Carrie's blue Chucks pounded across scratched linoleum tile to the man on the floor.
"Hi." he said, staring up at her, with those eyes that Carrie had thought were gorgeous, but decidedly freaky.
"Are you okay?" Carrie asked frantically, patting the floor for a box of nonexistent tissues.
"No." he said again, smiling this time. His teeth were perfectly straight and even, but covered in blood.
"Can you walk?" she asked, still panicking, praying nobody would walk in. He made an effort, but he seemed to be pressed down by something.
"Also no." he said, smile fading. "Could you help me?"
"Oh-oh God. Okay." Carrie stuttered. She looped an arm through each of his armpits, before grunting, beginning to drag him toward the unisex-handicapped-child-friendly bathroom, which was surprisingly clean at the moment.
"Jesus balls, you're heavy." she wheezed, nearing the door.
"I'd explain, but you might laugh at me." he muttered.
When they got inside, she began pulling wads of toilet paper and paper towel, handing it to him. She instructed him in between her rushed breaths.
"Pinch the bridge of your nose. Put this on the back of your neck. Give me your shirt, it needs to be in cold water." After all this had been carried out, Carrie sat beside her new acquaintance on the tiles.
"Now the question is, are 𝘺𝘰𝘶 okay?" he said through layers of fresh tissue. He pulled it away, threw it out, and wiped his face, and put his hoodie on.
"No." Carrie whispered "No, I'm not." she laughed weakly.
"Why not?" he asked her calmly.
"Because this is just really fucking weird. And I'm scared."
"I talk when I'm scared." he said looking at the wall.
"Alright." Carrie wiped tears off her freckled face, narrowly avoiding her electric-cherry red lipstick.
"Hi. My name's James Walker. What's yours?" he said, voice as cheerful as a ray of pure sunshine.
"Carrie Black." she responded blankly.
"Hey , there Carrie." James smiled, his teeth bloodless and white now. He held out a hand for her to shake. She took it and shook it gingerly, as if it were a snake. "How old are you?"
"19. You?" this was starting to seem normal now. 'I've done more fucked-up things.' Carrie thought.
"24." He said.
"So, why exactly are you so heavy?"
"Promise you won't laugh."
"Alright."
YOU ARE READING
Through Ghost Country
ParanormalHoly actual hell. I've wanted to write this for so long. Not sure how this is gonna work, but it'll do for now. Carrie is a stupid teenager. She lives alone, does graffiti, and works at a convenience store. One evening a man wanders in. He has a pro...
