Up until last December I’d worked for over ten years in Disability Benefits Compliance. My job was, essentially, periodically checking in on people around our region who were receiving state disability benefits to make sure that they were being honest about their disability, they were complying with medical recommendations to mitigate or treat the disability, and that there were no other irregularities with regards their care or the benefits they received.
Usually the in-house visits were fairly short—most of the real information was coming from forms filled out by their treating doctors and a review of their current medical records, as you can’t rely on self-reporting when it comes to these things. Still, occasionally you would find someone who needed more help than they were getting or that you could prove was being dishonest just to get free money. It wasn’t exactly a fun job, but I at least felt like I was performing a necessary (if boring) bureaucratic task.
In the past few years we’ve started having to assess cases where the disability claim doesn’t fall into the traditional categories of physical or mental issues that we’ve had since I started the job over a decade ago. Rather, the qualifying mental disability category has been expanded to include moderate to severe mood disorders and severe phobias if verified by a psychologist or psychiatrist. I’m not the final say on whether these people are truly disabled or not, but when I hear that the biggest problem they have is that they won’t go outside, I admit to being skeptical.
My last visit in October of 2018, Jerry Rhodes, had that very problem. They call it Agoraphobia, and I know there’s more nuance to it that what I’m saying, but it boiled down to the fact that except under very rare circumstances such as a medical emergency, Mr. Rhodes had not left his home in five years.
I was surprised when I first met him. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t the friendly, outgoing man who greeted me at the front door and brought me into a clean and cozy living room. I commented on how nice everything was being kept, especially by a man living alone in his early thirties, and he just laughed and nodded. Told me that since he stayed here all the time, he tried his best to make sure it was a good place to stay.
Over the next thirty minutes I conducted our standard interview—diagnosis, treatment, activities of daily living, therapeutic routines, outlier behaviors, difficulties and concerns, and finally, satisfaction with benefit services. He answered all the questions cheerfully enough, and while I appreciated his cooperation and even found myself liking him as we talked, I couldn’t get past the fact that he seemed so…normal. He didn’t seem afraid, he didn’t seem anxious, he didn’t seem like anything was wrong. In fact, the only thing I noticed is that he kept looking at his watch. He’d wanted to meet earlier in the day, but I’d had to push it back at the last minute. Maybe I was keeping him from something.
Still, I found my curiosity getting the better of me. I didn’t think he was necessarily lying about having this phobia, but I did wonder if he wasn’t getting over it more than he had let on. Or if he really was as bad off as the reports had said, had he always been that way? It wasn’t one of my standard questions, and I could tell he was starting to get antsy as it got later in the afternoon, but I pushed ahead into one last topic.
“Do you know where your phobia came from?”
Jerry had been glancing out the window, and when he looked back to me, I could see the first signs of true nervousness there. Giving an uneven laugh, he shrugged. “Where does any phobia come from? I guess I just have bad wiring.” He gave a slight shrug before continuing. “Do you have any other questions, because it’s getting late and I’d hate to see you getting home in the dark.” The man was watching me intently now, his tongue darting out quickly before disappearing again between his thin lips.
I tried to give him a friendly smile. “I understand, and I appreciate it. But back to my earlier question, what I mean is were you always afraid of situations outside of your home? And if it developed later, can you point to something that caused it, or did it just come on you over time?”
He looked out the window again briefly before letting out a deflated sigh. Not meeting my eyes, he sunk back into his chair. “No, not always. Something happened, or I remember something happening, though the doctors say it’s not true. That it’s just my mind coping with the trauma of losing three of my childhood friends.”
I felt my eyes widen slightly in surprise. “You lost three of your friends when you were younger, or more recently?”
Jerry did look at me now, his voice leaden. “Oh no, when I was young. Eleven. I lost all three of them the same night, though others would disagree about that too.”
I didn’t understand what he was talking about, but I was interested. Besides, I only had access to his records for the last five years, but there had been no mention of delusions or schizophrenia. If this was a sign of some new issue, I needed to document it so he could get help. “Jerry, do you mind telling me about it?”
He just stared at me for a moment before shaking his head. “You won’t believe me. And it would take too long. It’s getting dark and you need to go.”
I debated internally. I wasn’t trying to be rude or stress him out, but I didn’t want to leave without at least trying to find out more about what was going on with him. “Jerry, I’m just trying to get the best picture I can. I’m not here to judge. But if I don’t get all the information I need, it could affect your benefits negatively.” Seeing his deepening frown, I held up my hands. “Not trying to pressure you, just encourage you. I want to understand what you’re talking about, that’s all. I won’t judge you or what you tell me, okay?” Seeing him looking at his watch again, I added. “And this is my last question. If you tell me what happened to you and your friends, I’ll go right after. Scout’s honor.”
The man stared at me for several seconds before giving a defeated shrug. “Fine. If you want to hear it so much, I’ll tell you. Then you’ll think I’m crazier than you already do.”
