Find You, Follow You, Take You
Andrew Rivers travelled for business. Sometimes he took his own car, other times a rental. Rentals were a mixed bag for him because he never knew ahead of time if he was going to get a decent car. This meant one he could sleep in. His own SUV had enough room in the back to lay down comfortably when the seats were folded. It wasn’t a bed and mattress, but it was sure cheaper than a room for the night, and he was anything if not frugal.
With his business growing, Andrew was beginning to drive farther and farther to recruit more clients. Soon he might have to start outsourcing, but he was a hands-on kind of guy and didn’t know if he could trust anyone to do this side of the job. Plus, he liked to travel. This venture was promising to be very lucrative, and although he was going to miss Thanksgiving, he felt it was worth it.
Hours from home, he stood outside his car at a rest stop with a camera in his hands, taking pictures. He’d never been this close to the Rocky Mountains before, and they were breathtaking – just like in postcards. Dusk was descending upon the world, giving the mountains a red glow. It might have been eerie if it wasn’t so beautiful.
Further up the road he pulled into his booked motel. He alternated the nights when he slept in his car; he needed to look his best when meeting clientele and could only do so much without a shave and shower at least every other day. After getting comfy he booted his laptop to check on the pictures he’d taken. They weren’t all keepers, but most turned out okay.
One picture puzzled him though. He didn’t remember taking it – it wasn’t of the mountains at all. The photo was of the tree line below the parking lot he’d pulled into. With the setting sun there wasn’t much light and the image was fuzzy, but two clear silver dots stood out. They might’ve been the eyes of some animal or just specs of dust in the air, but for some reason he found them unsettling, like they were something he was never supposed to see.
Unable to get the image out of his mind, Andrew had difficulty falling asleep. The silver eyes followed him into his dreams, stalking him, showing up around every corner, in everyone’s face.
He awoke in the morning, not the least bit refreshed, to find the words FIND YOU painted on his windshield in deep red, almost brown letters. Some kids playing a prank on him, noticing the out-of-state licence plate, he figured. Upon closer study the paint smelled wretched and brought to mind horrific images of its true origin. Worse: it refused to be come off. Andrew scrubbed and scraped, but it seemed baked on, as if it had been sitting in the sun all day. He ended up buying some glue dissolvent – and even that left some behind. The letters didn’t take up much space, but they would be a distraction he didn’t need while driving on unfamiliar roads. Still, he’d wasted enough time on it as it was, and couldn’t afford to linger any longer.
Andrew continued on his journey, continued doing his job, and continued stopping to take pictures of the scenery. This time he was careful of what he captured, checking each snapshot after he took it, making sure nothing was watching him.
When the time came for him to hunker down for the night it took him a while to find a decent place. He’d tried truck stops before, finding them too loud and busy. He preferred something out of the way where he wouldn’t be disturbed. He ended up in a dead end quarry with woods surrounding his car on three sides. It was perfect. He had a few snacks to eat before climbing into the back to spread out some blankets. Due to the previous night’s restless slumber he fell asleep quickly.
He was woken in the middle of the night by a noise he couldn’t identify. It sounded like a large animal – a cow maybe, but he wasn’t an expert on livestock. Then he heard another sound – one he did recognize – children’s laughter. While ordinarily a joyous sound, in the dead of night and the middle of nowhere, it was like something out of a horror movie. Accompanying them was the pitter-patter of feet running around his car.
He wanted to get up and look outside but truthfully he was frightened. If it really was children then he had nothing to worry about, and he tried to convince himself such was the case. But the laughter was tainted by a wheezing sickness, a throaty rasp that was deeply disturbing and couldn’t have belonged to a child. He didn’t know how long he laid in his car, listening to them. He hoped if he was quiet they wouldn’t know he was there, and eventually go away.
But things only got worse. The children became more brazen, knocking on his car, tapping on the glass. Occasionally the car would lurch as if someone had shoved it. Andrew eventually lifted his head to peek out the window, wanting to see what was going on, but saw only vague shadows dancing in the scattered moonlight.
