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Description
Lauren laid on her bed, scrolling through stories on some paranormal website her sister raved about. Standard fare, really—ghosts, demons, nearly-there-but-not-quite photos, clearly faked photos, curses, unexplained deaths—nothing to make Lauren so much as lift an eyebrow.

She clicked on one story labeled “The Stranger” and skimmed through it. “Yada, yada, cursed because she was unbearably nasty, morality tale, etcetera, etcetera,” she said as she glanced through it, then closed her laptop with a sharp click.

Sighing, Lauren slid off the bed and grabbed her coat, heading down stairs and out the door. Seriously, rotting her brain believing that crap, she thought, and pulled her coat closer to fend off the chilly drizzle.

Five blocks to their favorite ice cream place; she met her sister there every week, and she hated it. She would have to pass at least three homeless people only to listen to her sister talk for an hour. At least she could get that big mint chocolate chip cone and tune out.

She didn’t even see the old woman sitting on the steps two blocks away until she heard a raspy voice, “Excuse me! Do you have any change? I just want some food, please?”

Here we go, Lauren thought, life choices, lady, life choices. With a disgusted glance, she replied, “I wouldn’t give it to you if I had it.”

The old woman narrowed her eyes, but Lauren was already on her way again. She did hear the woman say, “That’ll cost you, girl,” but rolled her eyes and kept walking.

One block from the Stevie’s Ice Cream, Lauren noticed a heaviness in her legs, as if they were slowly filling with lead. Every step required effort and concentration, especially when her arms started to feel the same way.

Sweat broke out on her forehead and she knew she must look ridiculous, but it took everything she had to pick up her foot and put it down, and after a few steps, she couldn’t move them at all.

She swung her head around in every direction, her heart racing as she looked for someone—anyone—to help her. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw the old woman from the step. “Please, please help me!” she called out, but when she turned and looked, there was no one there.

“HELP, PLEASE HELP!” she yelled as loud as she could, but no one came.

When her sister couldn’t find her at Stevie’s, she started walking toward Lauren’s apartment. She found her a block away, a solid statue, eyes frozen wide in terror, mouth stretched in an unheard scream. A sign hung around her neck that read: “NEVER BE MEAN TO A STRANGER.”