When I was eleven years old, I went trick-or-treating the day before Halloween with my best friends: Matt, his brother Gary, and their cousin Jessica who, funnily enough, lived the next town over in Jessica’s Resolve. We had all gathered up at my house at 6 o’clock and been turned loose on our own with the strict proviso that we weren’t to go further south than Greene Street or further west than Harrelson Avenue. We were pretty good kids, and we looked out for each other. Our parents knew the most trouble we were apt to get into was eating too much candy on the way back home.
Things went great at first. We had all put effort into our costumes that year, and it showed. Matt was a skeleton, Gary was a ninja, Jessica was a fairy with gossamer wings she could make move a little when she wiggled her shoulders. I went as an executioner, complete with a black hood my mom had made and a big plastic headsman axe I had gotten from the dollar store.
The area we planned to cover was large, but it was also dense. There were three good-sized neighborhoods plus a few side streets and dead end roads that had more houses to try. At first we were regularly running across other groups of kids doing the same things we were, but by eight, that number had dwindled. We were far from my house and pushing the limits of being able to get back by our nine o’clock deadline, but our thought was that this area would be less picked over too. Lots of kids didn’t go out this far, despite the fact that there were some big houses tucked back on the smaller roads. And big houses, in our expert opinions, meant better candy.
For awhile our plan seemed to work. No one else was out any more, and the houses that answered the door were giving out the good stuff. Two more roads and we would be done with the best haul we’d ever managed.
That’s when we saw the other group of trick-or-treaters.
At first, we just noted another group of kids traveling in our wake—we’d leave a house, and if we looked back, we’d see them hitting the same place a few minutes later. And yeah, there was four of them, just like us, but we weren’t missing out on anything because we always got candy first.
But as we made our way to the end of one road and cut over toward the next, Jessica pointed out that they were gaining on us. It was said as kind of a joke, but we all heard the nervousness in her voice. We weren’t babies, but walking around at night on Halloween was still kind of spooky—the fun kind of spooky where you made dumb jokes and were glad your friends were with you. But when she said “They’re gaining on us, guys”, her voice was different. It had picked up a thread of less fun, nastier fear. And we all recognized it because we were feeling it ourselves.
We picked up our own pace as we turned onto Everling Road. No one said it aloud, but as a group we’d decided to try to avoid these other children if we could. When we went past the first house without stopping, no one, not even Gary, complained. We were ready to get home. They could have the rest of the candy.
I was the one who looked back and saw the group behind us, even closer now. They were passing by a well-lit and decorated house, and in that light and lesser distance I could see more detail than I had before. I looked where I was going for a second and then turned back for another look. No, I had been right the first time.
“Shit. They’re wearing the same costumes we are.”
A palpable tension began to grow between the four of us. No one said anything for a minute, but as we were reaching the other end of the road, Matt glanced back. He pulled up his skeleton mask when he turned around and I could see he was scared.
“Fuck. They are. They look like us. They fucking look like us.”
We made the corner in unison, all walking so fast it was almost a jog, our plastic bags filled with candy smacking our legs with a rhythm that matched the pounding of our hearts. Gary and Jessica glanced back again, and it was Jessica who finally asked the question we had all been pondering for the last several minutes.
“What do we do?”
Gary shrugged, the casual gesture not matching the troubled look in his eyes. “We just ignore them. It’s probably just dumb luck or someone trying to scare us for Halloween.” He paused and then added, “But, um, we should go on home anyway. Not give them any more fun.”
Matt was already shaking his head. “I don’t think so. Who do we know that knows what we were going as and would do this? Something’s wrong with this. We need to get help.”
Jessica glanced back again and sucked in a breath at what she saw. “They’re getting really close. I…there’s no help out here. We don’t know these people and those kids haven’t done anything yet. We need to just get back to Jerry’s house right now. Fast.”
I looked over at her, trying to keep my voice low enough to not be heard by our pursuers. “Are you saying we should make a run for it?”
She went to answer when Gary cut in, his voice high and panicked. He’d looked back again.
“Oh…Oh God…Jess, it looks like you!”
We all turned around then, and he was right. While the other three had their faces covered with masks or hoods, the fairy’s face was largely visible beneath dramatic makeup. This close…it wasn’t someone just copying Jessica’s costume.
It had her face too.
We all broke off running, and at first we stayed together. But then Matt fell and Gary stopped to pick him up. Jessica and I would have stopped too, but there was no time. The other group was running now, almost catching Matt and Gary before they got back going and cut down a side street. The doubles split as well, and now me and Jessica were being hunted by just the fairy and the executioner.
I…I lost Jessica on the way home. I’d like to say it was a mistake or an accident, and I guess it was in the sense that I didn’t want to leave her. But I was real fast as a kid. Fastest kid in our class. When I looked back one last time and saw them gaining, I yelled for Jessica to come on and I let go of her hand. I told myself she’d catch up, that I was just going ahead to get the door open. We were less than a hundred yards from my house by then, and everything would be okay. I just needed to get home.
