The Darkness

The early morning air clung to her like a spent lover, curling her hair and making her a tad more than irritated, but the irritation bled quickly away to fear as she approached the curb. With one last step she abandoned the relative safety of the streetlights, plunging into a darkness that seemed complete. Her scuffed tennis shoes pounded on the broken pavement in perfect time to her beating heart. Every morning the fear held her like this, cutting into her all along the pre-dawn stillness of Waller Avenue.

She hated this walk, hated the fact that there were no better jobs closer to home, that the buses didn't come this way, and that she had no hope of getting a car at only five dollars an hour. Every morning, she thought, I bust my butt at five-fucking-thirty in the a.m. to make two miles in a half hour just so that the morning-types can have their coffee jolt first thing. She hated it. She was a night owl. The only sunrises she had seen before this summer were on her way to bed. Now that it was autumn, the world was still dark as pitch, with only the birds holding out hope for light. Being autumn in Kentucky, mornings could be crisp or muggy like this one, almost as if by whim. From atop a telephone line, a mockingbird sang a song loud enough to wake the dead. Further away, the robins were beginning their din. She could feel the trickle of sweat winding down her spine and between her breasts. She'd worn a windbreaker against rain, but the water just clung in the air like so much mist without forming drops. She unzipped the jacket and shook it off, freeing her skin from the plastic. She instantly felt cooler, and turned her attention back to the treacherous sidewalk.

You would never know we're in the middle of the city. Not a streetlight all along this stretch, not until you get past the tracks. Wonder what fine mind in the urban city government thought that up? Waller Avenue was part of what was called a secondary service area. The garbage collection was contracted out to someone other than the city, the only lights for blocks were the isolated porch lights burning vainly against the gloom. She was surprised they had city water and sewer. At some point this neighbourhood had been in the suburbs, but now it lay near the heart of the city and had for decades. Instead of putting in streetlights and other niceties, the city left it all up to the neighbourhood.

On some nights it wasn't that bad. Waller went almost due west, so during full moon she could walk towards the great globe hanging lazily above, and pretend she'd be getting closer to it with each step. Sometimes she did that. She'd pick a house or tree and concentrate fully on it. It took away some of the fear and boredom. It wasn't the safest way to go, but no one ever really walked down Waller at this time of night, and she stayed as far from the side of the road as she could, walking so she'd see any cars approaching.

At just that moment a car appeared, its halogen lights blinding her long enough that she had to stop and try to blink the afterimages out. Everyone drove down Waller with their brights on this time of night. Damn, she said. I was almost to Elizabeth Street. Not that much longer till I had light again. Why'd they have to come just then? Now I'm almost blind. She stopped, not wanting to walk on up through the intersection or over the train tracks until her eyes cleared.

The thing watched her from the darkened porch, a red cigarette ash the only clue betraying its presence. The girl just stood there stupidly, looking confused. The thing smiled. These mortals have such fragile bodies, it thought, and their eyes are so easily dazzled. It took a long, deep drag on the cigarette, then looked down at it and tossed it away, crushing it with a boot. It could vaguely catch the aftertaste of tar and nicotine. Disgusting habit, it thought. Don't know why I took it up. Maybe it's time to cut back. After all, it thought with a wicked grin, smoking kills. It turned its attention to the girl She was a little plump and walked with absolutely no sense of self-preservation, walking with a slump that cried, "victim". A windbreaker trailed in one hand listlessly, while a purse dangled from the other shoulder, frequently falling down to where she had to adjust it. This is almost too easy, it thought, almost not worth the effort. But the hunger rose in response. It had not fed in some time, and passing up a meal so nearly delivered into one's lap would mean allowing its body to weaken, which it couldn't afford. Besides, it would enjoy letting its beast out to play. Its eyes focused on the prey as it slipped into trailing mode, moving with silent grace along the road.

She made her way to the tracks. Almost there, she thought with relief. She listened to the quiet for any sound of a train approaching. She hated crossing the tracks. Once the gates had come crashing down on either side of her, scaring her so badly she nearly wet herself; it got even creepier when no train came.

