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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Saturdead on 2024-11-16 17:47:44+00:00.
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It’s difficult to adjust to having something change the way you do or see ordinary things. Like brushing your teeth. After getting stuck with SORE, I got a lot more conscious about my teeth and mouth. It took some time getting used to the feeling of having something in my throat ready to shoot out like a coiled snake.
Or having breakfast, knowing there was something lurking in my stomach, resenting me – wishing to take the reins. It was still there, but after my run-in with the lady in the blue kaftan, it’s as if I knew for a certain that it wouldn’t kill me. That, and it wouldn’t be an infection risk to others. That didn’t mean it was gone though.
Getting back on patrol with Nick, he was the first to notice I was behaving differently. We’d stopped for our bi-weekly gas station hot dog, and I got myself a pre-packaged sushi instead. There was something about less processed, and more raw food, that just made my stomach rumble with delight. Nick made the observation, acknowledged it, and let it go. He trusted me enough to tell him if something was up.
We were having a proper Minnesota summer, meaning rain when you least need it. The DUC had pulled back on their resources, leaving Tomskog PD to focus on setting up a more permanent station. According to Nick, there’d been talks about the Yearwalker getting himself killed or leaving the state, which meant peace and quiet – and the potential for something worse down the line. The whole reason for keeping the Yearwalker from getting killed was strictly because of a devil-you-know kinda deal. Someone else taking up that mantle could mean trouble.
But in our everyday life, Yearwalkers and the DUC were the farthest thing from our minds. Instead we picked up drunk teenagers, stopped speeding cars, or scolded shoplifters. Nick and I were even invited to speak about being in law enforcement at a local school. It surprised me how much Nick changed when he had an audience of kids; he blossomed up there. He was smiling ear to ear, engaging with the audience, and there was a sort of enthusiasm there that I hadn’t seen before.
Asking him about it, he had no idea what I was talking about. He shrugged it off as just getting along well with children.
One day, we checked the northwest trail around Frog Lake. It was an on-foot kinda path, so we used it as an excuse to take a longer walk. Nick wasn’t happy about it, but it was better than being cooked alive in a poorly-ventilated patrol vehicle. It was probably the hottest day of the year.
We were coming around the bend where the northern road curved back south. The left-hand side of the road, past the lake, was covered in pine trees. Walking past it, something stirred in me. Just a twitch. I stopped to look around.
Off in the distance, between the trees, I could see a man. He was about 6’5, bald, and dressed from top to bottom in a pitch-black trench coat. It looked so out of place that I couldn’t believe what I was seeing at first. I poked Nick and pointed the man out.
“Yeah, no, that ain’t right,” Nick said. “Should I shoot him?”
“We can’t just shoot people, Nick.”
“Then why the hell do I carry this badge around?”
He took couple of steps forward and whistled to get the man’s attention. There was no reaction. We gave each other a questioning look as we spread out a little, covering two angles.
Without turning away from us, the man backed off. Going further into the woods, there was a short section where we couldn’t see him. I hurried forward, yelling at him to stop, but once we got a bit closer he was already gone. But that stirring feeling in my stomach, that was still there. Nick caught up with me.
“We oughta’ tell the sheriff about this one,” Nick huffed. “Guy looked like a pervert.”
“He was something alright,” I agreed. “But I don’t know what.”
“Why are you saying ‘what’ and not ‘who’?”
“I dunno,” I shrugged. “Feels like a ‘what’.”
Getting back to our makeshift station at the old fire department building, we went upstairs to have a chat with sheriff Mason. He was already talking to someone, but they weren’t overtly secretive, so we figured it was fine to approach.
The sheriff turned to us with a plastered smile. His guest didn’t make an effort to step away, giving me the impression that this was someone in-the-know. It was a man in his early 50’s. He had a faded blue shirt, a black tie, and black jeans. But I think what stood out to me the most was his pocket protector. People still used those?
