2

Eleanor picked up her pace her leather boots stomping on the wet cobbles with a passion she could no longer conceal not even from herself. The soot-blackened brick walls of the narrow alley she had chosen as a shortcut seemed to go on forever enclosing her like the walls of a tomb. Her nostrils were filled with the lingering odor of dampness and debris along with a subtle hint of salt from the adjacent docks. The echoes of the dilapidated buildings lining the passageway intensified the sound of every step in the cramped area. New York with its unadulterated energy and contradictions had always been her favorite city but tonight she saw it in a new way: as a maze of dangers and shadows waiting in the dark. The October wind which had been happy to nibble at her cheeks up until that point became increasingly persistent and began to whistle between the loose planks of the deserted warehouses. There were vague murmurs that accompanied it as though the night itself were working together to warn her. The soft fabric of Eleanors shawl no longer provided any comfort even though she tightened it around her shoulders. A ball of anxiety had taken root in the pit of her stomach and would not go away no matter how many times she told herself that she was almost there and that this alley would soon lead to a more open square where she could breathe more freely. The dampness caused her chestnut hair to become slightly undone so she took a moment to adjust her bonnet. She strained her ears to listen to the nights sounds as she did so. The familiar sounds of the city appeared to have diminished muffled by the darknesss weight. No more carriage wheels creaking on distant cobblestones no more inebriated laughter from the taverns. The sound of the wind whistling plus something else. There was a fainter nearly undetectable sound coming from behind her like gentle footsteps. Her fingers gripped her velvet bags strap tighter as she scowled. Her heart was thumping in her chest as she spun around wondering if it was an echo of her own footsteps or if it was someone elses. From what she could see in the low light the alley was deserted. This area had very few streetlights and the flickering light from an oil lamp suspended from a rusty hook didnt go very far. She tried to see through the darkness by squinting. Nothin. Only an old gutted barrel a stack of overturned crates close to one wall and a stray cat—a ball of grayish fur—that dashed through the rubble with a low hiss. With a slow exhale Eleanor released a cloud of mist into the cool air. Too much imagination she whispered to herself her trembling voice revealing her lack of conviction. She emitted a short trembling laugh that reverberated uncannily in the quiet. However she continued to feel as though someone was following her sneakily like an unseen hand stroking the back of her neck. Her father Theodore had always been amused and frustrated by her vivid imagination which she had always maintained. How many times as a child had she pleaded with him to tell her stories about ghosts and creatures that lurked in the shadows? How many times had she wished she had never heard those stories when she woke up in the middle of the night certain that a monster was hiding beneath her bed? But she was no longer a child. It was time for her to stop seeing ghosts where there were only shadows she was twenty years old. As if to give herself more courage she told herself this as she started to walk again her boots clicking louder against the cobblestones. However she had only just begun to move when the sound reappeared this time with greater clarity. Her own rhythm was matched by her light but steady footsteps. She came to a sudden halt once more nearly tripping over a loose stone. Heavy and oppressive silence descended once more but the footsteps ceased nearly simultaneously with her. The sound was not an echo. A chilling shiver went up her back. 

Her heartbeat accelerated thumping like a war drum in her temples as it traveled down her spine. She whirled around again looking from one suspicious shadow to another and around the alley. nothing. Nothing at all. However the instinct that had prompted her to accelerate her pace a few minutes before was now yelling in the back of her mind alerting her to the fact that she was not alone. She called her voice more firm than she had imagined Whos there?. Even from a drunk or a thief she nearly hoped for a response—something concrete to face. However the wind was the only one to respond a high-pitched whistle that seemed to mock her boldness. Her cotton gloves allowed her nails to dig into her palms as she clenched her fists. She refused to allow fantasies to intimidate her. She had passed through this alley numerous times day and night and she had never experienced any problems. It was not going to begin this evening. However as she started walking again a picture from her fathers stories suddenly appeared in her head. He frequently talked about creatures of the night beings that hid in the shadows and were not visible to mortals until it was too late. She always thought that vampires werewolves and specters were stories that were meant to scare kids and serve as cautionary tales. But these tales took on a more authentic ominous hue tonight in this oppressive alley. With an irritated snort she shook the idea away. Her voice was not firm but she muttered Ridiculous. . Upon arriving at the end of the alley she was greeted by a small empty square with a dried-up fountain in the middle its eroded sculptures barely discernible in the shadows. The buildings that surrounded the square had dilapidated facades and boarded-up windows that gave the impression that they were warily observing onlookers. In order to calm herself Eleanor stopped for a moment and inhaled deeply. She was reminded of her mothers walks by the Hudson years before by the scent of salt and wet stone in the air. Her anxiety was somewhat reduced by the pleasant and familiar memory and she gave herself permission to smile hesitantly. She lived just a few blocks away from her house. Everything would be alright. However a fresh sound stopped her in her tracks as she was ready to continue her journey. The sound this time was not footsteps but rather a faint rustling as though someone or something had moved out of sight in the shadows. She looked around taking in the squares features. Beyond that a vague hardly noticeable shape appeared to stand out against a buildings wall. An old newspaper was rolling on the ground propelled by a gust of wind. Her breath hung in her chest as she squinted. Before she could determine whether it was a man or an illusion the shape vanished seemingly engulfed by the darkness. Even though it was freezing outside Eleanor felt a cold sweat appear on her forehead. She had lost the desire to laugh at her own anxiety. She had no doubt that something was amiss. Before she could take another step a very real figure appeared from a recess a few meters ahead of her as she spun around prepared to run toward the main street. She ran into a stout man with a rusty knife glittering in his hand his face etched with dirt and resentment. She realized that the night which up until that point had only served as a foreboding background had suddenly turned into a very real threat as the fear she had attempted to repress erupted inside of her like a storm.