After a tiring and soul-consuming workday, it was finally time for Emma to head home once again. She had just turned eighteen, standing truly in the prime of her youth, but unlike her peers, the luxury of wasting time was something Emma simply could not afford. Once the final customers were ushered out and she had ensured the daily accounts were perfectly balanced, Emma handed the keys over to Mr. Yale; thus, another day at the small town diner came to an end for her.
Now, the most exhilarating part of the day was beginning for Emma. While the cycle of engaging in the same dialogues with the same customers, only to return home and continue mundane conversations with the same family, might theoretically seem like a tedious loop, there was a tiny detail within this routine that filled Emma with excitement every single day.
The path home was desolate. To Emma's left lay a vast, looming forest, and to her right, a great void—save for the chilling presence of the cemetery. But there was something, or rather someone, far more frightening than the graves, the lifeless bodies within them, or even the potential ghosts: Mr. Johnson.
He was one of the few men in town whom everyone recognized. Since he was responsible for all burial proceedings, it was nearly impossible not to know him. However, Emma's reason for knowing him wasn't because she had lost someone, but because every day she was compelled to look upon that haunting gaze and that body possessed of a colossal, muscular physique.
Whenever Emma passed by the cemetery, she would find Mr. Johnson watching her. It was perhaps eerie and voyeuristic, yet for some reason, Emma felt no fear. Between that thick, muscular frame—chest muscles that seemed to carry the weight of accumulated years—those piercing eyes, and whatever foul motive lay beneath them, Emma knew she stood no chance against him. She was well aware that if Mr. Johnson ever wished to kidnap or kill her, no one would be there to stop him on that lonely road.
Yet, nothing had happened until today, and she believed nothing would happen after today either. Mr. Johnson might be a serial killer or a madman, but he had caused Emma no harm, and she had long since accepted this reality. She was certain that in fifteen seconds, when that terrifying hut belonging to the graveyard came into view, everything would remain the same.
As she continued her slow pace and her breathing deepened, she saw Mr. Johnson once again. This strangely muscular man was there, staring at Emma as always, his face a complete void of expression. In the past, Emma would have quickened her step, her breath hitching as she felt a constant darkness looming behind her. But now, she simply felt normal. These steady, fifteen-second gazes, broken only occasionally, no longer frightened her.
However, in the final seconds of this staring ritual, something unprecedented occurred. Mr. Johnson suddenly lunged up from the tattered old sofa where he sat every day. A devilish smile seemed to flicker across his face. In an instant, Emma increased her speed fivefold, fleeing the scene in a blur. Though she wasn't particularly athletic and the sprint lasted only a few seconds, she felt she was safe; she had escaped.
That is, until a pair of hands—hands whose owner she knew all too well—clamped onto her.
The blood drained from Emma's body. She spun around quickly, and though she dreaded seeing that massive man, all she truly saw was her vision fading into darkness. In the two milliseconds where she thought she was dying, she realized Mr. Johnson was actually trying to calm her down.
"Hey, I'm sorry," Mr. Johnson said. "You dropped your bag back by my house. I came to give it back. Here.". He handed it over, turned around, and began walking back toward the cemetery.
Emma couldn't believe what had just transpired. Within seconds, she had tasted the emotions of death, rescue, death again, shame, and profound relief. Mr. Johnson had actually been helping her, and she had been too blind to see it. The man had walked all that way—though for someone of his stature and strength, it wasn't a long walk—just to return her bag.
In that moment, Emma felt something for Mr. Johnson that she had never felt before: admiration. A deep, intense admiration. Though she managed to calm her heart, it was certain that she would never look at Mr. Johnson the same way again. The terrifying, mysterious man had been replaced by a helpful individual with a superhuman physique.
Lost in thought about the day's events, Emma didn't even notice she had reached home. She entered her room, stripped off her clothes, and stepped into the bathroom, waiting for the warm water to slowly strip away the day's burdens. After a while, her body temperature normalized, and the lukewarm water seemed to lift all the weight from her frame. If it were up to her, she could have showered forever. Even that strange incident had drifted from her mind. There was only the water, her legs aching from the run, and her thoughts... it was perfect.
She tasted true peace until her father entered the house and announced, "The male eagle has entered the nest.".
After her shower, she began to dress. The clothes, which felt slightly tight against her arms and legs, seemed to take away the serenity she had found in the bathroom as she pulled them on. Once dressed, she dried her hair and sent the first messages of the evening to her close friend, Joe, to recap the day:
-Emma: Joe, that psycho gravedigger chased me! Yes, you heard right—I mean, read right... I dropped my bag coming home... Emma: Honestly, for a second, I thought I was going to die.
Emma sent the messages, tossed her phone on the table, and began watching her favorite show. Downstairs, her father and her mother, who had just arrived, were talking loudly. Emma wouldn't call it an argument, because in their house, arguments turned into fights within two seconds. If it were a fight, the noise would be accompanied by palpable vibrations. In short, they were heading into an above-average evening.
In the comfort of this calm environment, Emma continued her show, which followed the story of two stupid lovers hunting ghosts. The episode was good—the ghost was caught—but as the minutes passed, Emma began to feel a growing sense of emptiness within her. She checked her phone hoping for a message, but there was nothing. Her family, likely due to their own exhaustion, hadn't even wondered if she was home.
"I wish I wasn't this lonely," Emma thought. She wished there was someone else, like Mr. Johnson, who watched her constantly and showed her interest. Even that giant of a man showed more obvious interest in Emma than her own family or Joe did.
While Emma wondered whether the world was strange or if she was the odd one, she saw her phone screen light up out of the corner of her eye. She grabbed it immediately, opened the chat with Joe, and began reading the long, laborious wall of text:
-Joe: Hey, are you joking? I warned you so much. You'd die if you walked an extra 2 kilometers, wouldn't you?
-Joe: Anyway, thank God he didn't kill you. Things worse than death could have happened. He could have used you and then killed you. At least nothing happened.
-Joe: Actually, you know what, we might have turned the guy into a devil in our minds. I mean, it's a nice gesture for him to come after you and give you your bag. Joe: Oh, I wish I could experience the same with our Max. Joe: Speaking of Max, we're going out for dinner. Wish me luck, don't disturb me, and stay out of trouble. Kisses on the lips.
Perhaps Joe was right. Maybe Mr. Johnson wasn't a bad man. Emma felt guilty for looking at him like a freak for all this time. She had insulted a good man with her glares, and that was wrong. Suddenly, Emma made a decision: tomorrow, on her way to work, she would stop by Mr. Johnson's place and thank him.
As she watched the world outside with the lightness of her decision, her mother knocked once and burst into the room. The ease on Emma's face vanished instantly.
"Emma, you're back," Mrs. Smith said. "Why don't you come downstairs and say hello? Ah, the youth of today. Anyway, your Aunt Julia has fallen ill. It's nothing serious, but we're going to see her. We'll be gone for a few days. If you want to come, come; otherwise, we're leaving in 15 minutes."
"You guys go," Emma replied. "I can't get time off anyway. Give Aunt Julia my love."
"Suit yourself, take care of yourself," her mother said.
After her mother left, Emma found herself under the dark clouds of sadness once again. It was as if she were a guest in this house rather than a daughter. Perhaps even guests received more attention! To end the day's ups and downs, Emma decided to sleep. She focused on the kindness she would show tomorrow, convincing herself that if she did good, she would find good, and stepped into the world of dreams.
The moment the first rays of light reflected on her wall, Emma began to wake from her deep sleep. She always woke early, ate the breakfast her parents (who had already left) had prepared, and set off for work. Although this daily cycle had become mundane, what made Emma's heart race this morning was the fact that she was going to speak to Mr. Johnson officially for the first time.
Mr. Johnson had done her a great favor yesterday by returning her bag, despite his terrifyingly muscular build. Coming from someone who appeared so abnormal, this was a significant kindness, and Emma felt she should at least say thank you. Perhaps after this thank-you session, Emma would never need to be timid or fearful while walking between home and work again.
Once she settled the thoughts and decisions in her head, Emma rose from bed. In the comfort of the morning warmth and the empty house, she put on the clothes she had taken off the night before, washed her face, finished a pre-packaged croissant standing up since no one had made her breakfast, and headed out.
Since the entire preparation process took only five minutes, Emma had no chance to think about what she would say until she was outside. Because the sun hitting her face caused her whole body to itch, she couldn't fully focus anyway. Emma walked for so long, scratching herself and contemplating her words, that she suddenly found herself in front of the old bus stop at the corner of the cemetery.
Despite her lack of preparation, the moment of truth had arrived for Emma. Although the idea of speaking to a man she had shuddered at, mocked with friends, and looked down upon irritated her every time, Emma was going to do the right thing this time.
After a few seconds of hesitation, Emma appeared at the front of the cemetery. She walked toward that terrifying hut, tensing her muscles so her legs wouldn't tremble. She heard Mr. Johnson shouting at his cat (or dog). His voice was incredibly deep and harsh. Much like his arms... Emma hadn't technically touched them, but she was certain Mr. Johnson possessed iron-hard arms.
She suppressed the attraction hormones that naturally arose from her feminine nature and knocked on the hut door three times.
It was clear Mr. Johnson was approaching the door with a grumble, but he chose to look out the window first. The moment he saw Emma, he backed away from the window, waited two or three seconds, and opened the door. "The girl from yesterday. Why are you here?" he said, even more sternly than the day before.
"You walked all that way yesterday to bring my bag back, thank you," Emma said.
"Yes, ah... You're welcome," Mr. Johnson replied.
Even though Mr. Johnson acted as if he were hearing a thank-you for the first time in his life, Emma's admiration for him grew. It was nonsensical—well, biologically speaking, it seemed perfectly logical—but to feel sympathy for Mr. Johnson?. This was unacceptable to Emma, but in that moment, she was no longer in control.
Emma wanted to end the long period of silence that followed. She extended her hand to Mr. Johnson and said, "Thank you again. Anyway, have a good day.". She pulled her hand back from Mr. Johnson's powerful grip, turned around, and began to walk away.
After a few meters, Emma looked back. Mr. Johnson was still staring at her in that terrifying, old-fashioned way. But Emma didn't care in the least. She had let him touch her; those three seconds where Mr. Johnson's hammer-like hands and her own delicate hand hung together in the air had made Emma feel things deeper than she had expected.
When Emma had extended her hand, she had, of course, wanted to feel his strength for a brief moment. But the emotions that followed that touch were even stranger than those of the day before. The moment she first made contact with Mr. Johnson, it was as if Emma were surrounded by a ring of fire. Her neck, her breasts, her legs—every part of her felt as though it had been cast into the flames at that first moment of contact. And Mr. Johnson's ice-cold hands felt as if they were plucking Emma out of that very fire.
Though she didn't want to admit it, Emma had grown to like Mr. Johnson. It was wrong; it was inappropriate for her to feel these things. But if it were appropriate, or if Emma had the courage to act as if it were, she would have turned back instantly and hugged Mr. Johnson.
But it was improper; it could not be. So, Emma tried to forget the fire she still felt within her and focused on the day ahead. Although she wanted to tell Joe about this, her goal of putting an end to these feelings gave her the strength to remain silent.
When Emma arrived at the restaurant, she saw that Mr. Yale had already opened the shop. She went inside, put on her apron, and the workday began for her with a different resonance. That different resonance within her was saying, "I hope Mr. Johnson comes in to eat today..." even as Emma tried to silence that voice.
End of Part 1.