Chelsea grew up loving the beach. She lived in Sandy Hollow, a town right on one of the most popular beaches in Florida. Her friends always knew where to find her and could spot her long auburn hair whipping in the wind from what seemed like miles away. She constantly zones out and daydreams of being at the beach. The warm blue water was like a hypnosis always drawing her, compelling her back to the beach.
"Chels?"
Chelsea was whisked away from her daydreams. The image of the beach in her head faded and Jamie's face replaced it. Dang it! She thought. Why am I always interrupted, flashing her bright blue eyes at her friend.
"Hey, Chels? You okay?", repeated Jamie. Jamie was her best friend since third grade. They were both sixteen. Jamie would be seventeen in October, four months from now. Jamie had black hair the dark shade that makes you wonder whether it's really her natural color and blue eyes just like her agitated friend.Jamie was a laid back person for the most part, who loved to shop and paint her nails. The two friends were quite different in personality but their bond was inseparable.
"Dreaming again?"
Chelsea sighed and said, "You can say that."
"School is getting in my way. I mean, there's so much to do, and we're juniors; what I'm sayin' is that school is in the way of my dreams of camping out for the week at the beach with all of our friends. I want to do that before we're seniors, or old hags."
They went to Fairview Heights, the most esteemed school in the state. You'd think the money in that town did grow from trees. While it meant a better education in many senses it also produced a large school security force making the students feel safe. The girls hung out for another hour and Jamie went home early. She claimed she had to babysit her little brother while her parents were out of town. When Jamie left the house, Chelsea got ready to go to the beach, her favorite place in the universe, might I remind you.
On her way there, she saw Jamie walking home. Chelsea stopped to watch. While the town was safe, there were reports of mystery murderer called the Mysterious Footprint potentially making Sandy Hollow the next unfortunate town in the newspaper. He was well known by his mask that was shaped like a footprint. He targeted young people and added them to a collection somewhere as a prize. No one knows where, not even the police. Rumors say it's a basement or a factory of some sort. No one knows who's next on his list.
Jamie was clapping her hands in rhythm as her feet touched the ground. Clap, step, clap, step, she went. She reached up to scratch a pesky itch on her head and soon realized that the clapping persisted. She slowly came to a stop and now the clapping sounded like a sarcastic clap like someone does when they're far from impressed.
She turned around but no one was there. The clapping stopped but now she could hear her heartbeat picking up, she felt very, not alone. She kept walking, and the clapping started again. Jamie started to walk faster. She kept looking behind her, this time craning her head as if she thought a presence would appear by not looking away. Convincing herself that the presence and her fear were unfounded, she faced forward and deep into the chest of a massive man. His arms closed around her like a Venus fly trap suffocates its prey.
The man with the footprint mask had his latest victim. She began to scream and the man's eyes turned red causing a seizure to wash over her like the waves she might never see again. The man disappeared into the night.
Chelsea heard a scream and ran to where her friend last was. What remained was the calling card of the Mysterious Footprint, a faded shoe print. For whatever cosmic reason, Jamie was the last of the Footprint's victims or so it would seem. Newspapers eventually stopped printing about the mysterious man and all that was left was the scary stories and the cold case of Jamie and many others before her.
Many years later, Chelsea having seen her children grow into adulthood, would spend the evenings looking over the patio wall that separated her deck from the Atlantic Ocean. She lived on the beach since retirement. The moon tonight lit up the water as if it was performing on a Broadway stage. It was beautiful and like the water did all of those years before, it beckoned her to it. Opening the gate, Chelsea walked the 50 yards to the water, and stood there focusing on the water as it washed between her toes. She took in a deep breath of the sea air and decided it was time to head back. Turning around, the sound of the waves crashing was no longer the only rhythmic melody. Clap, clap, clap, clap. Sounding like the percussion was walking up behind her, she turned back to the house and into his massive arms. He was there once again back to claim his victim all those years later. All you'll ever see now is a footprint. A bloody footprint in the sand.
