ACCIDENT-PRONE
ACCIDENT-PRONE
by Chrissie Rohrman
The shop’s door opens on a gust of wind, smacking the wall, and Sadie drops the earrings she’s arranging in a countertop display. Cursing the building’s old latches, she sidesteps clothes racks and shuts the door. The soles of her Converse slip on wet leaves that have blown inside as she inspects the mark left by the knob.
Damn it. She’d painted just yesterday, a shade of aqua her mother would consider garish, wrinkling her nose like she did every time teenage Sadie had come home with a new piercing or tattoo. But she and Clare wanted the color scheme of their boutique to stand out on the otherwise bland downtown street.
Sadie’s cell phone trills from the pocket of her jeans. She can’t help but grin when she sees ‘Good Luck Charm’ on the screen.
“Hey, I was just thinking about you. How’s your sister doing?”
“Anxious,” Clare replies, “but excited for the baby to come. How’s the store look?”
“Just about ready for its first customers tomorrow. Jasper’s been a big help.” Sadie pats the head of the robotic dog toy on the counter, the only pet her allergies will allow. The motion incites a mechanical bark, sets his motorized tail wagging. “I have to call a locksmith, though. These doors are shit.”
“I wish I was there to help.”
“You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be right now,” Sadie says. “I can’t hog all that good mojo.”
“Well, tell Jasper I say hi, and don’t stay too late. TV said something about a wicked storm by you.”
“You’re such a drama queen.” Sadie cradles the phone between her ear and shoulder and reaches for the next box to be unpacked. Her index finger slips along the edge of the flap, pain flaring hot and sharp. “Shit.” She sticks the bleeding finger in her mouth.
“What? What is it?”
“Nothing, I just cut my finger on this box.”
“That’s a bad sign.”
“It’s a sign that I should have used scissors.” Sadie swipes her hand along the leg of her jeans. “Geez, one near-death experience and you really get paranoid, huh?”
The incident in question had occurred only days before, when they were walking home from their favorite coffee shop. A truck came unhooked from the flatbed that was hauling it and careened down the hill straight toward Sadie. She’d just stood there, slack-jawed and frozen, until Clare shoved her out of the way at the last moment.
“One? Babe, sometimes I’d swear there’s some force out to get you. You are the most accident-prone person I’ve ever met.”
“Key word being ‘accident’. If there was some force out to get me—” Sadie exaggerates the phrase— “it’d get me.”
The lack of response makes her frown. “Clare?” She checks her phone. No Signal.
A blanket of silence drapes over the small shop, thick and oppressive. Sadie waves her hand in front of Jasper’s synthetically fuzzy nose so he’ll loose another bark, and sees her finger is still bleeding. She pushes against the cut with the pad of her thumb. Jasper’s barking fit ceases and thunder rumbles overhead, rattling the windows. The lights go out, plunging the shop into darkness.
Sadie hugs her arms around herself. Clare is the worrywart, not her, but the shop looks different in the dark, flashes of lightning illuminating the fashionable racks and shelving units she hasn’t yet gotten used to. Clare’s right—it’s getting late, and she should head home. She doesn’t want to get trapped in the storm. She checks her phone. Still no signal.
“Relax,” she says out loud. “There’s no malevolent force out to get you. Clare’s just paranoid. Also, you’re talking to yourself, which is totally normal.”
The front door again blows open, banging violently against the wall, the wind bringing in a swirl of rain and leaves. And a shadow that stands in the open space, filling the doorway.
Sadie stares at the inky shape. Like when she was staring down that truck, her feet seem rooted in place.
The road beyond the dark shape is empty. Everyone else tucked away at home in time to beat the storm. The danger. The shape slinks along the linoleum, inching toward her.
Sadie.
The voice sends a shiver down her spine. She backpedals into a wall, then drops to the floor. Using the cover of racks stocked with flowy scarves and dresses, Sadie crawls toward the counter. Breath hitching, she taps furiously at the screen of her cell phone. ‘No signal’ it protests. She stabs out 9-1-1, but even that won’t go through.
Jasper’s tinny bark sounds above her head. In the next flash of lightning, Sadie sees the blood drops from her cut finger. She’s left a trail leading right to her.
“Shit.” Tears sting the backs of Sadie’s eyes as blood thrums in her head. She has no idea what’s happening. She should run for it. Just haul ass for the door, and then never leave Clare’s side ever again. She needs her good luck charm. She exhales roughly, steeling herself, then lunges from behind the counter, keeping her head down, not wanting to see that…thing. She makes it only a few steps before slipping in rainwater. She crashes hard to the linoleum, the impact reverberating through her limbs.
See? she hears Clare sigh in her head. Accident-prone.
Except this is no accident. There’s something here with her—some thing here with her.
Pressure wraps around her ankle, so cold it burns right through the thin denim of her jeans. Sadie claws fruitlessly at the slippery floor, grabbing for anything to pull away from the shadow.
Above her head, Jasper barks, over and over, mixing with her screams, until both sounds abruptly stop.
On the floor in the middle of the empty, silent shop, Sadie’s phone trills, the signal restored as the worst of the storm passes. The screen, spiderwebbed with cracks and smeared with blood, displays Clare’s smiling face, and three words. ‘Good Luck Charm’.
Fiction © Copyright Chrissie Rohrman
Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay
