Taste Of Midnight

RYLIE

“Good night!”

I wave a hand over my shoulder in reply, before stepping out of the bar. The air outside is cold tonight, but after spending an hour in there with the heat, talking with some of the customers over a couple shots of cheap whiskey, it feels good on my skin.

Okay. Let’s do this.

I shrug my shoulders as I head down the street, humming to myself to keep the tension away. It’s a bit quiet tonight, but I’ve never been out here beyond six in the evening, and I’m usually with company. Sometimes, it’s Mira from the workshop or Tenisha from that wedding or Thomas, my on-and-off nightstand. We would go to the bar, have a couple drinks and head home. It’s my first time being out this late, but it’s for good reason. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

The streetlights paint long shadows across the road as I walk, camera swinging on my shoulder, ready to take new shots. It’s been a week since I heard about the strange art popping up around the city, but no one seems to know where exactly. They all say or post one thing in common, though: there’s no tag, no signatures and it’s the weirdest graffiti they’ve ever seen. No one has gotten a picture so far, for some reason.

However, there are specific people who see and hear no evil, but will speak evil under the right circumstances…usually with the right amount of drink. They don’t hang around the bar in day time, though. And that’s why I’m out tonight.

I turn another corner, stepping into a darker, quieter street. A dog barks somewhere, jolting me, and then the silence falls back over the night. I pull my jacket tighter around my neck and keep walking. I drop one hand to my left pocket, where my taser bulges out, ready to sting. Not that I hope to use it tonight.

Every thought in my head screams that this is stupid. But I need this. I need something new. I need something raw, something that could blow up, maybe get me back into galleries instead of shooting photos at weddings and influencers for rent money.

And that’s why I didn’t tell Mira or Tenisha or Thomas. We aren’t very close, but they would tell me enough to get the idea out of my head.

I turn into the next alley. The men I had spoken to in the bar said they had seen a new graffiti, just around here. They also said it could be one of those gangs or cult stuff, but I’ll let my camera decide.

The alley smells of rotten bananas and spoilt milk and whatever else stings my nose like needles. I pull my jacket again, this time to cover my nose as I step forward. The air is colder in here, and the ground glistens faintly, wet with the day’s rain.

Even then, I’m sure that’s not the cause of the chill that creeps up my arms. I keep shooting glances over my shoulders, but there’s no one in sight.

I move deeper into the quiet alley, sidestepping a puddle of water just before I see it. In the dim lighting, there’s a mural on the right wall, strokes of black and red paint that curl and curve over and around, forming the strangest symbol I’ve ever seen. It’s dangerously beautiful.

I step forward, reaching up to touch it, but it’s high up on the wall. Someone would have to be really tall or have to climb a couple ladders to get up there. And would need a long time to spray or paint something as complex as that. So how come no one has spotted them yet?

I lift the camera, adjusting the focus to capture the mural. The lens click softly, once, twice, thrice. I blink down at the image and for a second, the edges seem to be moving.

I hear a sharp sound behind me that distracts me. I gasp, almost dropping the camera. I recognized the sound almost as soon as I heard it. Someone is choking.

My hand closes around the taser. No one is in sight, but I know I hadn’t imagined the sound. And sure enough, another sound follows. It’s a man’s voice, shaking and pleading.

“Please…I’ll tell you where the others are, I-”

Another choke cuts him off. Just further off, down the alley.

My thoughts are louder than ever, drowning out the sound of my rising heartbeat, telling me to leave right the fuck now. my feet move, but it’s toward the sound. Someone needs help, I try to tell myself.

I find them at the far end of the alley. A figure in a dark coat has his hand on a kneeling man’s throat. The victim is dressed in a silver suit that looks like a uniform, and his eyes are wide in terror.

“Please-” he chokes again.

The man holding him says nothing, his arm steady and inhumanly still.

My stomach twists into a knot. I take a step backwards, ready to sprint down the alley. This was definitely a BAD idea.

“Get this over with, already,” a voice says somewhere in the dark, jolting me.

I narrow my eyes, trying to trace the sound, but there’s no one in sight, except the two men in front of me. And the kneeling one starts to beg again.

“No, please, please…I’ll leave, alright? You’ll never see me again, j-just…let me go.”

The man holding the captive tilts his head, just slightly enough to reveal the length of his jawline and his teeth. That’s what stops my breath. His teeth are sharp, just like fangs. No. they ARE fangs.

“Okay,” he whispers.

Then he twists his hand suddenly and there’s a sick, sharp crunching sound. The body drops like a puppet cut loose.

Another gasp leaves my lips, louder this time. The killer turns, and I have just enough time to see a pair of glowing red eyes.

Fuck this. I turn and run.

My sandals slap loudly against the wet pavement, my heart pounding painfully against my ribs, my camera banging against my chest. Behind me, oh my God, I can hear running footsteps. I’ve always been fast, naturally, even won gold twice in 200M sprint back in high school. But the steps behind me are rapid as hell and I know it’s only seconds before he catches up to me.

“Shit.”

I take a sharp turn, ducking through a gap between buildings. The alley opens up ahead, and I cut right across the street, blindly ducking into another alley. I press my back against the wall, trying to still my painful breathing. My hand fumbles on my phone, as I try to call for help.

He didn’t see me. He couldn’t have. Yes, yes, that’s why I can’t hear his footsteps any longer.

The operator picks the call. Thank God. “911, what’s your emergency?”

My hands are still shaking as I hold the phone up to my lips, my other hand gripping the taser like a lifeline.

“THERE YOU ARE.” The voice is right above me. I look up, barely aware of my phone slipping out of my hand, clattering to the ground.

A pair of glowing blue eyes are floating above me, followed by a wide smile. Revealing sharp, white fangs.

Everything suddenly spins. Everything goes dark and I hear my head hit the concrete.