© 2006 Peter Stone. All rights reserved
Diseased, anaemic light suppurated down from the street, oozing along the sides of the office blocks lining the alley, bleeding out, barely reaching the building at the far end. I was alone in a world of poisonous, cancerous shadow.
Christ, Kennedy! What the hell is the matter with you? Do you really think ... Behind me!
I spun around, shoes scraping on the concrete, the noise resounding around the buildings. It sounded like they - like he - was sniggering at me. At my foolishness. There was no-one there, of course, but the hair at the back of my neck bristled. I could feel them; his eyes. Don't ask me how, but I was sure he was watching me. Just as any predator will watch prey that has foolishly wandered into its territory.
This was where he lived. This was where others died. A place I had no business being, yet it was a place I had to be. I had to know if he was going to kill here again; if this was where he was going to sacrifice another innocent woman in my name. If he hadn't done so, already.
The walls stopped snickering.
I moved deeper into the shadows.
2 comments:
"This was where he lived. This was where others died. A place I had no business being." Sounds to me like he's outside the apartment building where Geoffrey Dahmer lived! Scary. Horrible. He'd better get the hell out of there. Run don't walk! Scream don't shout!
well you sent shivers up my spine.
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