Suddenly the roof groaned under the weight of someone – or something – climbing onto it. A deep, guttural bellow rented the air before what sounded like a waterfall splashed all over the car. Horrible images of a beast vomiting on his car sprang unwanted to his mind.
As the roof began to buckle Andrew knew he could hold his tongue no longer. He shouted for them to get off his car, for them to go away and leave him alone.
And it all stopped. It was now dead quiet. He risked taking another look outside – and saw the silver eyes. The same eyes in the photo. The same eyes from his dreams.
Then a child spoke: “Please let us in.”
It started as the voice of a little girl, but ended twisted and raspy. Soon more silver eyes joined the first, as did more bitter, raspy child-voices.
“Play with us.”
“We won’t bite.”
“Be our friend.”
“Come outside.”
Soon he was surrounded and hailed nonstop. Andrew grabbed his phone to call for help, only to find no signal. He knew it was likely to happen among the mountains, and of course it would fail him when he needed it the most. Covering his ears and closing his eyes, he wished it would all go away. This couldn’t be happening. Maybe he was just dreaming.
Then he woke.
His blankets and clothing were in a knotted mess, and he was sweating profusely even though it was cold outside, but he had made it through the night. It was just a nightmare.
But would a nightmare leave child-sized handprints all over the windows, and a roof dented in under the weight of some unknown animal, which now appeared to be sleeping on his hood, blocking his windshield?
Scanning the immediate area outside the vehicle, he made sure he was alone – other than the beast on his car – before opening the rear hatch and climbing out. The sun couldn’t be seen over the trees, but dawn had arrived no more than an hour ago, he was sure. How long had the ordeal gone on last night? Had he fallen asleep from exhaustion?
Making his way warily to the front of his car, Andrew found not an animal like he was expecting, but more paint splashed all over the windshield. And written in the paint in small, scraggly letters were the words: FIND YOU, FOLLOW YOU.
Andrew was beside himself, horrified. It couldn’t be the same kids who were messing with him. It was impossible. That motel was at least two hundred miles back. But how could the messages be the same? Were these people following him? Was it a cult of some kind? And were they actually children, or was it some twisted game? Was this going to continue to haunt him during his travels? Would it follow him home? He decided to find a police station and report the incident.
Like last time the paint refused to be removed. Even the glue dissolver barely put a dent in it. With the windshield obstructed there was no way Andrew could drive the car. So he stayed there, spending hours scrubbing it off, using up all the glue dissolvent, eventually getting enough of it off to be able to drive into the nearest town to find a carwash. But its ‘superior clean’ didn’t live up to its name. Andrew had to settle with a half-finished job; he’d already spent too much time on it and was way behind schedule. At least a room had been booked for that night. When he had time he’d have to alter some of his plans – there was no way he was sleeping in his car again on this trip.
Unfortunately luck was not on his side. Having gotten a late start on this leg of his journey, and having to drive slower and more carefully due to his partially-obstructed view, Andrew showed up to his motel late, and due to the high-demand of Thanksgiving weekend, his room had been given away.
While furious, he understood and accepted the reasons for this, and set out to find other accommodations. He found none. He tried the next town, and the next. As night fell Andrew became worried, then desperate, then scared. Whatever was stalking him would find him again, he was sure. He did not want to spend another night in his car, yet his options were wearing thin. Weary from the lack of sleep from the night before, his eyes grew heavy, and after nearly driving off the road one too many times he knew he couldn’t go on.
He found a brightly-lit strip mall parking lot in a small town to stay for the night. It wasn’t an ideal location for proper rest, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Surely he wouldn’t be attacked in the open, for all to see? Feeling safe, he settled in and began to doze off. Then there came a rapping on the window.
Andrew sat up to see a police officer standing outside his car, peering inside with a flashlight. Noticing the out-of-state plates on his car, the cop had been watching him. Andrew stepped outside and was told he couldn’t stay there. Reminded of his earlier promise to tell the authorities about his ordeal, Andrew explained his situation; the missed hotel, the night stalkers, the paint on his car – of which there was still evidence. It was quite the story, and the officer was skeptical, suspecting Andrew of being either drunk or stoned. However, he granted Andrew what he felt was a small mercy by not bringing him into custody. He told Andrew if he still felt strongly about the incident in the morning he could come to the police station and file a report, but until then he had to leave. Unless, that is, he wanted to go to the station right now – in handcuffs.
