I walked down this path by my house twice every day. In the morning after I wake up, at night before I go to bed. I have never lost this routine. This road felt like mine, like no one else knows it’s there. Which is strange because it’s really quite beautiful. Peaceful.

Autumn came and I slipped my favorite sweater over my head. It was 6am on a normal Sunday, and I was getting ready for my first walk of the week. That day felt a little different, though, the morning felt . . . off. I couldn’t put my finger on it, so I ignored the feeling in my stomach.

Man, was that a mistake.

As I walked down the trail, a low fog started to roll in. I didn’t think too much of it at first, fog isn’t uncommon around here. But that feeling in my stomach got just a little stronger. Should I have turned around and gone back home? Probably. Did I? No. Why? Because it’s part of my routine, and I can’t break my routine.

Then, there he was. A silhouette of a man off in the distance. The fog swirled around him and I finally decided that maybe I’ve walked enough for the morning. But when I turned around, my path was gone.

And then I was waking up in my bed. I know what you’re thinking, it was just a weird dream! I looked at my clock, it was 6am. Everything was the same as the morning before, but my phone said it was Monday.

I was wearing my favorite sweater.

I know it sounds stupid, but I started worrying that I missed my night time walk. Yes, I don’t remember anything but the morning walk on Sunday, but my routine . . .

Why is it so important?

I slipped on my boots and walked back outside, the fog was still there, low and thick. I started down my path. There he was again.

“Hello?” I asked, my breath coming out in a cloud. When did it get so cold?

I’m in my bed. It’s 6am. My phone reads Tuesday.

It was frustrating, I couldn’t understand what was happening. I splashed my face with water, pinched my arm, did all sorts of things to make sure I was awake. Count my fingers, I have all ten. Check the clock, it’s 6:13.

I put on my shoes, and go back outside.

He’s closer this time, I feel as though I know him, but I still can’t see who he is. He’s just standing there, and I don’t understand why. I look away for two seconds, and then he’s—

Wednesday. 6am. I’m still wearing what I wore on Tuesday, Monday, Sunday.

I go back out, he’s closer once more.

“Ellie,” I hear him say. I don’t know how I know it’s him, his mouth doesn’t move, he doesn’t move, but I know he’s saying my name. Why is he saying my name?

I take a step to try and see who he is, but it’s not Wednesday, it’s Thursday. I’m not outside, I’m in my room, it’s 6am, and I really think I’m going crazy.

I won’t go outside today. I’ll stay in. I check myself in the mirror, I notice things I didn’t before. A scar on my cheek, running down to my neck. I don’t remember getting that, it must have been when I was a kid.

When was I a kid? Why can’t I remember being a kid?

I’m outside, I said I wouldn’t, yet I’m walking outside. It’s like I can’t control what I’m doing. He’s closer, he’s holding something in his arms. What is he holding?

Friday. I feel something dripping down my face, dripping onto my sweater. I look in the mirror, I’m covered in blood. My favorite sweater is covered in blood.

Down the path, I finally see, he’s holding an infant. A sweet little baby girl. I smile, I hear her cry.

I sit up in my bed, my comforter splattered red. There’s another toothbrush in the bathroom, two pairs of slippers, a cradle in the corner. My hair is damp, I’m freezing cold. This sweater is doing nothing for me.

Outside, I walk the path. There he is, with the little baby girl. Something is heavy in my hand, it feels familiar and sturdy.

I’m holding a knife. It’s so shiny, and the metal is so cold. I prick my finger with the point, blood dripping onto the blade. How beautiful.

“Eleanor, what are you doing?” I look up at the man, he looks scared.

He’s covered in blood. His baby is covered in blood.

I’m covered in blood.

~~~

“Welcome, patient A1010.”