“Hank, these are two of my patrolling officers,” the sheriff said.
“Hank Dudley,” said the man, offering a hand to us. “Hatchet Pharmaceuticals.”
“I think I’m wearing socks from you guys,” Nick said with a grin. “Nice to meet you.”
We took turns shaking hands.
“You had something to discuss?” the sheriff asked.
“Yeah, we just wanted to bring something up,” I said. “But, uh…”
“Don’t mind Hank, he’s good people,” the sheriff said. “Let’s hear it.”
I told them about our patrol around the lake, and the man with the trench coat. And how he, seemingly, disappeared.
“Just gave me a bad feeling,” I admitted. “I dunno why.”
Hank gave me a curious look, as if making a mental note. The sheriff pondered his options for a bit, leaving the floor open for others to chime in.
“I think I know what that is,” Hank smiled. “And if it is what I think it is, we really need to be on the lookout. Sheriff?”
“Agreed,” sheriff Mason said. “Oughta’ make sure we’re all vigilant. I’ve heard of this thing, but it usually sticks to its home.”
As the sheriff walked away, and Nick went to get a coffee, I was left alone with Hank for a bit. He adjusted his tie and square-shaped glasses.
“Miss, what did you feel when you first saw this man?”
“Like a… general worry, I guess. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“You feel that way a lot?”
“Not really, no.”
He quieted down, giving a once-over to make sure no one was close enough to listen in.
“Did you by any chance know Adam Salinger?”
I was going to deny it, but my reaction had already given away my honest answer. I sort of half-gasped, and turned it into a smile.
“Yeah, Adam,” I nodded. “Didn’t know his last name.”
Hank nodded as Nick returned with a coffee. There was something about Hank’s look that just screamed at me to run for the hills. We were law enforcement, yes, but this was one of the Hatchetmen – and in corporate America, people like him make the laws.
“If you see that trench coat man again, I suggest you call it in,” Hank said. “I don’t think it’d be a good idea to confront him.”
“We’ll keep that in mind,” said Nick. “There’s coffee in the break room, if you want.”
I shook my head. That stuff tasted like a tire fire.
The sheriff made an official order later. If we saw the strange man again, he was to be taken in for questioning. Patrols were actively encouraged to seek him out, and upon encountering him, call for backup and await further instruction. We were given a couple of recommendations. One was to not be stingy with tasers, and another to not engage even if the suspect looked unconscious. There was also a mention that a strong spearmint spray could be used as a repellant.
Yeah, that last one gave me pause too. Clearly they knew more than they were letting on, but it was useless to push for more. The sheriff was still seen walking around with Hank at his side, and the two of them seemed to have come to some sort of understanding. And they weren’t letting anyone in on their secrets.
Over the weeks that followed, there was this sort of cat-and-mouse deal with the trench coat man. Patrols would report seeing him around the high school at night, and there were people calling in saying they’d seen him standing on rooftops. This wasn’t just a one-time thing, it was recurring, and in proximity to ordinary people. But no one had been hurt – yet.
We saw him a couple of times too, but only in the distance. Once when cruising down the highway. It was just in passing, but he was there. When we stopped and doubled back, he was already gone.
Another time was when we came out of a pub downtown. We were taking in a woman for public intox and disorderly conduct when I saw the trench coat man on a roof across the street. As soon as he saw that we’d noticed him, he fled.
But what bothered me the most was my unease. Every time he was near, something stirred in me. A tickle of something unpleasant. And sometimes I’d feel it even when I didn’t see him, as if he was close by – but just out of sight.
It was late July when I got a call from Nick. I’d been at home for about two hours, relaxing after work, so I’d already kicked my shoes off and had dinner.
“He’s here,” Nick said.
No hello, no anything. Just that. I sprung out of my couch.
“Right now?” I asked.
“Right now,” he answered. “He’s right outside. I think he’s looking for a way in.”
I...
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