Day 256 - Friggatriskaidekaphobia Story

Friggatriskaidekaphobia Story

Matthew Ryan Fischer

Frank was not a superstitious man. He wasn’t a man who avoided mirrors or fans or black cats. He didn’t buy lottery tickets and had no particular routines to speak of. And yet?  And yet he had been trained well by the pop culture he was a part of. It was Friday the thirteenth – Friday the thirteenth with all of its awful connotations.

He knew that it meant nothing. But at the same time he also was very aware when this date appeared on the calendar. Fridays were not unlucky. The number thirteen was not unlucky. It was all rumor and myth and foolish perpetuation of stories and old wives’ tales. The universe did not work that way. Add them together and magic things did not happen. He knew that. He knew it. And yet? And yet there he was, walking home, at night, in the dark, and he could feel himself speeding up and looking around nervously. He realized he had one hand in a fist already, and the other slightly up as if he would really be able to block an oncoming attack.

Frank heard a noise and jumped. He looked around but didn’t see anything. Maybe it was an opossum or the wind knocking a garbage can over. Frank laughed at himself. He was feeling foolish. He told himself there was nothing to worry about. Frank calmed down and his heart beat slowed. He began to walk again, but this time at a more calm and relaxed pace.

As Frank walked he imagined he heard footsteps following him, tracking him, pacing themselves to his pace. Frank was sure this was just his imagination and that his mind was playing tricks on him. Still, he was reluctant to turn around.

Frank took a deep breath and stopped. One last echoed footstep fell and then they too stopped as well. Frank was getting nervous. That last step was not imagined. That echo was not in his head. This was not fear. This had been heard. This was real.

Frank gulped. He reached his hand into his pocket to grab his keys. Frank was not a fighting man, but he imagined that hitting someone in the face with the pointy end of a set of keys would have to hurt. Frank wasn’t sure he’d get close enough to do any hitting, but he was sure he had to try.

Slowly he turned around, ready to scream, ready to fight, ready to run. Half a block away was a kid, not a young adult, not a teenager, but obviously a kid, wearing a bloody butcher’s smock and what looked like a mask of a pig. This was not Halloween. Something was not right with this. Frank was stunned for a moment and didn’t know how to react. It was creepy weird and he was uncomfortable quickly.

 Frank took a step back away from the kid. The pig faced kid just stood there and watched. Frank took another step, then another. The kid didn’t move. Frank turned and hurried off.

Frank didn’t hear any more footsteps, but he wasn’t listening that closely anymore. He wasn’t going to slow down or take any chances.

He reached the corner at the end of the block and turned right. Then he suddenly stopped. At the end of this block was the silhouette of a figure. Frank couldn’t quite make the person out, but he didn’t have to struggle to see what it was – it was someone short, like a kid, wearing a butcher’s smock, and Frank was pretty sure the person was wearing some sort of Halloween mask.

Frank was now fully freaked.

It couldn’t be the same kid. Frank was sure of that. There was no way the kid had made it all the way around the block before he did. There were two of them. But what were they doing and why were they dressed like that?

Frank took a step back and looked down the street from where he had come. In the distance was the original kid, still standing there, as if he was guarding the street, blocking Frank’s return or escape.

Frank reversed course again and turned left, moving in the wrong direction to get home, but taking him further away from these kids. Frank didn’t know why this would scare him so much, but the masks – the masks were so awful.

Soon Frank realized he was running. He didn’t care how silly he looked, he knew how he felt. Something was wrong. It could have been a prank. It could have been his imagination. He didn’t care. He wanted to get as far from that intersection as humanly possible as fast as possible. He wanted to forget this night and forget his fear and never speak of it again. He might not speak of it, but he was afraid that he would remember it.