It didn't look like there'd be wayward gates tonight. She let out a relieved sigh. She could see the first streetlight ahead, glaring over the Central Kentucky Blood Center and bleaching the very utilitarian '60s building to a flesh tone. Beyond that there were some offices and the bakery's shopping center. It was only an eighth of a mile or so ahead.

She looked both ways and started to go across the tracks.

It hit her without warning, tearing into her back with all the thrust of its momentum sending her to the ground. Her head hit and bounced against the metal plates where the tracks lay embedded, but her neck snapped back as something pulled her ponytail hard from behind. She tried to scream, but her face was shoved back into the tracks and ground with such force her jaw snapped.

She tried to breathe, tried to focus on the thing that was hurting her. Oh, God, she thought, how many times did you make up stories to get you through the last stretch. She'd imagined it the perfect hunting ground for serial killers and rapists. Somehow, even though her back felt ripped open and raw, this seemed more like one of those make-believe stories. She used to dream of writing them all down sometime, becoming some famous mystery writer, and dumping the evil bakery job. No more rich-kid flunkies with their expensive cars whose parents thought they should have some sort of job to teach them responsibility. No more pretentious academics telling her their life stories. No more going to bed at three and getting up at five so joggers could get their breakfasts--she hadn't been able to resist the fantasy's pull.

Oh, God, she thought, let the joggers be out already. Somebody help me! But her face was still tight against the track with a weight she couldn't seem to shake pressing her into the grooves. She tried to shift so she could breathe, but she slipped, then realised she was lying in her own blood atop the windbreaker. Oh, God, Oh, God, Oh, God… Her brain was starting to seize up. This can't be happening!

"But it is," a voice said, sibilant and raspy at the same time, so close to her ear she started. The sound of it vibrated in her bones, in her head, like it almost had a substance of its own. "My," it said again, and this time she felt a wetness as a tongue glided along the curve of her ear, "you might be worth it after all. I haven't felt such fear in some time. Such a lovely appetizer." Her legs and torso were still held down by a heavy weight, but the arm holding her hair pulled back further so she could just see a face in the periphery. "Let's check out the main course." In a wrenching motion, it flipped her over, still holding her down, a hand coming down painfully on her mouth. Until that moment she didn't really know what she'd expected. Some weird-ass druggie, perhaps, or drunken strongman looking for a good time. She looked into the death-white face and her eyes widened as fear was replaced by shock. An inch from her, the--thing's--eyes shone a bright crimson. I'm losing it, she thought. I froze up and now I'm losing it, and I'm going quietly mad while someone rapes and kills me. Oh, God. The thing's eyes were like whirling flame, focused directly on her own, and it felt as if she were falling through a pit of sharpened knives. The last thing she saw was the thing's grin, a cross between a leer and a sneer, with hunger written all over its face. The grin widened and she saw two canines, razor sharp, poking out from its lips. For a few moments her mind shrieked as it peeled her senses away, so that the only thing left was the pain as it sank its teeth into her throat. Too late, too late, her beating heart seemed to say. She could just make out the first greyness coming from the east, breaking the darkness, but dawn was still long away. Too late, too late. The blood flowed from her and she felt her vision dimming at the edges, her body locked in place, unable to move. Fire tore at her insides as the pain grew in waves to climax. Too late, too late. The joggers would wonder why the store was closed. Too late, too late. Maybe there were worst things than stupid five-dollar-an-hour jobs. Too late, too late. The words came slower, her heart beat slowed, and she felt herself floating above herself in the last dim awareness, towards escape. Then with one last wrenching pain, she was jolted back inside her body and everything went black.

* * *

The thing looked down at the ruined body with satisfaction, licking the last of the blood and gore from its lips. It was not a tidy feeder, true, but very little of the blood had gone to waste. The body was merely a shell, like a crumpled wrapper. The thing looked up at the eastern sky the spreading fingers of dawn, then picked up the body and threw it into the bushes like so much trash. Smiling with the satisfaction of a good meal, it stalked off towards the still-dark west, searching for shelter as the birds timidly began to sing once more.