Free The Hauntings of Playing God (The Great De-Evolution) by Chris Dietzel

These thoughts plague her and she completes her chores.
    Maybe life is measured by the first time you have to hurt another living thing and by the moment you can finally live in peace.
    She is exhausted and falls into bed. The gymnasium is dark. The moon offers little illumination. Only the faint outline of objects around the group home can be made out. The shapes of each cot can be seen. Each Block fades into the mass of shadows, though. For once, it is not raining. Also, she notices, for once in a long time her hands do not ache.
    There is no noise except for the air conditioner clicking on every once in a while to save them from the hot nights. The birds, wherever they go when the sun is gone, are quiet. The feral cat that calls out in the night—she still can’t decide if the calls are to search for a mate or if the cat is scared and alone—is also quiet.
    In that moment, she is sure she is being watched. The hairs on the back of her neck tell her this. They stick straight out. She has goose bumps. There is no noise to indicate she is being spied on. No footsteps. No opening and closing of a door. But the hairs on the back of her neck do not lie. They didn’t lie back when she was a young girl watching horror movies, knowing a knife-wielding madman was about to jump out from the shadows and slash a victim to pieces, and they don’t lie now.
    She looks toward the main entrance. An old EXIT sign, somehow still working after all these years, offers a reminder of the safety precautions that former generations needed. The red glow of the light illuminates almost nothing. No one is there. She looks to the side door, thought of as the emergency exit. Unlike the other one, the sign above this door has long since burned out. But with the moon’s light, she can see that no one is standing there either.
    I’m going crazy , she thinks. There isn’t even anyone around to spy on me.
    But the feeling does not go away. In fact, it only intensifies. Somewhere, somebody in the enlarged room is staring at her. She is sure of it. Squinting, it looks as though the far corners of the gym are motionless. Each one has the same boxes of supplies that have always been there. She even looks up to the rafters, where the moon comes through, with the thought that perhaps someone is up there. Maybe someone crept in through one of the windows and is sneaking around above her.
    What am I doing? I’m alone. If anyone were here, they would have to be a hundred years old. They aren’t going to be sneaking around forty feet in the air.
    But the feeling of being watched refuses to go away.
    After scanning the entrances and rafters, every corner and shadow in the gym, she knows the staring can only be coming from one place. One of the Blocks is staring at her. At least one of them, maybe more.
    It’s crazy. It’s impossible. She knows this. But at the same time, she knows if someone is watching her, it must be someone within the four quadrants. Her eyes scan from bed to bed, but even the closest cots are covered in shadow, the Blocks on top of them vague shapes without distinguishable facial features.
    The Blocks can only stare at the things their eyes happen to be resting on, and even then they don’t perceive what their eyes are gazing at. But somehow, somewhere, one of them is staring at her. A set of eyes is hunting her. She can feel them casting judgment. The verdict is not good. She feels, from within the dark, hatred directed at her. A plan for revenge is being set.
    She wants to call out to whoever is watching. “You there, whoever you are, you don’t know what’s going on. Let me explain. I’m trying my best.”
    Right then, her eyes open and she realizes it was only a dream. She was so tired she doesn’t even remember closing her eyes, only falling into bed. But as she lies there, eager for more sleep before she has to begin the day’s chores, she thinks about the response she might have gotten if the dream had lasted another