I adjusted the strap of my bag and stepped into the alleyway, the darkness folding around me like a second skin.
I kept my head down, the glow of my phone screen bouncing off my face as I scrolled through Instagram, then Twitter, then back to Instagram again, anything to ignore how the quiet alley stretched ahead like a dark throat waiting to swallow me.
My footsteps echoed, hollow and uneven, and every shuffle of wind or rustle of garbage made my heart jump. The distant sound of sirens kept me grounded for a moment but it soon stopped.
I shouldn't have taken this route. I really shouldn't have taken this route. What was I even thinking?
I kept swiping, forcing my brain to latch onto anything else, and then a headline caught my eye.
BREAKING: Unidentified Vehicle Crashes on Bridge: Driver Missing
The grainy photo showed a black car flipped onto its roof, multiple others around it smashed in. My thumb hovered, reading fast. The place it happened was about a couple of streets away.
No one was inside. No blood. No body. The driver just… vanished.
I blinked at the screen, confusion twisting inside me. What the hell?
That's when I heard it.
Clang!
A loud, jarring crash against metal, too close.
My heart dropped to my ass and I froze in place.
It came from the trash cans.
I stood absolutely still, eyes wide, trying to keep my breathing quiet. My instincts screamed at me to run, run now, but my legs wouldn't listen.
Another sound. A low, rough groan.
No. Nope. Hell no.
My brain immediately jumped to ghost. That stupid, creepy story about the woman in the alley flashed across my mind. I couldn't feel my hands anymore.
Just as I was about to sprint, something launched out of the trash with a snarl.
I screamed.
A full-body, undignified, guttural scream.
The cat, fat, orange, pissed-off, shot out from the garbage like a missile and darted past me with a loud meow.
My legs obeyed now, running before I could think. But just as I bolted past the trash pile, my eyes flicked down and I saw something that didn't make sense.
A boot.
Black. Scuffed. Attached to a leg.
I skidded to a stop.
What the f—
I turned slowly, every instinct howling at me to just go, don't be dumb, don't be that girl in the horror movie but something heavier than fear anchored me.
That groan hadn't come from a cat.
With my phone's flashlight trembling in my grip, I stepped back toward the garbage heap. Bags rustled in the breeze, the air thick with the stench of rot and something… metallic.
I moved closer, my breath held tight.
And there he was.
A man.
Collapsed between two trash cans, half-buried in ripped garbage bags, dressed entirely in black like a villain in some of those Van-Damme movies I watched religiously. Blood smeared down the side of his face, his body unnaturally still, except for the slight rise and fall of his chest.
Barely breathing.
My whole world slowed to a thudding heartbeat in my ears.
I stared at him, at the man lying there like some discarded mannequin, limbs too still, face half-covered in blood and dirt and god-knows-what-else and my brain completely short-circuited.
Was he dead?
Should I poke him?
No, Kina, don't poke the maybe-dead guy in a trash pile. That's how you get cursed.
I crouched a little, just to see if he was, like, breathing—and I saw his chest rise. Barely. Shallow. But there.
Alive. Injured. And now definitely not my problem.
I stood up fast, hands in the air like someone just accused me of something, backing away from him like nope nope nope. "Okay. Okay. Emergency services. That's the adult thing to do," I muttered to myself. "You don't touch bloody unconscious alley man. You call the people with gloves and degrees."
I turned, heart still trying to run laps in my chest, and unlocked my phone with trembling fingers.
I dialed 119, and the line started ringing.
Okay, good. I'm doing something useful. I'm not gonna get haunted or sued.
It rang once…twice—
"Emergency services, state your—"
And then I felt it. The warmth of someone behind me. Not figurative. Not spiritual. Literal, human, full-body heat.
And then, cold metal against my temple. My breath seized. My whole body locked up like a broken doll.
A big, blood-slicked hand crept over my mouth, slow and firm, and I swear I could taste the metallic tang of whatever was on it. A low voice rumbled right behind my ear, so close I felt it vibrate down my spine.
"If you scream," he whispered, voice like gravel soaked in gasoline, "I'll paint this alley with your brains."
My phone slipped from my fingers. It clattered onto the ground, screen cracking like the inside of my soul.
And me?
I couldn't even breathe. I was already shaking like a leaf.
My thoughts flatlined. My knees went weak. My bladder politely considered leaking.
And all I could think was—
Oh great. Now I'm gonna die in a fucking alley next to a maybe-dead man, with a hot dog in my shopping bag and half my rent unpaid.