CREEPER

1.

I have put nearly a country's worth of distance between myself and home, yet it still doesn't feel enough.

The rhythmic clatter of the train wheels is a lullaby, almost drifted off for the first time of this nearly thirty-hour journey when the speaker crackles to life. The conductor announces our impending arrival in Concord Harbor. I rub my eyes and sit up, taking a moment to orient myself. The rolling hills of Maine are being traded in to my right for the endless coastline, a blur of colors under the sunset. Colors you don't see back in middle of nowhere Georgia.

I glance around the nearly empty train car. Apparently, it is the off-season, so most of the tourists haven't come yet, leaving the town to its year-round residents and a few stragglers like me. It's not quite the isolation I was hoping for, but it is close enough. Beggars can't be choosers and I was ready to do anything to escape Fairsboro.

And him.

My phone buzzes in my lap. Aunt Lydia has sent me another message. Looks like you're almost there! Glad you had safe travels. Let me know if there are any problems! Thanks again! I'm guessing Mom told her she could make it more appealing to me if she were to make it seem like I was doing her a favor. But by what logic would my Aunt need a house sitter randomly for only one week out of the eight months she isn't there?

Under normal circumstances I would have said no. But as it turns out travelling almost as far north as I can possibly go to a place I have never even visited is exactly what I need. Besides, I would have visited much sooner I'm sure if it wasn't for my mother being so superstitious growing up. But she wasn't bringing her only daughter to a town with one of the most infamous haunted houses in the country with a catchy name, though I guess now it is the lesser of two evils.

I had never been truly curious about it until about halfway here, doing a deep dive into the local lore. To be honest I was kind of disappointed. Just your simple family annihilation in the early eighties that was attributed to satanic worship. A few books and a couple not so creepy horror movies were made off it, but I've managed to stay away from horror movies. My life is scary enough.

The train eventually slows, the wheels screeching slightly as we pull into the station. I gather my things-just a duffel bag and a backpack with the essentials- and stand. My legs feel stiff from the long ride, but I stretch and start making my way toward the exit. The moment the door opens my body shivers uncontrollably. I can't remember the last time I felt this kind of crisp cold in March.

The station is small and quaint, with a vintage charm that might be picturesque if I were in the mood to appreciate it. Instead, I scan the area for my Uber. The train was right on schedule so my ride should be here already. I pull out my phone to check the driver's location as a sleek black car pulls up. A woman with short cropped hair leans out the window. "Eva?"

"That's me," I say, shouldering my bags and walking over. The odds of this woman trying to kidnap me are slim, but before I load my things into the trunk, I check that the license plate matches.

"You don't look very familiar to me, are you a local or visiting?" she asks as we pull away from the station. One of those towns where everyone knows everyone apparently.

"Visiting, yeah," I reply, staring out the window. The town is a blend of old and new, with incredible Victorian houses interspersed among modern storefronts. There's a sleepy quality to it, like it's half-forgotten by time. It doesn't feel like, like now. Truly perfect for someone looking to disappear for a while.

"On Spring Break are you?" she continues, filling the silence. "Not much going on here, still to cold for the kids. You staying with family?"