Cogi.

By Hannah Bertalot

It was late at night as a college student walked down their neighborhood street. It was dark, and only a few lamps were around to prevent the cloak of complete darkness. Their Walkman weighed in their pocket, the earbuds connected to it swaying slightly with each step. It had been a long day, so they tuned out the night ambiance with music.

If they tried, Cogi didn’t think they would be able to recall the song’s title, despite it being one that they had listened to countless other times on numerous other nights. It was always there after a long day, drowning out the thoughts they’d prefer to avoid thinking about. It had more bass than meaning.

They sprinted across the grass, and the porch creaked as they jogged up to the front door and let themself inside. The house felt hollow as they flipped the light switch, turning the ugly, buzzing, white overhead light on in the hallway. Loneliness leered over them like a predator as they passed through the living room. They skipped the kitchen and the thought of food entirely and opted to head straight upstairs. They detoured to the bathroom and splashed their face with water, purposefully avoiding their gaze in the mirror. 

Cogi didn’t think they could stomach seeing their face tonight.

The cold water was almost enough to snap them out of whatever daze it felt like they had been in all day—almost. 

Alas, it failed. They turned the water off, then trudged down the hall to their bedroom. They crashed into the disheveled mass of blankets and pillows intended to be their bed, and sleep claimed them with merciful swiftness.

They walked down their street again. It was foggy, and most of the houses were reduced to vague shapes in their peripheral vision. The street was dark, though light still illuminated silhouettes through the occasional window. The Walkman was back in their pocket, though they were listening to a radio station this time. Nothing the voices on the other end said mattered. It was mostly asinine gossip; a news reporter's smooth and professional dialogue. Any actual personality was ironed out for the sake of a classic radio persona.

“A student at Woodside Elementary School has gone missing. She was last seen walking home from school on Thursday afternoon. Police have limited data, so if you have any information regarding her whereabouts, we urge you to contact the police station as soon as possible.” 

Cogi ignored the rest of the news report; their expression shifted into a frown as they stared at the passing concrete beneath their feet. They walked up the sidewalk, and a sense of numbness overwhelmed them as they stepped into the dark house. It seemed as though the darkness swallowed them whole.

They walked down the street again. This time, a young girl meandered alongside them. Cogi cast her a sideways glance, barely paying her any mind. She was filthy and bloodied, looking like she was dragged through the sticks and mud. Her dress is stained, tattered—ruined beyond what even a skilled seamstress might hope to repair. She stopped at Cogi’s mailbox and watched them approach the door. They braved a glance at her face, and instead of the brown doe eyes they had known, a blurred face stared back. 

“Why didn’t you think?” She asked. Her voice was just like they remembered- soft, delicate.

“Huh?”

“Cogito, why didn’t you think?”

They hadn’t heard their name spoken in a while. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean.” They answered. Cogi tore their gaze away from her face, then sharply turned on their heel and stepped inside, slamming the door shut. A chill ran down their spine as they peered through the peephole on the door, greeted with the blurred face staring them down, pressed alarmingly close.

Shaking hands slid the deadbolt shut as they turned their back to the door again. They threw themself away from it and stumbled down the dark hall.

Cogi sprinted down their street, their heartbeat in their ears as they went. Red and blue flashed behind them, the cry of police sirens screeching through the air. The world around them was dark, forcing them to focus on nothing but staying on their feet and in motion while the lights grew closer.

The longer it went on, the less it sounded like a police siren, morphing into the wail of a small child. They braved a glance over their shoulder, the blood in their veins chilling like ice as they saw the little girl’s figure close behind, the source of that awful cry.

No matter how quickly they ran, the distance between them and that noise was shrinking. She- it was getting closer.

Closer. 

Closer.

The wailing was so loud now that they knew it was almost upon them. 

Cogi braved one last glance over their shoulder and almost met nose-to-nose with the little girl’s blurred features, her mouth stretched unnaturally wide as the shriek poured from her throat. 

Horror seized their heartbeat for half a breath before they felt the sickening motion of falling forward, their vision snapping to black before they could even process the ground in front of them rushing closer.

Cogi wakes in their messy bed. They’re alone. Sun shines through the dirty windows and drapes over their shoulders, but it does nothing to ease the chill of the nightmare they just woke from. 

It wasn’t real. Cogi realized.

It wasn’t real. They reaffirmed. 

Rising from their entrapment of blankets, they groggily cross the room, pausing with their hand hovering over the doorknob. They take a steadying breath, trying to calm their racing heartbeat. 

Once again, they stumble down the hall and into the restroom, ignoring the creeping feeling of paranoia as its unwelcome claws dug into their ribcage. 

They turn on the cold water, dipping their head to splash water on their face, hoping it will wake them up and chase their feelings away. 

The sound of the faucet is almost soothing in the silent house. 

“Cogito?”

They whip their head up, quickly looking in the mirror. The expectation of their little sister standing behind them in the reflection is abruptly shattered as they realize they’re still alone.

They’re forced to see only their own face, the face of a filthy murderer.