I had never been someone you would imagine as the picture of physical health. Throughout my career working as an actuary, I spent most of my week sitting on a chair, poring over an endless stream of spreadsheets, and sipping on coffee with an unholy amount of cream. On the weekends, I would binge whatever new hit shows were released on the plethora of streaming platforms I begrudgingly subscribed to. All in all, I never considered what effect my largely sedentary lifestyle would have on my health. That all changed last winter.
I was helping my mother move furniture for a garage sale when I felt an intense pain in my chest. I didn’t think much of it at first, but as the pain worsened, I realized that the unimaginable was happening. After a short ambulance ride, and a long hospital stay, I was given the good news. I was a very lucky man; I had survived a heart attack. But considering I had a BMI of 41 by my 42nd birthday, I knew I had to make a change.
Ever since that horrible day, I have been focused on health, almost to a flaw. I diet, go to the gym every other day, and even use a standing desk at my office. I’ve honestly never felt so confident, especially now that I’ve lost 50 pounds since last year. As a part of this change, I’ve made a ritual of going for a 2-mile run every Friday night, to help clear my mind after work. Just running through the park near my urban apartment always gives me a sense of clarity, a perspective that helps me center myself.
This Friday started like any other. I grabbed my running shoes, and earbuds, and set my smartwatch to time my run, before jogging out the door. Usually, I listened to ambient music, and soft instrumentals to contribute to the meditative nature of the run, but as I started down my route, silence greeted me. Not willing to stop my exercise to see what the issue was, I popped out my earbuds, deciding the silence of the night would be an acceptable alternative.
It was a clear, beautiful night, the moon peaking shyly through a layer of dark clouds, providing a pale glow to accompany the harsh light provided by the electric lamps lining the running path. It was only 8 PM when I started the run, but the stars had already begun to twinkle overhead, barely visible with the ambient glow of the city underneath. The repetitive crunch of my shoes on the concrete began to lull me into a trance, as I ran at a comfortable pace down the aisle of bare deciduous trees.
With a sudden awareness, I realized that my path was blocked by the form of a man. He was tall, taller than me by at least a foot, and seemed to be wearing some sort of dark trench coat, or cloak that obscured his body. I slowed to a walk as I drew nearer, the moon reflecting dully off of his black, matted hair. He stared at me, with pupils so wide it was as if his eyes were chips of obsidian buried in his skull. By this point, there were 5 feet between us, the man stared at me, turning his head from one side to the other. I could feel my pulse quickening, but not because of the cardio workout, but rather from a sudden fear that gripped me.
I didn’t know what to say, so I lamely called out,
“Hey there!”
The man didn’t respond but began to shake his head vigorously, convulsing rapidly. As I stood there, completely unsure of what to do and frozen by a sudden fear, I noticed some odd features of this stranger blocking my way. His hands moved almost non-stop, passing back and forth under the blanket he wore like a cape, scratching frantically at his legs. He was muttering under his breath, something I could not understand despite straining to hear. I realized this man was likely having a mental health crisis, or maybe suffering from some sort of drug overdose. Despite that, I couldn’t help but feel terrified by the stiff, unnatural way he moved. As if he was being twisted and contorted by an invisible puppeteer.
I reached into my pocket, and retrieved my cell phone, trying to dial 911 to hopefully get an ambulance here. But the moment I took my eyes off the stranger, I heard an immediate shuffle of movement, and when I looked up, the man was simply gone without a trace. I shuddered, suddenly aware of how impenetrable the darkness off to the sides of the trail was. I decided to cut my run short, turning around to run back the way I had come along the park trail.
As I ran, I strained to listen for any sounds that would indicate I was being followed but was greeted only by the dull thud of my own feet on the pavement. With my head on a swivel, I worked my way back to my apartment building, punching the code into the gate at the stairwell before heading up to my floor. After getting inside, I allowed myself time to process my experience, silently thanking whoever was watching out for me. Just when I thought the nightmare was over, I saw my doorknob begin to jiggle from the corner of my eye.
Fortunately, the deadbolt stopped the would-be intruder, but as my veins filled with ice, I ran to look through the peephole. What greeted me was a pitch-black void, as though the world outside had been drained of all light. I thought that someone had covered the tiny window when with a sudden motion, the darkness I gazed into blinked. I realized then with a shock of fear, that I was looking into the eye of the man I had seen in the park. The wide, dilated pupils taking up the entirety of my door’s minuscule peephole. I found myself transfixed, as I gazed with horror into his eye. With a sharp motion, the man pulled away from the door, and I could see him standing there on my welcome mat, his hands roving across his face as he frantically scratched and pulled on his skin.
I could see blood beginning to drip down his nose and cheeks, as he began to tear at his pale flesh. He didn’t seem to feel any pain, just staring straight ahead as his fingernails cut deeply into his forehead. I fumbled for my phone, trying desperately to call for help. With a thunderclap, I jumped back from the door when I felt a sudden weight slam against it. I gave up trying to watch him throw the hole, and just sat there on the phone with the dispatcher, wedging myself against the door. Help was on the way, but I wondered if he would be able to kick in the door before they got here.
After a few minutes of silence passed, I slowly stood, and cautiously looked through the peephole again, holding my breath. Once again, I was greeted with darkness, so I quickly ducked back down. I told the 911 operator that the man was still at my door, and she reassured me that the police were almost there. I sat, barely daring to breathe as I listened to the officers arrive. When I heard them at my door, I shakily stood and threw the door open in a rush.
The rest of my night was spent answering the cop’s questions, and filing out a witness statement as they assured me that they would investigate it thoroughly.
“After all,” the sergeant chuckled, “we have plenty of DNA evidence.”
“What do you mean?” I whispered, bile rising in my throat as I began to imagine what lay in the hallway beyond my door.
With a knowing look to his partner, the officer stood and gestured for me to step out onto the landing in front of my apartment. When I did, he slowly shut the door, to show me the outward-facing side of it. When I saw the state of the whitewashed wood door, I gasped in abject horror. The last time I had looked out the peephole and saw only blackness, wasn’t because the man was looking in it at all. Rather, it was because of the blood, skin, and dark black hair that was messily smeared over the entirety of my front door.