a flash story by David G Shrock

Sketchpad under arm, Julie marches on the sidewalk. Cold breeze lifts hair off shoulder, and she glances up at the eastern sky expecting the glow of the rising sun. A handful of stars twinkle above city haze.

On the next block over a delivery truck groans, gears crunching into position. The traffic light switches from green to yellow. Julie leaps onto the sidewalk. Black Mary Janes clap cement.

Headlights glare in the far lane of the one-way road, a shadow slides across road, and a car rumbles by.

Eyes adjusting, Julie spots a figure standing in the center of the nearest lane. Watching the form, she slips fingers into the handbag and around a can of pepper spray. She distrusts anyone out at this hour, least of all those standing in the middle of the road. Pace quickening, she marches keeping eyes on the form to the right.

Baseball cap turns in her direction. The figure steps closer.

Finger touches spray nozzle. She watches the man.

Dressed in a puffy coat, hands in pockets, he steps into the glow of the streetlight. A shadow falls over the face beneath the brim of the cap. Untied laces flop around the left shoe.

The man pulls hand from pocket. “You see them?” The voice, hushed as if whispering, bellows sending her skin crawling.

Slowing pace, she glances in the direction of the pointed finger finding an entrance to an alley. Stopping in the glare beneath the lamppost, she looks around.

Home resides four blocks away, and her aching feet beg for rest.

The man shuffles closer, left foot dragging.

Peering at the alley corner, she sees wood pallets stacked against the wall and other shapes hidden in the dark behind them. Brow rising, she shakes her head. “Who?”

“Them.” Although an attempt at whispering, the hoarse voice is loud enough for them to hear in the alley, if anyone is there to hear at all.

“I don’t see anyone.”

“Call the cops.” Facing the alley, the man stands up on his toes, wobbling. He appears drunk or disoriented, but otherwise normal in clothes too nice for a homeless man. “Hey you little monsters! We’re calling the cops!”

Mind jumping to full alert, eyes growing big, Julie searches the shadows within the alley. The cold air wrapping around her legs sends shivers rising up her body, mouth shuddering.

A clap explodes from the alley.

She leaps onto toes, eyes growing wider.

“Do you see them,” says the man, nearly shouting his hoarse whisper. Standing, he shifts from foot to foot and points into the alley.

Wishing for something stronger than pepper spray—a gun or a grenade even—she bounces up on her toes, pivoting around and searches for an escape.

Just beyond the street on the previous block, a dark figure marches on the sidewalk blocking retreat.

“There,” he says. “Right there they are!”

Twirling around, Julie sees the man stumble onto the sidewalk, coming at her, hands flying out. His eyes are huge, full of fear. She leaps back from the waving hands, watching the man tipping towards her. The cap flies free, and the man falls, palms clapping on the sidewalk. Metal skitters across the rough surface, a dark object slides up clanging against the base of the lamppost.

Gaze falling on the pistol, Julie snatches it up. Hugging the sketchpad with her left arm, her right hand rises pointing the gun at the alley, finger falling on the trigger. Her first time, but the gun feels comfortable in her hand as if it belongs there.

“No good,” says the man, climbing to his feet. “Can’t kill them.”

The entrance to the alley is as before, pallets stacked against the far wall near the corner.

Arms out, he shuffles closer.

Pointing the gun at the man, Julie scurries back three steps. “Stay away!”

“Please, lady.” He clasps his hands together, wild eyes darting about. “Make them go away.”

“Who’s in the alley?”

He bites down on fingers. “They stay in the shadows. Watching. Always watching.”

She sees something besides fear in those eyes: the glassy orbs of confusion. With all the shouting, anyone hiding is gone by now. There might be someone in there, she thinks, shot earlier by the crazy man. She glances over her shoulder.

The figure stands at the street corner, beside the walk sign, hands in his pocket, a silhouette hiding in the shadows. Watching.

One eye on the crazy man, gun pointed at the ground, foot stepping in front of the other, Julie slinks closer to the alley. Heart pounding, she holds her breath peering into the darkness. Her flesh crawls. Face turns to ice.

Behind the pallets, a shape leans against the wall. Six feet tall, it stands, unmoving. Growing from the darkness, shape and texture build, a wrinkled surface appears, a tarp wrapped around a cylindrical object.

Julie releases her breath.

Standing at the entrance to the alley, she peers at the street on the far side. Beyond the pallets and the tarp, trash cans stand along the both walls, paper cups litter the ground, a tire sits in a puddle at the center.

“No one is there,” says Julie, turning back to the man.

Headlights flood the road, an engine roars.

She stuffs the pistol into her handbag. Glancing down the road, she looks at the corner now lit by the passing car. Seeing no one there, she sighs. Heart slows to a normal beat.

Feet stomping the sidewalk, the man in the puffy coat storms away crushing cap underfoot.

Watching the man, Julie considers of all the animals in the world only humans scare the crap out of themselves.