Dr. Jaclyn Stefanson

Breaking! This just in! I'm Mary Struger, and I'm on the scene downtown where apparently 'The Flasher' strikes again! Residents say that this woman, her identity still a mystery, can be spotted at night wearing a long trenchcoat. We're joined now for comment by a local business owner who claims to have seen her. Tom?

Thanks, Mary. So there I was, wrapping up shop, and I hear this voice from behind me: "Do you want to see my goods?" And of course I know what that means. I'm an antiques dealer. Poor lass had missed my closing time! I turn around and open my mouth to tell her to come back tomorrow when BAM! She grabs the front of her trenchcoat and throws it open! The first thing I notice is, well, everything! She wasn't wearing any clothes underneath, and she had these huge brea-!

Click.

My hand strikes out so quickly, you'd think I'm keeping a snake tucked up my sleeve. Oh dearie me. I shouldn't have tuned in to the evening news... Honestly! I can't believe they'd use a word referring to the female chest area live on air! I'm going to have to have a candid chat with Tom next time I see him in the library, suggest him some polite alternative terms that he can use to be more respectful. And Mary... Oh, she's a nice girl, and I adore her local pieces, but the woman's always wanted to be bigger than she is. There's not much to report in a small town, and she reaches. That doesn't mean she needs to give the spotlight to... to an untoward character every evening! It's sensationalist nonsense, is what it is! I'll have to write her a letter maybe.

But I know Tom, and I know Mary. They're good people. This entire town is full of good people. That's why I love it here. But then there's her... this mystery woman. I needn't dignify her with a title. I... It's... Why... How can someone do something like that? In our little town of all places! It’s just so tawdry... To... to forgo underwear so that she can pull open her trenchcoat and... And for what? It’s October! Isn't she cold?!

Speaking of which I need to get home! I got all overexcited reorganizing all the book returns and lost track of time again. I push my glasses up my nose, give one last surveying glance at the ground floor. Deciding that it's neat and orderly enough, I decide to force myself to quit stalling. I grab the library key from behind the desk and make sure to double-triple-check the lock on my way out. One can never be too safe.

The streetlights are already on when my first step hits the sidewalk. I realize with a sinking feeling that it's already dark. It's so much darker than I thought it was. We were supposed to have a moon tonight, but the feeble waning crescent of it is smothered by rolling black clouds. What little light seeps is so dim that I cannot see the houses across the street. Gulp. The sidewalk is 'lit' by the overhead, but the formless void claws hungrily in my peripherals, begging my nervous glances into its black abyss.

I cannot move, and not for lack of trying. Primal instinct has taken me hostage. My knees lock in a shambling crouch, my legs tight, my hip turned preemptively. My entire essence is poised to twist so that I might propel myself to flee into the mad, raving night. I am a lamb in a slaughterhouse, a guileless creature following pretty lights on the death row of my dignity.

Something brushes me, and I nearly jump out of my skin.

"AIIIIEEEEiieEEeiEEee! Fu-fu-fudgemuffin!" I squeak, my voice cracking with the loudest noise I've made in years. "Nononono! Ireallydon'tneedtoseeallofthatthankyouverymuch!"

It's a plastic bag.

Nope. Nope, nope, nope. That settles it. I am NOT walking all five blocks back home. I would have a heart attack before I ever reached my door! I need a better plan. I could sleep in the library, but that place is incredibly ominous at night, and I admit that even as its fiercest defender. I need a better plan... ... ... Oh! There are people who live nearby. I could ask a neighbor! The benefit of living in a small town is that most everyone knows who I am. I head for the house nearest to the library, already running through a speech in my head.

'Hi, um, have you heard the news? There's a horrifying woman flashing her unmentionables at people!' No, no. Too forward. Much too forward. Besides, 'unmentionables' is practically a curse word. I wouldn't want to scandalize their ears.

'Hello there, dear neighbor. If you don't let me stay in your home, I will literally die of a heart attack.' No. Don't be a silly goose, Jaclyn. That's the nerves speaking. There's no need to put so much pressure on a potential host. Try something lighter.

'Hey there, neighborino. I need to borrow some sugar. And eggs. And your kitchen. And your couch for the foreseeable future.' No! Ugh. I doubt that joke would land. Plus I need to be clear. I'm not trying to make a joke. I'm deadly serious about moving in.

Wait. Moving in? Maybe that's the most important part of my pitch, the moving in thing. Because come to think of it, that's what I really want: Company. Protection. Safety in numbers. Someone who I know is nearby in case 'The Flasher' comes to get me. I would go insane with paranoia all alone at my own house! A locked door is a poor substitute for a friend, after all. I need to lead with that. I need to ask to move in, at least until this blows over.

Having reached a house now, I pause at the welcome mat and take a long, slow breath, trying to steady myself and prepare to project my voice beyond my local airspace. None of my signature mumbling for a request like this, no ma'am. I knock on the front door.

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