Terror of the Night

The hour was late, well past midnight, when she finally stepped out of the bar. The crisp night air bit at her skin, her breath visible in the faint glow of the streetlights.  She cursed herself under her breath. "Stupid, I'm so stupid," she muttered, her voice barely louder than a whisper.  She had meant to leave hours ago but got caught up in the evening's events.  Now, with the buses no longer running, she had no choice but to walk home alone.

The city felt so different at night, the familiar vibrant city streets were now empty, shadowy, and ominous.  Steam rose from the vents, creating ghostly figures that danced and disappeared.  She quickened her pace, eager to escape the eerie stillness of the night.

Clop... clop... clop...

Her heart skipped a beat.  What the hell was that?  The sound of heavy boots echoed behind her. She glanced back, eyes straining to see in the dim light.  A shadowy figure was moving toward her, their pace quickening.  Panic surged through her.  Her friends had left the bar long ago; this person was no one she knew.

She turned a corner, hoping to lose them, but the footsteps followed, faster now.  Clop, clop, clop!  Adrenaline shot through her veins, banishing any lingering sleepiness.

Her mind raced to a news story she had seen just days ago about a woman alone that had been attacked and sexually assaulted.  The incident took place in a nearby city.  The details were fuzzy but she recalled it happened at a park in broad daylight, no wait that’s not right it was at night and the victim was walking home. Oh God she realized the suspect was still at large.

Her neck tensed with terror.  She needed to get away, to disappear from sight.  The street ahead was long, and she wouldn't make it to the end to turn the corner out of sight before her pursuer could see her.  An alley halfway down offered a potential escape route.  She dashed for it, heart pounding in her chest.

Clop, clop, clop!  The footsteps grew louder, closer. She reached the alley and turned into it, praying she was fast enough to make it out of sight.  She heard the footsteps turn onto the street she was just on.

If she ran now, she could get out of the alleyway onto the next street before he noticed. She took off running and could hear the heavy footsteps on the street behind her. Suddenly they stopped. Feeling that she had lost him, she paused to look back.

A silhouette appeared at the mouth of the alleyway.  A large man, his features obscured by shadows, stood there, he was looking directly at her.  He yelled something incomprehensible and then broke into a sprint.  She screamed, the sound tearing from her throat.  There was no doubt now—he was chasing her.

Her self-defense training came flooding back. First priority: if you can get away, do it.  She ran for her life, tears blurring her vision.  She burst out of the alley onto the next street, scanning for anyone who could help, but it was deserted.  Businesses were closed, their darkened windows offering no refuge. She knew she couldn’t outrun him and looked desperately for a place to hide but found none.

Another alleyway beckoned from across the street. She darted into it, hoping there was an exit to a busy street.

Oh no! oh no, oh no. To her horror it was a dead end. A solid wall loomed at the far end. She was trapped.  She had to find somewhere to hide. The only thing in the alley was a large dumpster. She quickly ducked behind it, crouching low, her body trembling.

The footsteps reached the deserted street and paused. Then they started again, but this time the sound of his steps grew softer, he was moving away from her.  She let out a slight sigh of relief before she heard it again.

Clop... clop... clop... The steps grew louder, closer.

The sound of his steps crossed the alley entrance, retreated away and then returned.  He was searching for her.  She clamped a hand over her mouth, stifling her breaths.  Her heart thundered in her chest, each beat echoing in her ears. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying he wouldn't find her.  The footsteps stopped. She dared to peek around the dumpster.

He was a grotesque man just feet away wearing an evil smirk on his face.  His eyes scanning the alley for his victim.  He muttered something in a language she couldn't understand. Russian, maybe?  Or Polish?  Memories of articles about human trafficking in Eastern Europe flooded her mind, adding to her terror.

Priority number two from her self-defense class came to mind: if you cannot get away then be prepared to defend yourself at all costs. She reached into her purse, fingers searching for anything she could use as a weapon.  Her nail file—a small but sharp object—would have to do. Sweat trickled down her forehead, her muscles tense with fear. She prepared herself for the worst.

The man moved closer, his muttering growing louder.  He was just feet away now.  She gripped the nail file, ready to fight. As he rounded the dumpster, she lunged forward with the file, screaming, "Stay away from me!"

He stopped, raising his hands in surrender.  His sudden compliance made her pause.  In the dim light, she saw his face more clearly.  He wasn't smirking; he was smiling, a look of concern on his face.  He held something out to her—her clutch bag. She must have left it at the bar.

"I sorry, no mean scare you," he said in a thick accent. "You leave at bar. I want give back."

She stared at him, disbelief and relief flooding her simultaneously.  He smiled, a warm, genuine expression, and handed her the clutch.  "I go back now. Be safe," he said, turning to leave.

She watched him go, her heart still racing.  The alleyway seemed less menacing now, the shadows retreating.  She took a deep breath, the terror slowly ebbing away.  With a clear mind she could recall now that she had misremembered the news story, they had caught the perpetrator. As she walked home, she couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of the night.