2:00 AM-- Jenna Marie

Note*** this is a piece inspired by the video adaptation of the Smiling Man, written by A.J. Briones. The idea is

not my own, but I have taken some creative license with the story.

2:00 A.M.

by, Jenna Bargfrede

It was 2:00 AM and darkness had closed in as the boy began his long trek home on the deserted roadway with only the dim, yellow light cast from the street lamps to guide his way. As he walked shadows flitted across the ground, his own awkwardly stretched out into a grotesque alien form. He kept walking.

Tap tap. Tap tap. The foreign noise caused the boy to look up, startled. It was an unnerving sort of beat, one reminiscent of something he couldn't quite place. Searching for the source he found an odd, lanky man dressed in a ratty tan suit dancing a sickly waltz all by himself. The boy laughed. How much did this guy drink? But his mirth soon ended when the odd figure advanced and the eerie rhythm didn't stop. And then he knew why it was so familiar, why he felt so unsettled. It was the rhythm of a beating heart. The boy took a step back, frightened, and turned away. He kept walking.

But something wasn't right. That terrible feeling of eyes boring into the back of his skull, that feeling that made his hair rise, it had rooted itself deep within him. Instincts too primitive to fully understand kicked in. He couldn't pinpoint what possessed him to look, but as he slowly turned his head, there he saw the figure on the other side of the road, posed as if finishing an act. This was one act the boy wasn't sure he wanted to see the end of. He walked faster.

But the feeling never left. He was being followed. Fear, cold and crippling, gripped onto his heart, making his gut clench. What did this guy want? Why couldn't he be left alone? Pulse racing, he turned around, and there the man was in a crouch behind him. Slowly, the figure drew himself up to his full height, his face in complete shadow. Then, deliberately, he took a step, and another, hands posed as if ready to the boy. Each foot raised as if tip toeing over invisible bodies. Tap tap. Tap tap.

"What the hell do you want?" His voice shook as he addressed the figure now an arms length away. The man's face, stretched over a wide smile that looked as though it might split his head in two, was turned to the lamplight, casting a sickly yellow pallor on his. Silence. And then the figure turned away. Tap tap. Tap tap. Looking down, the boy let out a shaky breath and turned his back, hoping to forget. He kept walking

Until that tap tap, tap tap, that steady beating heart, became the sound of fast approaching footsteps. The boy stopped walking. He ran. Eventually, with legs burning and lungs gulping, he stopped. Fear left his body feeling cold. Was he in the clear? Gripping to his knees and heart pounding the same beat as that tap tap in his ears, he gasped for breath. But the pause was all it took for the man to be upon him.