Alisha Dempsey

ANNA

She awoke, dreary, on the towpath of a wooded area, her hands and shirt stained with blood. Anna wearily made her way to an upright position, careful not to topple over. She was weak – and she had no recollection of how or why she was here. The young woman donned her weekday work clothes: a (previously) white blouse and black pants. Her handgun was holstered to her leg. Through the trees, Anna saw a dim light, and followed it to discover a small house and a shed. Inside the shack, she found some of her belongings, such as a bow and quiver, and a bag with a brass compass and other survival equipment in it. This was her weekend work gear. Confused, she stood stationary, unsure of what to do next. In her silence, she could faintly hear a radio playing from inside the house. ‘Funny,’ she thought. ‘This is my favourite station.’ As she became more aware that there could be someone living there, she had suddenly noticed the smell of burning food. She turned slowly on her heel, and made her way to the open door.

There was nothing of interest in the entry-way of the house; it was full of junk, with trinkets adorning an overload of shelves, and various model planes hanging from the ceiling. What she had failed to notice in her inspection, however, was her coat amongst those on the coatrack. The only thing that Anna saw that she thought was in taste was a set of mounted deer antlers. When passing through this section, she took a door to her left, which led her to a lounge. The copious clutter was instead swapped for a homely, log cabin vibe. “Peculiar,” she said aloud. There was no evidence of the room being lived in at all – no personal effects such as picture frames or telephones, and everything, down to the blanket hanging over the back of the sofa, was precisely placed. Taking in the surroundings, Anna spotted a minibar, and a pair of feet protruding out from behind it. She hastily pulled out her gun from its holster and readied herself. She was way too paranoid to be in this situation.

As Anna rounded the corner, she was greeted by the most unpleasant sight she’d ever bore witness to; lying there on the floor was a middle-aged man in a suit, his throat lacerated, eyes staring, unblinking. The terrified woman stumbled backwards, taken aback by what she was witnessing. On the bar sat two glasses, both full. Beside them was a letter opener, sticky with blood. Her face turned a sickly pale colour, and she stumbled once more. “Did I…?” she questioned herself, looking at the blood on her hands and shirt, then at the body that lay on the ground. Panic set in. Unsure of what to do, she grabbed one of the glasses and hastily drank whatever was in it. “Vodka and orange juice?”

Her favourite drink.

Her favourite radio station.

The smell of burnt food.

Her belongings in the shed outside.

“Was I here on a date…?” She filled the glass back up, and in putting back the vodka bottle, she had to double-take; there was a small vial of white powder behind where it was sat, and the residue of said powder on the neck of the bottle. Anna grew dizzy, and soon the room began to spin like she was the sun and her surroundings were heliocentric orbitals. She lurched for the door and left it open, bypassing the thought of closing it altogether. She was impulsive, knowing she would not be able to walk in a straight line, and rapidly, yet drunkenly, made her way back up the towpath from which she came. Lethargy kicked in, and she slowed down, much to her own reluctance. The only thing that felt heavier than her breathing was her body – it was as though the Earth’s gravity had increased significantly. She collapsed to the floor, paralysed, terrified. Her breathing was steady, but her heart could not sync to it; instead, it raced on ahead, much faster than Anna could have kept up with. As the world around her faded, Anna felt herself sink into the floor. Darkness had consumed her.

She awoke, dreary, on the towpath of a wooded area, her hands and shirt stained with blood.