I made it there safely, and when I opened the door and looked back, no one was following me any more. No executioner, no Jessica, no one. I ran into where my parents were watching a movie, hysterical, and I started telling them what had happened. It took a few minutes for them to get what I was saying and realize that I was serious, and that’s when they called Mike and Gary’s parents. Had they seen the other children?
The tone of the conversation was first fear and worry, but that changed within just a few seconds. My father pulled the receiver away to give me a half-irritated, half-amused look. “They’re fine. They all just came in over there.”
I wanted to feel relief, but I didn’t. The next day at school, none of them were there. And when they came back the following week, they were all different. I tried to tell myself I was being silly. Or that maybe they were pissed at me because I’d left them. Or they were scared about it and didn’t want to talk to me and be reminded of it. But I didn’t really believe any of that.
Because they were all different. Not just because they ignored me now and barely responded when I tried to approach them, but…look, this sounds dumb, but they didn’t move right any more. They didn’t smell right. Everything about them was off, but when I tried to tell my mother that one time, she just gave me a patronizing hug and said she was sure they’d come around and start being friends with me again soon.
Two months later they were all pulled from school. I hated to admit it, but it was almost a relief. I’d already made sure to avoid them outside of school, and not having to worry as much about them catching me between classes or on the way home made my life a bit easier, especially when I got my parents to start picking me up from school like they had when I was younger.
I never heard why they left, and while I’m sure my parents talked about it, they did so discreetly. I think back then they still thought it was all just about their son having a falling out with his little friends.
Then, three years later, Jessica murdered her little brother and committed suicide.
It was big news in Jessica’s Resolve and Empire for awhile, but like everything, it faded with time. Four years later, when word got around that Matt and Gary had recently disappeared after years of “mental issues”, it was little more than trivia for most. When they were killed in a police raid six years ago in Indiana, they had four women in their basement—all of them had been raped, tortured and murdered. It didn’t even make the local paper.
I’ve kept track of them all this time. Carried the guilt of what happened with me. And yes, it was traumatic, but to answer your original question, my agoraphobia just started five years ago. Because that’s when they first came back for me.
Jerry broke off talking as he looked out the window. He visibly paled as he stood up. “You need to go. Now. It’s dark. They’ll be here soon.” Walking closer to the window, he put his hand to his mouth as he looked back at me. He looked terrified. “Jesus, they’re already out there. It’s too late. You have to just stay here until morning. I’m so sorry.”
It was my turn to feel afraid. There was no way I was staying overnight with this delusional man. Grabbing my purse, I headed for the front door. “Sorry, Mr. Rhodes, but I have to be getting home.” I saw he was moving to stop me and I yanked the front door open and rushed through it before he got the chance. I half-expected him to grab me from behind, but instead I felt a whoosh of air as the door slammed shut behind me. Through the door I heard Jerry, his voice high and trembling.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
It was then that I first realized I wasn’t alone. Standing at the bottom of the porch steps were four small figures, all dressed up for Halloween even though it was several days away. A skeleton. A ninja. A princess. And an executioner.
I wanted to turn around and knock on the door. Ask Jerry to let me back in. But no. This was all some prank or…I didn’t know what. But I needed to act rationally about it. Forcing a smile, I tried to keep my voice light as I stepped toward the front of the porch.
“Hi, kids! Out for some early…”
“Send Jerry out.”
The words froze in my throat. That voice hadn’t sounded like a child. I wasn’t sure what it sounded like other than it didn’t sound like a little boy or girl and it made my stomach clench so hard I gasped. Swallowing, I made myself try again.
“Kids, I think Mr. Rh…”
“Send Jerry out.”
I felt my vision swim this time, and I had a panicked moment where I thought I might actually fall. If I fall, they’ll be on me and…No. I had to keep…
That’s when they began walking up the steps.
I leapt off the porch and ran to my car, never looking back, never stopping until I was across town and home behind a locked door. I spent the rest of the night looking out my windows, but I never saw anything out of the ordinary.
Two months later I saw in the newspaper that Jerry Rhodes had disappeared. It worried me at the time, but I tried to chalk it up to his mental issues. Maybe he had finally run off somewhere else, and where ever it was, I hoped he got some peace. Either way, I was done with him and…whatever he was caught up in, and that was the important part.
The next morning I found a note posted on my front door in a red, child-like scrawl. It wasn’t signed, but I knew who it was from. And I knew what it meant.
I quit my job that week, and by the end of the month I had moved across the country. I’ve spent the last few months dreading the anniversary of the day I met Jerry Rhodes and the things that stalked him. And I should be safe here—no one from Empire even knows where I’m at.
But last night when I looked out at my lawn, I saw four small silhouettes outlined in the moonlight. They stood there all night, silent and waiting. I don’t know how it worked for Jerry—how often they came, why they couldn’t get him sooner, and what mistake he finally made. But I do know they are patient. And that they keep their word.
Because I still have the note I found that morning, just a couple of days after Jerry finally lost his siege. Its message was simple—both a promise and a threat. Just one single line, the color of faded blood.
