You Can’t Hide

by Peyton Bernreuter
               The dark was closing in. The shadows lurking in the room's corners were coming out to play. Madness was at bay. But no one had realized their final breaths were nearer than they thought. They went about their day as if nothing could harm them, but how wrong they were. 
               The dark was closing in. The shadows lurking… 
               Huh? 
               The dark was closing in… 
               This isn’t... 
               The dark… 
                I flipped through page after page after page—one after the other, after the other… They all had the exact words on them. At first, I thought it was a misprint, but a misprint couldn’t explain how, no matter how many pages I turned, my book always stayed halfway open. So, I closed the book, thinking it was just exhaustion from my lack of sleep. 
               These days, I couldn’t sleep for more than an hour before being startled awake. I didn’t have nightmares. It was more of a feeling than anything—unsettling. I’d wake up every hour with this dread, like someone took an ice-cold blanket and laid it over me in my sleep. So, I closed my book and thought nothing of it. I can’t think anything of it because if I do—if I look deeper—I’ll see something I can’t ignore. And I can’t handle that right now. 
                I go to get up, but before I do, I look down at the closed book. That book wasn’t the one I picked up to read earlier. The cover is shiny and new, but there’s something wrong with it. I want to look away but can’t… not this time. 
               The title is different. It says, The Lake. 
                It doesn’t make sense to me—why is this happening? Or how this could be happening? Is this some sort of joke? Does someone here know something? 
                I covered my tracks… but maybe I missed something this time. 
                Before I can even comprehend what’s happening, I feel a wash of anxiety and dread come over me. Something is coming. 
                I don’t know what, who, or where. As I’m trying to figure out what to do, I hear this voice in my head. It’s soft and light, but muffled—like it’s being suffocated. 
                “Leave now and save yourself. Warn the others; you will not make it through the night.” 
                I look around the common room in a panic. It’s 11 p.m., but everyone’s still studying or hanging around. I feel time pause for a minute; my heart is pounding in my ears, I’m frozen, and I have to decide. 
               The moment I see the shadows shift in the corners of the room, I start to bolt. But no—if I want to save myself, I can’t let the others know anything is wrong. So, I slowly get up, say goodnight to everyone, and leave the common room. As soon as I’m out the door, I start running down the stairs; they’re old and worn, and I almost fall a few times. It’s dark, the only light coming from an old battery-powered candle at the bottom of the staircase. As soon as I passed that, I run out the doors and down another flight of shorter stone stairs. 
                Blood is rushing in my ears; I can’t think of anything but keep running. It’s all instinct. Keep running. Keep running. Keep running. I’m in the woods now. All I have to do is get to the cottage past the lake. That’s safety. I don’t know how I know it; I just do. 
                I’m numb to the world. I don’t feel it when a branch hits me in the arm as I run. I keep running and running and running. I feel it when a branch hits me in the arm again. But I keep running. It strikes me a third time. A fourth. A fifth. I look down at my arm, still running. Blood is pouring out of my shoulder, and it hit me in the same spot every single time. I keep running. 
                I can’t breathe. My lungs feel like fire. I stopped. 
                I should be far enough away for now, but wait… 
               That tree. 
               That tree marks the property line—the oldest and most enormous tree here. I should've passed that long ago. I’m still too close. I got up to start moving again. I started ambling because my lungs are still on fire. My foot gets caught on the old tree's root, and I fall. 
               Except I don’t fall. I never hit the ground. 
               There is no ground. There are no woods. 
                I keep falling and falling. Falling. Falling. Falling. Falling.
                It’s dark. It’s dark wherever I’m falling to. 
                It’s not just dark. No. It's more than that. 
                Just depths of blackness all around me. And it’s really cold. The stinging cold that chaps your lips and makes them bleed instantly. 
                Endless darkness. Endless cold. Is this my punishment? God? The universe? The devil? I always run. Why do I always run?  
                Suddenly, it’s not cold anymore. The darkness is dissipating. I’m no longer falling.

                I open my eyes and realize it is just a dream. But dreams are never just dreams, are they? That’s where I’m going at the end of this life. 
                I feel it in my bones. I feel it in my soul. 
                It’s waiting there in the shadows for me to take my very last breath, so it can envelop me in its endless darkness and endless cold. In a way, it’s comforting knowing what will happen when the sleep of death comes over me.