The Dark City

CW: Physical and sexual violence, gore

This city is a living thing. It breathes, thinks and feeds, it has a history and a personality. And moods. Just like all the most fascinating people, it’s unpredictable: it can charm you, embrace you or turn on you when you least expect it. On a sunny day, the city is bright, bustling and full of energy. At night, it changes. It looms over you, snaps at you, mutters threats. There’s no telling how it might trip you up: what monsters might lurk in the darkness.

It had been a fun night. It was Georgia’s birthday and she wanted cocktails and cheesy pop so we’d all been to Reflex. It’s about the last place I’d choose for a party – bright lights, gaudy colours, crowds – but it wasn’t my choice to make. Georgia seemed happy and, to my surprise, I quite enjoyed myself too. By 3am, I was addled from the booze and sweaty from the dancing so I made my excuses. I promised the others I’d text them when I got home but they were too far gone to ask whether I really should leave on my own.

At its best, I love Broad Street. At night, especially really late at night, it makes my skin crawl. The dirt and darkness seems to ooze off the buildings. It makes me feel sordid, like I need a shower to wash the street off me. And then there’s the quiet. I like quiet but when a place is usually noisy and bustling, quiet is all wrong – in the quiet, you can hear whispers from every alleyway. So why did I come this way when I could have been in a taxi by now? Truth is, I don’t think it was a conscious decision.

And then come the catcalls – two drunken idiots lolling in a doorway.

‘Alright darling. You want some company?’

‘We’ll both keep you company if you like.’

‘Yeah. We’ll take it in turns to keep you company, all night!’ Out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of exaggerated pelvic thrusts. The two of them cackle. I’m not worried. Guys like that are all talk. They say horrible things but they just get a kick out of freaking you out; they never actually do anything.

It’s the younger guy who makes me uneasy: the guy sitting on a bench outside a chicken shop, just ahead of me. Sandy hair, fiddling with his lighter. He looks up as I get closer.

‘Hello.’

I ignore him and keep walking.

‘I said hello.’

Uh-oh. Don’t make eye contact.

‘Oh come on. That’s not very friendly.’

He gets up from the bench and starts walking with me. I’m suddenly aware of my breathing. He hunches his shoulders in a way that makes his head hang slightly, like a dog that’s been kicked once too often. I turn down Gas Street. He follows.

‘Hey, I was just trying to be nice.’ He giggles and carries on talking – talking too fast. ‘You know, it’s late at night. You need to be a bit careful out here on your own. There are all sorts of weirdos around.’ He giggles again. My mouth feels dry.

This is how it works. They’re always trying to be nice. Until they realise you’re not interested. Then they’re not nice anymore.

‘Right’. I say. Of course, he takes that as an encouragement.

‘Right,’ he agrees. He nods his head and smiles awkwardly. ‘I’m Jonny.’ He offers me his hand. I glance at it and look away. I keep walking.

‘What’s your name?’ Jonny asks. This time, I’m not replying. ‘No, don’t tell me. I can guess! Sarah?’

I don’t reply.

‘Molly? Jessica?’

Still trying to ignore him. He can keep guessing for as long as he likes.

‘Grace?’

How in God’s name did he guess that? I can’t help reacting. He sees the pause in my step, the flicker of recognition on my face.

‘It is, isn’t it? Your name is Grace!’ He laughs. ‘Oh, this is perfect.’

I can feel panic stirring in me now, along with something deeper I can’t name. I turn left through the brick archway on to the canal path. Probably not a great idea if I want him to leave me alone but by now, I’m not thinking logically. Again, Jonny follows me. I quicken my pace, trying to lose him without making it look like I’m scared. He’s still talking, as fast and awkward as ever.

‘Can I be honest for a minute? I think you’re really pretty. Especially your hair. I’ve always liked brunettes and that asymmetric thing really works for you. I have to say you are looking good!’ He laughs again. If he’s trying to make me feel more at ease, he is failing.

‘Hey, Grace, what’s the hurry? Wait.’ He grabs hold of my wrist, jerking me back towards him. His voice takes on a harder edge. ‘I’m not finished yet.’

Shit. He’s holding both of my wrists now. Holding them tight.

‘Now, I’m not asking for much here. I’m not being unreasonable. Just a kiss, that’s all. Just give me a kiss.’

His hands are moving, onto my waist, my hips, my backside. I push against his chest, backing away, but his grip is strong – surprisingly strong for a man who looks small and thin.

‘Hey, what’s wrong? Come on, just a kiss.’

One hand moves more decisively, taking hold of my face. He pulls me to him and kisses me roughly. I taste cigarettes and stale beer. The taste mingled with my own adrenaline makes me nauseous. Memories of the last time come crashing in. Now I can feel the last guy’s hands on me too and smell his cheap cologne. I push hard, spring back and instinctively slap Jonny as hard as I can. He lets go for a second but then grabs me again before I can run. His voice is lower, angrier.

‘You shouldn’t have done that. I was just trying to be nice, trying to pay you a compliment but you had to spoil it, didn’t you? Girls like you are all the same. You don’t appreciate the nice guys and then you wonder why you can only attract the ones who treat you like trash. I think it’s time you learned what a real man is like.’

I freeze, terrified. But is it possible that I’m also somehow excited? He drags me under the bridge a few steps away and attacks again. His grip is firmer than ever. He’s holding me against the wall, pushing himself against me and grunting, breathing heavily. His fingers claim my hair, gripping and pulling, as he’s kissing my face and my neck.

In a flash, it all turns. A nameless force takes control of me. I grip his shirt front, sweep his legs from under him, throw him down onto the cobbles and spring onto his chest. I might as well admit it: this is thrilling. This feeling – this exhilaration – never gets old. I’ve tried to contain this force within me as long as I can remember but I might as well try to keep a volcano from erupting. In the end, I have to let it out.

‘Now,’ I say lightly, pressing down on him with my knee, ‘you were saying something about me learning. Perhaps you’d better teach me, then.’

He splutters.

‘Do go on,’ I murmur. ‘I’m all ears.’

‘You little bitch!’ he shrieks. He strains to get up but I’m holding him perfectly motionless. The sheer surprise on his face makes me feel even stronger. With no other way to lash out, he spits at me. My pulse quickens in anticipation. I reach down and gently trace his jawline with my finger.

‘If you want me to learn anything, you’d better get on and teach me. You never know. If you say something interesting, I might let you live for another three minutes.’

My God, this is fun. Is it terrible to say so?

I run my tongue slowly across my teeth, relishing the sharpness, then lower myself down so that my face is no more than an inch from Jonny’s. I can see the fear in his eyes, taste it on his breath. Leaning to one side, I brush my lips against his neck. And then I strike. Life courses through me as his blood and flesh fill my mouth. His scream becomes a gasp and then a whimper. Then nothing. After I’ve drunk my fill, I get to my feet and roll him into the canal. Then I watch him for a moment as he floats face down in the quiet water. Better not stay too long. I start walking again. Better touch up my lipstick too.

I realised a long time ago there will always be a beast within me. The best I can do is to feed the beast with those who deserve to be food. To begin with, I wondered how I would find people who deserve that but it didn’t take me long to understood that I don’t need to find them. Sooner or later, they’ll always find me.