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DELILAH LIKED LOOKING OUT the windows when she drove to and from college, even if she wasn't going to see much. Driving through Florida in such an abandoned area meant she wouldn't be seeing much other than swamps, grass, and the occasional alligator. That's why it was unsettling to see a man off in the distance wearing a large trenchcoat and hat. It was the beginning of summer, and it was muggy in Florida this time of year.
Delilah slowed the car down and watched the figure throw a heavy trash bag over his shoulder and stand up straight. What he could be doing midday like this was beyond her.
"Jesus, he must be close to seven feet tall," Delilah Hargreaves said to herself. She had a nasty habit of talking to no one on the drive home from college in Northern Florida. She shook off the unease and sped up, not looking back to see the figure pivot to the lone car on the narrow road and stare.
About twenty miles down the road, Delilah stopped to get gas before she knew that it would be too late. She brushed her hair out of her face and into a messy ponytail, checked the tires to make sure her shit box of an eighties car was still doing alright, and left the car by the pump. The gas station was connected to a small diner and general store. The bleached blonde walked quickly into the bathroom to take a quick break, and changed into a tank top. With all of the humidity, she'd been sweating profusely.
Her head snapped up from the floor to the slamming of the door to the women's restroom. Up until this point, she'd been completely alone in the bathroom. Heavy footfalls on the grimy tile of the old building she was in made her eyebrows draw together in confusion. Delilah held her dirty shirt in one hand and made no movement, confusing herself. Why was she so unnerved?
What could possibly be so terrible that her gut instinct was to protect herself?
The boots clunked as the person walked in front of the stalls, pushing the doors open so the creaked. Delilah felt her stomach clench uncomfortably. She had already been reading too much in the newspaper about the missing persons' reports. Her rationale told her this must just be the cleaner checking if there was anyone in the bathroom. It was common at any establishment, and if Delilah was honest, the stalls would be needing more toilet paper soon. There was hardly anyone around other than her, the employees, and the truck drivers taking their lunch break.
A hand rattled on the door to the stall she was in.
"Someone's in here," She spoke quickly, hoping the "janitor" would leave. Instead, the figure began to crouch down, as if to see who was inside. Delilah held her breath, but kept her composure otherwise. She swore she heard low, steady breathing. The figure was inhaling and exhaling, breaking the silence.
Finally, Delilah watched dirty boots walk the opposite direction until they were out of the bathroom, allowing her to breath freely. Delilah stood in the stall for a few more minutes before leaving.
"Ma'am? Is that your car out there?" An older woman pointed out the window the second Delilah walked out. "I've asked everyone else."
Multiple people cleared the way for her to step outside. Delilah's mouth was agape when she stared at her car. Someone had broken the window of the passenger side. Delilah jogged over, being followed closely by patrons. Sure enough, someone had thrown a rock through the window and Delilah's heart pounded when she realized that her hoodie had been taken. She had really liked that brown hoodie she'd bought last summer at the Gap, too. Everything else had been left perfectly in tact which puzzled her, as well as the woman who had alerted her to the peculiar nature of the theft outside.
"You got any enemies, girl?" An older man asked her, toothpick in his mouth. He pointed at the back of the car, and she walked over to look. "I ain't never seen anything like this before."
It was as if an animal had clawed the car, peeling back layers of paint and metal. Delilah couldn't imagine what kind of tool could have been used for this. It was something out of a horror novel. If Delilah chose to believe in werewolves or anything of the sort, she'd be convinced that's what had done this.
But again, it was midday in Florida of all places. And Delilah Hargreaves didn't believe in the supernatural. She barely believed in God.
"No, I can't say that I do," Delilah whispered softly, staring at the damaged bumper of her car. The man hummed in response.
"Come back inside, dear. We'll get you a coffee and a phone call," The kind woman from the diner told her. Delilah nodded her head absentmindedly, shuffling her feet across the ground. She felt a comforting hand on her back, pushing her along until she was back inside sitting at a booth, hot coffee being poured into a white mug in front of her. "Creamer?"
"No thanks." Delilah pursed her lips, and stirred the coffee with nothing in it to sweeten her thoughts. Maybe the bitterness of the coffee grounds would wake her up.
Maria, the woman who managed the diner Delilah would come to find out, had called the police for her, seeing as though Delilah was in no state to be making a phone call like that. An officer Delilah could hardly pay attention to sat down across from her, attempting to draw in her attention. Delilah stared into his eyes, spacing out instead of listening.
"Don't worry, Miss. Hargreaves. It looks like they realized there wasn't much to steal. I doubt they came to harm you," The male officer attempted to reassure her. Delilah blinked, offering a sardonic grin. "No need to be scared."
"I never said I was," She said finally, calmly placing interlocked fingers on the table in front of her. "Did you find out what caused the scratches on the back of my car?"
"Well, no, not yet—"
"When can I expect an answer for it? I'd love to know why and how our thief did the job." The officer stared blankly, sighing.
"Look, Delilah, how about I give you a card with an insurance office and a promise that we'll call as soon as we find out," The sergeant explained slowly to her, as if she was a child. "Not much happens in a small town like this. I'm sure my men will be overjoyed to look into your case."
He did not seem to be overjoyed, Delilah observed.
"My hoodie." His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, waiting for her to elaborate. "He took my hoodie. It's brown, no details, has a zipper and two pockets. It's from the Gap."
"Your hoodie. . . " He repeated carefully.
"I'd like it back. That's all," Delilah answered quietly giving him a look of deliberate intent.
"Surely your hoodie can't mean more to you than the damage on your car," The officer tried again, determined to figure out the nineteen year old sitting in front of him, messy bleached hair and a grey tank top over a pair of low rise cargo pants. Delilah knew he thought she was trouble now.
"It's very comfortable."
"Well, if it turns up, I can assure you we'll be in touch," He told her sarcastically. "It's been a pleasure," The officer sighed, standing up and leaving without bothering to shake her hand, not that she cared much for shaking a clammy hand after all of that.
"Likewise."
author's note —
it's spooky season now, so that means a jeepers creepers book because justin long is my white boy of the month.
obviously this is gonna be a short story but idk i've been waiting to write this for months ugh.
side note, kerosene should be updated somewhat soon (i keep saying that and it never happens)
