a ritual unknown
by Sophia Craig
The bedside clock said something entirely too late, but all that came to mind was the closet. Palms sifted through dark, chest inhaling less and less, until silk met skin. Under a puffer jacket, for now, of course. Front door unlocked, for later, the click of a belt and heat fogging the glass in front of her.
The drive was painless, aside from the deer she wished would’ve stared at the headlights a second longer. A second longer to pretend to not know why the building looked more enticing than before.
As key met lock, a low hiss slithered its way to the entrance. She knew her shoes were too heavy today, wet from the snow. With a locked jaw, her fingers, one by one, clanked and crackled as she worked to place her padded feet on the carpet.
The air inside her began to circulate. Just like last time, hiss must be matched with hum. So her throat rumbled as the snake spread across the floor. Quickly, quietly, her torso sank, arms and legs flaccidly following. They were now equal.
Perhaps enticing wasn’t the right word. She had done this before. Something kept her awake, kept her coming back. Not the brush of hair on jacket or jacket on nylon, but the constant threat of this place, this thing, penetrating her insides. So she crawled and crawled, making certain her hips and her kneecaps and her toes touched absolutely nothing but the ground beneath her.
The office didn’t feel as far. It was somewhat mapped in her head now: slight left, straighten out, sharp left, STOP, straighten out. The first two steps took a couple weeks to perfect, thanks to her notes for improvement. Wear hair in ponytail. Gloves? Gum to diversify humming.
Earplugs were under consideration, naturally. During work eventually led to before work, after work, it didn’t seem to matter. Nothing about this building was fazed by her. It let her do what she had to. She was too invested. When will it end? she asks. What will it take? For the love of God, how long will this —
Her eyes widened. She was too late. Thirty seconds, and it was above her. She had seen it too many times to forget its shape in the black. It was positioned just right so as to suffocate her, bury her cheeks in the only comfort she could claim as her own. The faulty ropes had a will of their own, and tonight may be when she discovers what the other bodies went through in the light of day.
There were many things she did wrong. It would’ve been wise to keep crawling, but the blood left her knuckles and all that came to mind was the closet. Her husband inspected the hole in the wall. It was way off, needed to be more to the left. For the hundredth time, she knew. She knew and felt a sigh slip through her lips. His mouth broke her breath, but a hand reached his chest before he got any closer. The shirt felt a bit slippery, cold. Lifeless.
Spine straightened out, the woman was eye-level with a doorknob to the office. Fumbling for a way in, the thing began to engulf her. It did not like the noise. She was sorry, so sorry. She will hurry. Hurry and get in, get in get in get in get in get in yes. The door shut behind her with heavy reassurance, the stale insides of the office invigorating her lungs, eyes, and ears. This was the one place it could not touch her. This did not relieve her.
In one corner of the room sat the building’s surveillance system. A couple dimly lit monitors, not enough to display all the cameras enclosing her, but enough to fool her into thinking this was a job worthy of her time. On the desk was a single radio, some clipboards, other things she didn’t care about. The screens held her attention as her eyes glided across the ten squares teetering with static. She felt her legs routinely stepping toward the computer, but just as she went to start her inspection, they stopped. Why was it already on?
The more wondering she did, the louder the thing outside became. She must remember what she came here to do. Palms slapped ears. Crimson began to create a crime scene. Her hands stung, and she could hear the anger on the other side of the door. This sanctuary no longer satiated the fear inside it.
Her chin trembled and she tasted bile. It wouldn’t be long until she’d wake up to her husband’s questions with no answers. The door shook behind her. Humming only made the nausea worse. She dropped to the floor and squeezed her eyelids together. She had to remember what she came here to do. Instinctually and suddenly, her fingertips hunted for the killer. They dashed across pencils and jumped over spreadsheets to the main breaker. The light emitting from the monitors hungrily hit the switch seconds before a heavy thud vibrated through the walls.
For the first time, silence beckoned her to revel in the murder. Unable to tell friend from foe, she thought it best to carry a flashlight, the handle rubbing against her scabs. With one click, a column of dark blue towered above. Then another, and another, but limply. The ropes across its entrance drooped in defeat, and the hiss was now contained toward the bottom in a whiny manner. But it was standing alone. The bulb of light scanned her surroundings to no avail. Where did the others go? She made sure to retrace the path, all while facing the beast, but the floor was rid of any companions. Slowly, she reached behind for the front door, and as soon as she felt the winter outside, she ran. Shoeless and emptyhanded, the woman ran with nothing but the feeling that she couldn’t kill what never lived to begin with.
Photo of Sophia Craig
Sophia Craig is an English PhD candidate at the University of Iowa. Before graduate school, she earned her BA at Purdue University in English literature, creative writing, and classics. At Purdue, Sophia acted as Editor-in-Chief for The Bell Tower, where some of her poems are published. She also has poetry published in Meow Meow Pow Pow and Biscuit Hill. In her free time, she enjoys procrastinating on her novel and critiquing movies with her cat. Find out more on her website.