In still waters. Natalie Shpet

they tore through the quiet streets of Austin, Bradley's hand closed around a bottle of gin nestled in the back seat like a talisman. The car stereo blared a cacophony of heavy rock, the playlist changing with the whims of Bradley's drug-addled mind. He headbanged with wild abandon, laughter spilling from his lips in a torrent of misplaced joy. The streets were a ghost town, most of the streetlights dark, as if the very city had turned its back on the pair.

      Their reckless journey led them onto a road that snaked through a wooded area, plunging them into a darkness so complete it seemed to swallow the very beams of the car's headlights. Trees loomed on either side, their branches reaching out like gnarled fingers. Bradley raised the gin bottle to his lips, tipping it back for a healthy swig. Suddenly, his eyes widened in shock, and he choked, spraying the windshield with a fine mist of alcohol.

      "Jesus Christ! Hit the brakes!" Bradley's voice cracked like a whip in the confined space of the car.

      Steven, more reflex than reason, slammed his foot on the brake pedal. The BMW fishtailed, tires screaming in protest as it skidded to a halt on the shoulder. The sudden silence, as Steven killed both engine and music, was deafening. Bradley's ragged breathing filled the void, his chest heaving as if he'd run a marathon.

      "What the fuck, man?" Steven snarled, his words slurring together. "You just puked all over my ride, you asshole! What's your damage?"

      Bradley's face had gone chalk-white, his eyes wide and staring. "There was… there was a person lying there. In the road. I swear to God, man."

      Steven scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You're tripping balls, dude. There's nobody out here but us and the trees."

      The certainty in Steven's voice did nothing to quell the rising tide of panic in Bradley's chest. He sank lower in his seat, his fingers digging into the leather upholstery as if it were the only thing anchoring him to reality.

      "I'm telling you, there's someone out there!" Bradley's voice had taken on a plaintive, almost childlike quality.

      Steven heaved a put-upon sigh. "Fine, if it'll shut you up, I'll go take a look. Gotta drain the snake anyway." He popped the door open, the interior light briefly illuminating his annoyed expression before he vanished into the darkness.

      Seconds stretched into an eternity. Bradley's eyes darted frantically from shadow to shadow, his imagination populating the darkness with a thousand unseen terrors. "Steven?" he called out, his voice barely above a whisper. "You find anything?" The silence that answered him was deafening. "Shit, shit, shit!" Bradley muttered, his hand fumbling for the door handle. He managed to get one foot on the ground, his body following in a graceless lurch.

      The attack, when it came, was swift and unexpected. Steven burst from the shadows, his face contorted in a mask of exaggerated terror that quickly dissolved into hysterical laughter. "Jesus, Bradley, you should've seen your face!" Steven howled, doubled over with mirth.

      "You fucking asshole!" Bradley exploded, his terror transmuting instantly into rage. "I almost had a goddamn heart attack!"

      Back in the car, the bottle of gin made its rounds, the liquor burning a path down their throats as they passed it back and forth. "Alright, time to roll," Steven slurred, throwing the car into reverse. "Gotta get this puke-mobile cleaned up tomorrow, thanks to you." The words had barely left his mouth when a sickening thud reverberated through the vehicle, followed by the unmistakable sound of something heavy hitting the asphalt.

      Bradley's eyes widened in horror. "Dude, I think we hit someone!" The alcohol seemed to evaporate from his system, replaced by a cold, creeping dread. Steven, in contrast, burst into inappropriate laughter.

      "Probably just a deer, man. Chill out."

      "Fuck that noise. I'm checking it out." Bradley's voice was steadier now, a hint of steel beneath the fear. He stumbled out of the car, swaying like a sailor on a storm-tossed ship.

      Steven killed the engine and the headlights, plunging them into darkness. Bradley approached the rear of the car, his heart pounding a staccato rhythm against his ribs. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he made out a figure lying face-down on the asphalt. It was unmistakably human.

      With trembling hands, Bradley reached out to turn the body over. As he did, realization dawned – it was a dummy, a cruel trick of fate or something far more sinister. "What the actual fuck?" he muttered, dragging the lifeless prop to the side of the road. As he started to head back to the car, a rustling in the bushes stopped him dead in his tracks. He turned, peering into the darkness, but saw nothing. The sound came again, closer this time. Bradley felt the first tendrils of true fear wrapping around his heart.

      In a burst of movement that seemed to defy the laws of physics, a figure clad entirely in black erupted from the undergrowth, lunging at Bradley with terrifying purpose.

      Bradley's survival instincts kicked in. He shoved his attacker away with all his might and sprinted for the car, his voice a ragged scream of panic. "Start the fucking car! Turn on the lights! NOW!"

      But Steven, still convinced this was all part of some elaborate prank, remained motionless behind the wheel, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

      Bradley's legs pumped furiously, eating up the distance to the car. But in his panic, he stumbled, crashing to the unforgiving asphalt with a cry of pain and terror.

      "Help me! Please, God, somebody help me!" The words tore from his throat, raw and desperate.

      The attacker was on him in an instant, a length of rope materializing in gloved hands. With practiced efficiency, the assailant looped the rope around Bradley's neck and began to tighten it. Bradley clawed at the ground, at the rope, at anything within reach, his struggles growing weaker with each passing second. As the life drained from his body, his last coherent thought was a bitter realization – this was no prank, no drunken hallucination. This was death, cold and final, coming for him on a lonely stretch of road.

      When Bradley's body went limp, the killer methodically removed the rope and dragged the corpse to the side of the road, movements economical and practiced.

      Steven, finally sensing that something was terribly wrong, emerged from the car. The absence of Bradley's panicked voice had created a silence so profound it seemed to press against his eardrums. "Hey, man, where'd you go?" he called out, his voice barely above a whisper. "Come on, quit screwing around. This isn't funny anymore." His tone had taken on a whining, frightened edge as he moved cautiously away from the car.

      It didn't take long for Steven to spot Bradley's form sprawled by the roadside. He rushed over, dropping to his knees beside his friend. "Shit, Bradley, you okay? Did you pass out or something? Come on, man, let's go." He leaned in close, straining to hear any sign of breathing. It was at that moment that a shadow fell across them both.

      Steven's head snapped up, his eyes widening in terror as he took in the figure looming over them, rope in hand. "Oh shit, oh fuck!" The scream tore from his throat as he scrambled to his feet, making a desperate dash for the car. But the killer, with inhuman speed, cut him off, blocking his escape route.

      With no other option, Steven plunged into the woods, crashing through the underbrush with the blind panic of prey fleeing a predator. He ran until his lungs burned and his legs trembled, finally collapsing behind a thick cluster of bushes. His breath came in ragged gasps as he fumbled in his pockets for his cell phone, desperate to call for help. But as he pulled it out, his heart sank – no signal. "No, no, no," he muttered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart.

      Gathering what little courage he had left, Steven crept out from his hiding place, holding the phone aloft as he moved deeper into the forest, praying for a single bar of reception. After what felt like an eternity, a signal flickered to life. With shaking fingers, he dialed 911, his entire being focused on that tenuous connection to salvation.

      "911, what's your emergency?" The dispatcher's calm voice was like a lifeline thrown to a drowning man.

      Steven opened his mouth to respond, but before he could utter a word, a twig snapped behind him. He whirled around, his eyes wide with terror, sweat pouring down his face in rivulets. When he finally found his voice, it was a trembling whisper:

      "Help