, with dilated pupils.

I had it again. The nightmare. I sighed.

They no longer scared me. The first time I had it, that was before I moved here on the night of the murder or "sucide" as the police ruled it off.

I was scared and messed up. I thought I needed to move, only for me to get here and the nightmares became more intense and frequent. And I can't go back. I don't want to.

I sighed again.

I  had gotten up and had my routine, got a glass of hot milk and some chip cookies and scrolled through my old messages.

My favorite were usually the ones Paul sent. Telling me he was sorry, I should come back and we could work it all out together.

He doesn't believe me. That's all that matters.

Now I lay in bed the following morning with absolutely nothing to do. Today was my day off at work.

I couldn't stop wondering if I had actually made the right decision moving.

I know I suck at confronting situations, I always found it more reasonable to run, but it wasn't entirely my fault. I didn't grow up in the best circumstances.