Dennis Spielman

The man who has been haunting Tyler’s nightmares for the past several days takes the same bus as him. 

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Tyler’s eyes snapped open to a gasp that felt stolen from his own lungs. A clammy sweat slicked his chest, and his heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. The nightmare still clung to him, a foul residue of phantom sensations—the slick, cold feel of pavement against his cheek, the jarring crack of bone, the sight of a pair of polished black shoes walking away. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish the recurring images.

“Fucking stranger again,” Tyler whispered into the darkness, the words barely a puff of air.

He kept his voice low, careful not to wake his partner sleeping beside him. Rolling onto his side, Tyler wrapped an arm around his partner’s warm body, seeking an anchor in the real world. The steady rhythm of their breathing helped ease the frantic pounding in his own chest.

The dreams were always the same in their structure. Tyler would be running, his legs leaden, through some distorted version of a place he knew. And always, the tall man in the dark suit would be there. The locations and the methods of death varied with a chilling creativity, but the outcome was constant.

The stranger would catch him.

His partner had dismissed the nightmares as a side effect of too many late-night video games, but Tyler knew this feeling was different. This dread was a cold, smooth stone in his gut, a premonition that felt too real to be just a dream. He told himself the anxiety was a product of his new job and the unnerving quiet that had fallen over the world.

The following morning, Tyler stood on the street outside his apartment building, the air thick with a damp March chill. The world felt muted, as though a layer of gray gauze had been draped over everything. During the pandemic, the city had developed an eerie, watchful silence that put his nerves on edge. Still, he was grateful his job at the downtown luxury hotel was deemed “essential,” providing a small island of routine in a sea of uncertainty.

As the bus hissed to a stop, Tyler pulled his homemade face mask over his nose and mouth and climbed aboard. Every other seat was blocked off with a yellow sign warning, “FACEMASK REQUIRED.” The only other passenger was a man standing near the back. He was tall and wore a black, impeccably tailored suit and a matching fedora, a style that seemed plucked from a bygone era.

Tyler froze in the aisle. The air in his lungs turned to ice. Every muscle in his body screamed, a primal recognition that bypassed thought. Even with the distance and the mask covering his own face, Tyler’s gut knew.

This was the stranger from his nightmares.

“Take a seat,” the bus driver ordered, his voice muffled and impatient.

Tyler snapped back to the present. “Sorry.”

He slid into the nearest available seat, his gaze fixed on the floor. He risked a glance up. As he did, he could have sworn the man winked at him from the back of the bus—a slow, deliberate gesture that said, Yes, it’s me.

Tyler’s hands trembled as he pulled out his phone, desperate for a distraction. He forced his eyes to focus on the screen, scrolling through social media feeds filled with the usual cocktail of doom, gloom, and blame.

Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, so he switched to his phone’s camera, angling the device to catch the reflection from the window. Using his screen as a periscope to spy on the man in the back, the stranger stood unnervingly still, his posture rigid, his gaze fixed soullessly ahead.

The automated voice announced Tyler’s stop. He was a few blocks from the hotel, but the bus had stopped in front of his favorite coffee shop. A hot drink felt like a necessary shield against the morning’s chill. As Tyler stepped off the bus, he heard a second set of footsteps hit the pavement behind him.

“Be cool,” Tyler told himself, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs. “He’s not following you.”

He pushed open the door to Clarity Coffee and risked a look over his shoulder. The stranger walked past the shop without a glance. A wave of relief washed over Tyler, so potent his knees felt weak. Inside, he kept his distance from the other patrons, ordered his coffee to-go, and began the final walk to work.

Downtown was a ghost town, the towering glass and steel buildings reflecting an empty sky. A low, mournful hum had replaced the usual roar of traffic. As he crossed a deserted street, the feeling of being watched returned, a prickling sensation on the back of his neck.

He looked behind him.

Half a block away, the stranger in the dark suit stood, watching him.

“It’s just a coincidence,” Tyler whispered, the words tasting like a lie. “But to be sure…”

Tyler turned the corner down a narrow alleyway, the smell of trash filling his nose. He pressed himself against the cold wall and peeked back around the corner.

The street was empty.

Tyler let out a shaky breath and turned forward. The stranger stood in the center of the alley, arms crossed, his eyes—dark and depthless—fixed on him.

Panic seized Tyler. He spun around to run, but a solid form blocked his path. He had slammed right into the stranger’s chest. An unnaturally large hand shot out and clamped around Tyler’s throat, lifting him off his feet. Tyler clawed at the fingers, his own hands feeling small and useless. He tried to scream, but the sound was choked off, a pathetic, strangled gasp.

No one would hear him.

The world was hiding from a different kind of monster.

“I’m only going to warn you once,” the stranger spoke, his voice a low, firm rumble that vibrated through Tyler’s skull. “Tell anyone that the hotel you work at is haunted—especially journalists—and I will make your nightmares of me a reality.”

The stranger dropped him.

Tyler collapsed to the pavement, a heap of terror and choked breaths. When he managed to look up, the man had vanished, leaving only the cold, damp air of the alley behind.

This short story was inspired by current events and the following writing prompt: “You have a recurring dream of being chased by a mysterious man in a dark suit almost every other night. This morning when getting on the bus to work, you see him sitting in the back and make eye contact. He winks at you.”

Thank you to Keith Zarraga at Design Pickle for creating this artwork to help bring the story to life!

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