So Andrew got back into his car and drove around to find another spot to sleep. Not wanting any trouble from the police, he settled for parking outside of town, just passed the reach of the street lights, behind what appeared to be an abandoned gas station. He’d never been more scared in his life, and he knew he wasn’t going to get any sleep that night. But since fear and stress can be exhausting, and since he’d slept little after his encounter the previous night, he was out quickly.
He was woken quickly as well by another rapping on the window. Assuming it was the officer again, Andrew sat up and looked out in the window. But there was no flashlight this time, no policeman; just a dozen or so pairs of silver eyes, glinting despite the darkness.
As he’d expected and feared, the creatures had returned. They hailed him again, pounding on his car, demanding to be let in, or for him to come out. Their creepy, lilting voices trailed off in hacking, acidic warbles, felt like daggers in his ears.
They said they’d he couldn’t hide from them forever.
They said they’d find a way inside.
They said they would take him.
“What do you want from me?” Andrew shouted at them.
The voices went quiet, and just the laboured breathing of what sounded like much larger beasts could be heard. Finally they began again, only this time their voices were excruciatingly deep, thumping into his ears like too much bass.
“We want to play with you.”
“We want to be inside you.”
“We want you inside us.”
“We want to taste you.”
“We want to be you.”
All these answers came at the same time, booming in his head as if they were originating there. He heard them all individually somehow, but wished he hadn’t. He wished he hadn’t asked the question. He wished he’d gone straight to the police station – in shackles or not. He wished he’d never gone on this damned trip.
The pounding on his car began again with more fervour than before. Violent blows assaulted the side windows, and as they began to crack, Andrew knew he had to get out of there. He crawled over the seats to get behind the wheel and started the car. When the headlights came on he saw something that chilled him to the bone.
Shapes. Silhouettes. The light from his car did not touch these creatures, but he could see them though the illumination of the spaces between them, as if he were looking at a negative. They were the same size as children, only with pointed heads and long arms that reached the ground, like a gorilla. And those haunting silver eyes, they seemed to pierce right through him, turning his blood to jelly, his legs to stone, his mind to mush.
Then there was the big one, the largest shape among them. It was the size of an elephant, maybe larger; twelve or fifteen feet tall. Like a wholly mammoth, it appeared to be hairy too, unlike its smaller brethren. Its breath sent billows of smoke into the chill air.
Somehow finding the strength, both in mind and body, to put the car in drive, Andrew floored it.
Chaos erupted. Most of the little creatures dived out of the way. Some of them landed on his car and began pounding on the windshield, obscuring his view. He turned on the wipers, but they did nothing. The bastards ripped them off and started beating his hood with them. He pressed on, not wanting to stop, to give them the opportunity to get inside. Then abruptly, violently, the car halted. He’d hit something, maybe a building; something that wasn’t moving.
Throwing the car into reverse, he backed away, feeling the car sway and lurch as he climbed over lumps that weren’t there seconds before. The way they crunched and squealed he assumed he was running over the vile creatures, and this brought him no small amount of satisfaction.
When he put the car back in drive and hit the gas, the car barely moved. It slid around slightly, but seemed to have no traction. Reverse gear didn’t improve the situation. He craned the wheel, trying to pry himself loose from whatever was holding his car, picturing piles of the black shadows underneath his wheels. He briefly wondered what colour their blood was.
Suddenly the car jerked, but not in the direction he wanted. The nose lifted, and he fell back into his seat. It was then that he noticed the creatures were no longer on his hood, and his view was clear again. But he wished it wasn’t.
He was staring into the silver eyes of the giant beast. It must have lifted the car off the ground. Up close, the headlights still refused to offer any illumination. It was like peering into a void. The monster growled at him.
