The Man with No Feet

I was nineteen when my grandmother passed away. My cousin, Lila, had come over to keep me company. It was a dreary afternoon, with rain spitting from a low, grey sky. We were both restless, and I suggested we take a walk through our neighborhood to clear our heads. We lived in a quiet suburb, with winding streets and old trees that seemed to sigh in the wind.

As we turned down Maple Lane, something caught my eye in a front yard. I nudged Lila and pointed, unable to find words. There, standing motionless among the wet grass, was a figure cloaked in a long, dark brown robe. It looked like something from a history book, a monk or a pilgrim from centuries past. But as I looked down, I saw that the robe ended at the ankles, and there were no feet beneath it. The figure just hovered, slightly above the ground, as if it were a hologram.

Lila stared too, her voice trembling. ‘I see it too.’ We stood there frozen for what felt like minutes, though it must have been only seconds. The figure didn’t move, but I felt a deep unease crawl up my spine. Finally, we turned and hurried back to my house, not speaking until we were safe inside. That night, I couldn’t shake the image. I never walked down Maple Lane again, avoiding that spot entirely.

A few years later, I had a son, Danny. He was two years old, and we lived in a small apartment on the other side of town. One evening, I laid him down in his crib and went to the living room where my boyfriend, Marcus, was watching TV. We were just sitting there, half-watching a show, when I heard Danny cry out. Not a usual cry, but a sharp, frightened wail. I rushed to his room and found him sitting up, pointing at the corner of the room, his little face pale.

‘What is it, baby?’ I asked, scooping him up. He kept pointing and saying, ‘Man, man.’ I turned to look, but there was nothing there. I turned on the light, and the room was empty. I calmed him down and put him back to bed, but he kept staring at that corner with wide eyes.

The next night, the same thing happened. Danny woke up crying, pointing at the same corner. Then, a week later, I was changing his diaper while he lay on the changing table, and he suddenly went rigid and pointed at the hallway. I looked, and for a split second, I saw the hem of a brown robe disappearing around the corner.

My blood ran cold. I knew it was the same figure from Maple Lane. It had followed me. I told Marcus, but he thought I was just stressed and imagining things. He refused to believe me. But I knew what I saw. I started seeing it more often, always at the edge of my vision, always just a glimpse of a brown robe and no feet.

One night, I woke up at 2 a.m. Danny was in his crib, but the room felt wrong. I looked over, and there it was, standing by the crib, leaning over him. Its hood was down, and I saw its face—or rather, I saw nothing but a dark void where a face should be. It was reaching toward Danny with a bone-white hand. I screamed and lunged for the crib, but I was too late. The figure touched Danny’s forehead, and he went limp.

I grabbed him, screaming his name, but he wouldn’t wake up. I called an ambulance, and at the hospital, they couldn’t find anything wrong. They said he was just in a deep sleep. But he didn’t wake up for three days. When he finally did, he was different. He would stare into space, and sometimes he would whisper, ‘He says he wants to take me home.’

I was terrified. I knew I had to do something. I went back to Maple Lane, to that exact spot, despite my fear. It was raining again. I stood there, waiting. After a few minutes, I saw it appear at the edge of the yard, the brown robe materializing out of the mist. It glided toward me, stopping just a few feet away.

‘Why?’ I managed to choke out.

A cold, rasping voice filled my head. ‘She was supposed to come with me. I made a mistake. Now I want the boy as recompense.’

I realized then that it had been after my grandmother, not me. She had lived in that area, and I had inherited her house. It had been waiting for her, but she had eluded it by dying in the hospital. It was confused and vengeful. And now it wanted my son.

‘I won’t let you take him,’ I said, my voice shaking.

The figure leaned closer, and I felt a cold fear wash over me. ‘Then you take his place.’

I thought of Danny, of his innocent face. I couldn’t let it take him. I nodded. ‘Take me instead.’

A smile spread across the void where its face should be. ‘So it is.’

I felt a cold hand clasp my arm, and the world spun. I was pulled into darkness, and I knew no more.

They found my body the next morning, lying on that spot on Maple Lane. The cause of death was unknown, but my face was frozen in a look of terror. Danny never saw the man again, but he grew up in foster care, always feeling a strange presence watching over him, a cold touch on his shoulder when he was alone. And sometimes, when he looks in the mirror, he sees the reflection of a young woman with my eyes, standing behind him, mouthing silently, ‘Run.’