Zuka Tawa

Chapter 1: Good Ol' Days

Our story unfolds when I was 17 years old, accompanied by my friend Fred. We often found ourselves at the park, our preferred hangout spot, where we would spend hours conversing about typical teenage topics - girls, school, and work. On one particular night, there was an absence of any eerie feelings; it was just like any other night. The park itself had a creepy aura - an oval fenced area surrounded by dark houses, with sparse street lights placed about 50 feet apart along the roads. Despite its eerie surroundings, the park was quite ordinary, featuring typical playground equipment such as slides, ladders, and swings. However, our favorite pastime was the zip line. The zip line allowed us to reach speeds of 10-15 miles per hour and soar up to 15-30 feet in length. The thrill came from the game we would play - timing our run to coincide with the moment someone would jump onto the seat and start their descent, creating a heart-pounding challenge to avoid being caught off guard. The slim chance of actually getting hit was minimal, despite my larger build and shorter stature at 5'7, 165 pounds. As an athlete involved in various sports, I possessed a swiftness that defied expectations. My companion Fred stood slightly taller at 5'9-5'10, weighing 180 pounds of pure chest and arm muscles - capable of handling himself in any situation. After some playful antics, we decided to livestream on a social media platform where my presence was minimal, usually only documenting travels with friends. Our audience consisted of three individuals: Taj, a tall Pennsylvania native standing at 6'2 with a slender frame, known for his passion for dirt bikes and boots; Xavier, a hefty figure at 5'7 and 200 pounds, the eccentric soul of our group unafraid to seek attention through unconventional means; and a girl whom I occasionally interacted with but didn't consider a close friend. Her name was Ally, a average school-girl, roughly my height but slightly bigger, harboring unrequited feelings for Fred. As thirst began to gnaw at us, we decided to quench it by heading to a nearby gas station named Wedges, renowned for its 24/7 service and food offerings. Concluding the livestream, we made our way to Fred's pristine 2017 Fire Fusion, a charcoal grey vehicle in impeccable condition. I retrieved my wallet from my weathered 1999 Ford F350, a stalwart machine despite its rusted underbelly and quirks like rough steering and unresponsive door locks. Meanwhile, Fred engaged in a textual exchange with Allyusing a photo-sharing app, a platform I seldom found interest in as I preferred interactions limited to Fred. With our beverages in hand, we embarked on the journey back to the park where my truck awaited, anticipating a routine end to our nocturnal escapades. He presented a seemingly ordinary photo of his car, with the red illumination from the keypad casting an eerie tint, prompting his enigmatic question, "Do you see it?" Puzzled, I scanned the image until a figure materialized in the reflection of the partially tinted window, sending shivers down my spine in the deafening silence. A rush of fear gripped my heart momentarily, only to dissipate as rationality prevailed—it was merely a trick of light and shadow conjuring an illusion of a man. This spectral figure stood at a height of 6 feet, weighing around 150 pounds, sporting a red headband over a mane of black curly hair cascading down, clad entirely in black attire with a Metallica emblem adorning his shirt. Despite my apprehension, I urged Fred to hold off our departure until I secured the sanctuary of my truck, wary of the possibility of an unwelcome presence lurking unnoticed. Upon thorough inspection inside my trusty vehicle, I confirmed its emptiness save for Fred and myself from our previous encounter. Hastily, I engaged all the locks, the simple push-and-pull mechanisms characteristic of older models, before igniting the engine and embarking on the route back to my house, Fred heads towards town where his house is.