An Urban Legend
It was the weekend before Halloween. When Sam’s parents announced that they would be going out of town for a week to visit relatives, she was crushed. She had just turned seventeen and it was her senior year of high school; she wasn’t crazy about missing any of it, particularly the spooky little soiree her best friend Bailey was throwing next weekend. Seeing the look of disappointment on her face, her parents quickly clarified that they would be going and she would be staying behind to look after the house and the family’s Scottish Terrier, Chester.
Well, that certainly changed things. Sam had never stayed on her own for that long. A day or two, sure, but a full week with the house all to herself? This was going to be a week to remember.
And so, on Sunday morning, her parents – their car loaded up with possibly too much luggage – left Sam (and Chester) standing in the driveway with $100 for takeout or necessities, and a list of emergency contacts as well as her responsibilities while they were away. They backed down the driveway and, giving one final wave goodbye, disappeared down the quiet suburban street and out of sight.
– – –
Sam was your typical, run-of-the-mill teenager, and her routine was pretty standard. She would start her day by feeding Chester and getting ready for school. After eight hours of classes and an hour of cheerleading practice, she would make her way back home. After fixing dinner for herself and her faithful companion, she’d tackle any homework before rounding out the evening in bed and watching a little trashy TV. It was standard high schooler stuff.
On Sam’s fourth night alone, Bailey stopped by for a couple of hours to discuss party details. They ordered a pizza, covered the plan for Saturday, and then moved on to more…interesting topics: Bailey let slip that Scott – one of the guys from their class – was not only coming to the party, but he had casually asked if Sam would be, too. Of course she played it cool, but inside she had butterflies. They continued to hang out for a while, but around 8pm Bailey finally decided to head for home. Once again it was just Sam and Chester.
Cleaning up the trash leftover from dinner and finishing what little homework she had, Sam finally slipped under her covers around 9:30pm as Chester dutifully curled up in his usual spot on the floor, off to one side of the bed. A half hour of mind-numbing television later, her show ended and the local news came on. Uninterested, she took this as her cue to brush her teeth. Upon returning to her room, she caught a snippet of a special report –
“…authorities are searching the area and are requesting citizens stay inside and lock…”
– but honestly couldn’t care less and jabbed a finger at the power button. Crawling back into bed, she dropped her hand over the side: it was customary to give Chester a few good-boy scratches behind the ears. He of course responded to this gesture with a few of his own appreciative, drool-coated licks. Their nightly ritual now complete, Sam rolled over and, thinking about the upcoming party, quickly drifted off to sleep.
– – –
It was sometime after midnight when Sam was woken from a rather restless slumber by the sound of Chester whining in the darkness – apparently she wasn’t the only one struggling with her beauty sleep.
Groggy, she dropped her hand over the edge of the bed again, blindly giving the salt and pepper Terrier a couple of reassuring pats. Her fingers gingerly brushed the top of his head and the whining subsided. After a few seconds of silence she felt wetness as his tongue lightly, almost cautiously, gave her fingers a single dainty swipe. With Chester now silent and presumably asleep, Sam – never fully awake – drifted back into unconsciousness herself.
– – –
Another couple of hours passed and Sam found herself awakened yet again, this time by the call of nature. Groaning, she glanced blearily at her alarm clock – 4:23am.
Yawning, Sam reflexively ran her hand over Chester’s head and was rewarded with yet another slobbery kiss – this one much more emphatic and wet – before rolling over and sliding out from under the covers.
As she made her way through the blackness of the room, she managed to crack her little toe on her dresser. With a sharp hiss, she bent down and rubbed the littlest of her little piggies, now throbbing angrily. Cursing under her breath, she made her way into the hall. Sam was so focused on her protesting toe that it took her a moment to register that something wasn’t right: a glow was spilling out from under the bathroom door. Had she left the light on? She didn’t think so. Sam thought back to earlier in the evening and, yes, she was positive she had turned all the lights off – the bathroom included.
Putting her hand on the door – why was it closed, anyways? – she gave it a little push. The light illuminated the hallway, momentarily searing her retinas. While she was squinting against the glare, she noticed a peculiar smell. It was something elemental, something metallic. Something…coppery? Her eyes quickly adjusted and all she saw was red. Red on the floor, red dripping – plink – from the edge of the tub, red peeking out from behind the shower curtain.
Her toe and the need to relieve herself temporarily forgotten, Sam gazed in confusion at the vivid color splashed around the bathroom. Apprehensively, she stepped inside, her foot finding an unsoiled patch of tile, stark white in contrast to the crimson surrounding it. She reached for the edge of the shower curtain and drew it back. Her eyes widened and her mouth opened in a silent scream of shock and disbelief.
Plink.
Behind the flimsy sheet of plastic she found her dog hanging from the shower head, a piece of telephone cord wrapped around his neck. She was having a hard time comprehending what she was seeing. His fur was slicked down, plastered to his small body and Sam quickly realized what all the red was; as she watched, a drop of blood collected at the tip of one dangling back paw, hung there momentarily, elongated, and then dropped into the basin below.
Plink.
Clenching her eyes shut, Sam turned away from the heartbreaking scene. She began swallowing repeatedly, gulping air in an attempt to keep last night’s pizza down, but it was a lost cause. She dropped to her knees and shoved her face into the toilet, hugging the cold porcelain as she evacuated the contents of her stomach. Her cheeks wet with tears, her chest heaving, and her mind scrambled, she finally opened her eyes again. Her breathing hitched and a sob escaped her mouth. She couldn’t look at the shower
(Oh Chester. Poor, sweet Chester.)
Plink.
so she looked everywhere but there. And that’s when she saw it. As her eyes took in the final horrific detail, Sam finally found her ability to scream. And scream. And scream.
– – –
It was just after five. So much had happened in the past hour. Had it really only been an hour?
Having heard Sam’s screams in the early hours of the morning, the neighbors called 911. When they arrived, the responding officers found Sam curled up in the hallway, hysterical with grief and terror. After a search of the house, all that could be discovered was a broken basement window, a few drops of blood on the carpet next to Sam’s bed, and the back door standing wide open. Other than the grisly scene in the bathroom, of course.
Sam was now sitting in the police station, a wool blanket wrapped around her shoulders, a dazed look on her face as a young female officer attempted to question her about the events of the night. She didn’t respond; she couldn’t. Instead, she just stared at nothing, her eyes fixed but unseeing, as she obsessively wiped at her hands with the edge of the blanket. The skin there was chafed, red and raw.
The young officer told Sam that her parents had been contacted and that they were on their way home. She explained to Sam about the mental patient that had escaped from a transport the night before, and the manhunt that was still in effect. None of this registered – Sam was trapped reliving the nightmarish scenario inside her head.
Over and over again, Sam kept remembering, kept seeing the piece of the puzzle that had finally broken her. The message, left specifically for her, was scrawled on the bathroom mirror in Chester’s blood. Obviously written after he had been killed, while she slept – she recalled the slobbery tongue she had felt just before leaving the comfort of her bed – were four simple words: