I thought that I had reached safety when I felt the cold steel of my door handle against my fingers. As I pulled on the grip, I noticed a flash of movement reflected in the window. Close. I took another quick look over my shoulder and still saw nothing.
What was assailing me? What had made me so frightened? There was no feeling of being watched now, no worries nagging at my heart. It had dissipated as quickly and as surely when I had reached the vehicle as it had come upon me at the top of the stairs. I pulled again, yanking the door open. And in that moment, I saw reflected in the glass of the driver’s side window, a colorless visage staring back at me. Though the face was but a flash in the night, I could see that his thin lips were pulled back from sharpened teeth in a terrifying grin, and his eyes were dark and deep and seemed filled with diabolic resolve.
I gasped and fell back from the door which now hung wide, opening the darkness to the inside of my sedan. I spun, worried that some lunatic had stolen up behind me to slit my throat and pinch my belongings. But, there was again nothing there. This time, the feeling of hate and darkness which grew around me was thick and immediate.
I twisted back toward the car, just as its door eased closed on silent hinges—pushed there from an unseen breeze or gravity or God knew what. And, when I turned around, my own pale, fear-pinched face peered back at me from the shadow of the window—my own reflection mocking my paranoia.
And the sensation of terror remained a heavy thrumbing in my bones and a searing in my heart. I threw open the door once again, and slid into my seat. I had to get out of there.