Lurker by Stefan Petrucha

she was alone on the walk. Acrossthe street, she saw the library. The sight of it chilled her. A cone of light from the floods under its eaves spilled over the edge of the parking lot into the tall brown weeds at the side of the building. This was the same view she’d seen on the news.
    Come on, Laurel, pick up.
    The phone rang twice and a hiss of static filled her ear. “Laurel?” she asked. The static rippled like someone crumpling a paper bag, pausing, then crumpling again. “Laurel. It’s me, Mandy. Laurel?”
    â€œThis isn’t Laurel,” a rasping voice said. Whoever was on the line sounded old.
    He also sounded amused. Behind his voice, that crunching, crumpling sound grew faint and then burst forward, nearly deafening her.
    â€œI’m sorry,” she said into the phone. Her speed dial must have glitched, and she got the wrong number. “Good-bye.”
    â€œSee you later,” the man said. The word was followed by what sounded like a cough. Or a laugh. Then the static erupted and the line went dead.
    CUL8R
    Mandy looked at the phone, terrified. Her heart thumped hard in her chest. Behind her, in the brush that ran beside the sidewalk, a twigsnapped. Branches rustled.
    She ran. At first she sprinted down the sidewalk, but her fear intensified. Someone could leap out of the bushes, drag her in. Oh God . Checking for traffic ahead and behind her, Mandy ran into the middle of the road. In her mind, terrible things happened: the Witchman shot out of the brush, his stooped form moving with inhuman speed to catch her; he appeared as if by magic in the road ahead of her, one long finger pointing at her chest before he raced forward and lifted her from the street; he threw her over his shoulder, carrying her screaming to his special place behind the library, where he would…
    Cut her open…. She was totally butchered.
    Mandy let out a cry of fear and ran faster, trying to keep the Witchman out of her head. But it didn’t work. With every step, his beaklike nose, his pointed chin, his wild eyes were with her. The fear of his outstretched fingers reaching for her back made her charge desperately down the street.
    The familiar houses of her development, aglow with lights, fell in around her. She slowed her pace, caught her breath. A couple, chatting quietly, walked their dog on the sidewalk ahead. Behindthe walls and windows of the homes, men, women, boys, and girls sat down to dinner. TVs showed syndicated reruns of popular sitcoms and the national evening news. Eight blocks away, her mother would just be getting home from work.
    It was still early, but for Mandy it felt very late.
    Â 
    Laurel held the slice of double cheese pizza in front of her mouth and looked at Mandy like she’d just said, “I want to work the drive-through window at Meaties.” Laurel put down the slice and wiped at her lips with a finger as if she’d actually taken a bite. “You’re trippin’,” Laurel said. “I didn’t text-mess you.”
    They sat in the kitchen of Laurel’s house with a large pizza that had arrived two minutes after Mandy. Mandy didn’t want any. She was still scared, and the fear tied a knot in her stomach, twisted it up tight so she couldn’t even think about eating. She could barely get sips of iced tea through the tension in her throat. She was so upset, and all she wanted was some kind of rational explanation. The message must have come from Laurel.
    â€œThat’s not funny, L.”
    â€œAnd I’m not joking, M.”
    â€œI called here.”
    â€œBut the phone didn’t ring. Look, when have I ever been down with practical jokes? That was Naughty Nic’s bag, not mine. Yeah, I get my giggle on bustin’ some chops, but I don’t play the mind screw.”
    â€œThen who sent that message?”
    â€œUh, Dale?”
    â€œNo,” Mandy said. “The more I think about it, the more I’m