As a last ditch effort, Andrew remembered the dial on the dashboard. He switched it, turning on the vehicle’s four-wheel drive, and punched the gas. The car jerked backwards, jumping out the beast’s grip, and tore away. He felt the bumps and jolts as he ran over more of the silver-eyed children. Then the ground falling out from under him, and that was the last thing he remembered.
Andrew awoke, sore and groggy, staring at the morning sky. He was still behind the wheel of his car, which no doubt was also sore and groggy. Surveying his surroundings, he discovered he’d driven down an embankment, some thirty or so feet below the parking lot behind the gas station, and was resting against some trees and bushes. Most importantly, none of the creatures were around. He’d survived the night.
Not that they’d simply vanished; more words had been painted on the windshield. Dreading the new, terrifying message that awaited him, Andrew climbed out of the vehicle and inspected the damage first. The rear end was a wreck, and possibly beyond repair. Glass all over the car was either cracked or shattered completely. Scratches and dents marred the fibreglass everywhere he looked, and red/brown paint was splashed all over the undercarriage.
It dawned on him then that it wasn’t paint, but blood. The creatures had been leaving him messages written in their own blood. He shuddered at the thought. Ignoring the lack of bodies that should have been littering the ground all around him, he marched to the front to read his new, bloody message.
FIND YOU, FOLLOW YOU, TAKE YOU
Andrew swallowed hard, certain that his next encounter with the shadow children would be his last. Where they would take him and for what purpose he couldn’t say, nor did he want to find out. But why hadn’t they taken him yet? Why were they tormenting him? Not that he was going to complain; he was still alive after all. But how much longer did he have? He pondered whether or not to abandon his car. Perhaps it was marked and they were followed their own blood trail.
Andrew decided instead to get help. He would take up the officer’s suggestion from last night and report the incident. He might even rub it in the man’s face. See what happened because of you? I could be dead right now! The incline up the embankment was steep, and he knew his car wouldn’t have made it up the hill, even if it would start. He had difficulty climbing it himself, stiff and bruised as he was.
The walk back to town felt longer than it should have. He tried to devise a way to explain the situation that wouldn’t make him sound crazy, but nothing sounded plausible. And of course, when he found the police station and recounted the events over the past few nights he was met with raised eyebrows and skepticism. They went out to the scene of the crime and surveyed the damage, assuming alcohol was involved. But because they had no proof they couldn’t press charges. They also couldn’t explain the stuff that looked like paint all over his car – nor did they seem inclined to. They called a wrecker and had the vehicle hauled out and taken to the nearest garage at his expense.
The damage was indeed considerable, and would take a week or longer to repair. Andrew wondered again if he shouldn’t just write it off. He found an overpriced hotel with vacancy the next town over and was more than happy to spend the night there, sleeping on the decision. From there he was also finally able to phone his wife and tell her what had happened. Rational as she was, she maintained that there had to be a logical explanation for it all. She told him to call him back when he had a repair-cost estimate. But he would never get one.
A comfy bed and secure locks and windows did little to erase the memories of the last few nights, and Andrew slept fitfully. He jolted awake every other hour, thinking he’d heard a scratching sound or hushed voices. But he remained alone.
In the early morning he was awakened by a phone call from the garage, telling him there had been an accident. An hour and a taxi ride later he arrived to find his precious car crushed, nearly folded in half, and leaning against a tree. It looked like a piece of paper one had crumbled and thrown away. No one had any idea how it could have possibly happened – the shop owner had arrived that morning and discovered the wreckage.
But Andrew knew who had done it, though he kept it to himself. He wondered if they’d destroyed his car because they couldn’t find him. But did that mean it was over? He wasn’t marked, otherwise they’d have come for him at the hotel. Was he free from their haunting voices and stalking silver eyes? Or were there more words written in blood on his windshield, waiting to be unearthed, for him to read? He certainly wasn’t going to be keeping his car now, no matter the case.
The next day Andrew hopped aboard a bus and headed back to his wife, eager to put the whole thing behind him. He decided to work from home from now on.
The Chris Effect 
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