"Confrontation" by Kayd Johanson

Art by Kayd Johanson

Marissa clicks the heavy door of the classroom shut. She slides to the floor, clamping a hand over her mouth. She checks the window next to the door. 

It’s dark. Quiet. 

The classroom across the hall has a curtain pulled over its window, the hall to the left empty except for a bulletin board of posters and a statue hidden by the corner.

Marissa dares to breathe, exhaling a quiet, shaky puff of air. She crosses in front of the whiteboard, pressing herself into a tight corner, the walls decked with posters and a mostly-empty bulletin board. The blinds on the larger windows in the back are drawn, only pale shafts of moonlight peeking through the dark room. As long as she doesn’t make herself noticeable to the door, she’ll be fine. She takes another breath.

This is what I get for walking through campus at night, Marissa seethes. She knows better. Any type of night walking is dangerous, unfathomable stalker creature or not. It was extra dangerous with her phone battery dead. She can’t call 911 or have a friend come pick her up. All she has to do is wait this dude out, then run like Satan’s about to snatch her ankles to her car. She’ll drive to the police station to report what happened, then go back to her shared student apartment and sleep for 12 hours. Her professors would understand.

There’s an itch in the back of her brain, like she’s missed something. Marissa’s gaze darts around. Windows are closed, the door is shut, she’s well away from the window next to said door. She didn’t miss anything, she’s sure she’s safe.

Her eyes follow the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on the far wall, stacked with peeling, old children’s books. On one side of the shelf is the door to the room, and the other is a short beige closet with a little red wagon on top. Next to that is a bright red book cart holding messily-organized binders and textbooks, then a counter in front of the back windows. What is she not thinking of?

A small eek sounds from nearby. 

Marissa’s heart leaps to her throat. The beige closet, the small wagon on top is rocking back and forth on its wheels. Spindly fingers sharpened to points wrap around the door. That thing’s smile splits its face in half, long clip-like teeth bared, eyes rippling and stretched into long ovals. Too-long arms and too many joints crack as they pull themselves out of the tiny space. It looms like some sort of deranged animal, tattered clothes that look similar to a circus ringmaster’s suit hung off its boney frame. It has some approximations of humanity, like short blonde hair cut to just above its chin, but it’s a disturbing fake idea twisted onto something unreal.

Marissa scurries to the professor’s desk, tucking herself underneath in the gap for a desk chair. She muffles the air from her nose and pulls herself as small as she can. That shouldn’t have been possible, it can’t be possible! She lost it at the back entrance, how did it follow her!? This isn’t—it shouldn’t- 

She tucks her panic into a tight little ball in her chest. She needs to get out alive, first and foremost. Get past whatever that is and get out. There’s a soft, eerie laugh. It rattles around her skull, makes her head hurt. Something scrapes, like nails on a chalkboard, on the desk above her head. The computer monitor on top crunches as it hits the floor.

“I know you’re there.” Its voice is breathy, like a whisper. “I can hear your lungs.”

Fuck, fuck fuck fuck! What to do now!? Long, spindly fingers stretch over the edge, dangling in front of her eyes. It’s practically right on top of her!

Oh, duh. It’s practically right on top of her.

Marissa crouches and shoves. She throws all of her might into tipping the desk. The creature squeals like a pig as it’s caught under the weight. Marissa books it, throwing open the door and sprinting down the hallway. Except- no. This isn’t the same hallway. It opened up onto a student seating area before, with exit stairs on the right and a door to the upper part of campus on the left, but now the hall ends at a fork. She can’t afford to stop. She goes left.

The halls have spun themselves into a maze. She goes right, then left, then right again, or was it left? She can’t tell anymore. They whip and snarl and tie her up in knots. There’s too much noise and not enough, a vague stench of something sweet bleeding into her nose.

Marissa trips.

She slams to the floor, head spinning. Panting, she tries to get oxygen back into her body, ambling to her feet. Why her? She’s a good student; she volunteers at the local food pantry every other week. She’s good to her friends, her girlfriend. Why her? What sort of divine retribution is she enduring?

Spindly, sharp, cold spines prick at the back of her neck. She chokes. Cracking, too-long fingers wind their way around her throat, tilt her chin up almost like her mom would when trying to scold her. The thing, the motherfucker, the whatever-it-is grins down at her from the ceiling, ovular eyes stretching with delight.

“It is time.” Its fingers break the skin on her jugular. “For your final bow.”

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​Kayd Johanson is a 21 year old Southern Utah University student set to graduate in Spring 2026 with a degree in English. When they're not drowning in schoolwork, they like to draw, write, play excessive amounts of Minecraft, and talk about their favorite cartoons. Their favorite piece of horror media is The Magnus Archives, and yes, they will talk about that too. They currently live in Cedar City, Utah, out of their grandparents' basement to cut down on college costs.