Church Street After Dusk

I’m running—hard, fast, lungs burning. My heartbeat pounds in my ears, drowning out the chaos of Halloween night in the Village. Behind me, the crowd is still oblivious, their laughter and music spilling into the streets like everything’s normal. But I know better. I know what’s coming for them. For me.

I vault over a fallen trash bin, my feet slipping on the wet pavement. It’s started to drizzle, and the ground glistens under the glow of neon signs. My devil costume clings to my skin, drenched in sweat and rain, but I don’t stop. I can’t. Not with them so close behind. I hear my feet slip below me, catching myself as I continue to vault forward.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was just supposed to be a night out, a distraction. A chance to forget about him, about everything.

God, how did it all go wrong so fast?

An hour ago, I was standing in the middle of Woody’s, watching the dance floor pulse with bodies, the heavy bass thumping through my chest. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, spilled beer, and cheap cologne. It was Halloween—Church and Wellesley’s biggest night of the year next to Pride—and the whole Village was alive, every bar packed, every corner a carnival of costumes and colour. People dressed as everything from characters in movies, to pop cultural icons, and as supernatural characters.

I was there with friends, or what was left of them. They were trying to cheer me up after the breakup, saying I needed to get out, to drink, to flirt. And I guess I wanted to believe them. I wanted to believe that I could just let go for a night, forget about him. Forget how I’d spent the last few months feeling like I was slowly unraveling, piece by piece.

At first, it worked. A couple of drinks, a few shots, and I was laughing with the others, pretending the world wasn’t as heavy as it felt. Then I saw him—some guy stumbling through the crowd, his face pale, his eyes glazed over like he was blackout drunk. He bumped into a guy dressed as a vampire, then collapsed right there on the floor.

Everyone froze for a second. Someone even laughed, thinking it was just someone too drunk to even stand. But I saw the way his chest didn’t move, the way his fingers twitched once and then went still. Panic started to creep into the air, a low buzz of voices masked only by the steady beat and pulse of the club.

“Hey, man, are you okay?” someone asked, their voice cutting through the growing murmur of the crowd. It was one of the bartenders, dressed like a pirate, stepping over with a confused look on his face. He crouched down next to the guy and shook his shoulder.

Nothing. The guy didn’t respond, didn’t even flinch.

I don’t know what made me step closer. Maybe curiosity. Maybe the sinking feeling that something wasn’t right. Either way, I moved through the crowd, pushing past people dressed as superheroes, skeletons, and angels. And that’s when I saw it.

His eyes shot open, but they weren’t the dull, glazed eyes of a drunk passed out on the floor. They were black. Black as the night outside. And then he lunged.

The guy lunged like a wild animal, grabbing the bartender by the throat with inhuman speed. The bartender barely had time to gasp before he was on his back, flailing, trying to pry the guy’s fingers off. The crowd around them erupted into chaos—screams, shouts, people scrambling backward, knocking over tables and spilling drinks.

I froze, my heart slamming in my chest as I watched the bartender choke and struggle beneath the guy.

“Help him!” someone shouted from behind me, but no one moved. Everyone was too stunned, too terrified.

Before I could even process what was happening, the guy’s jaw unhinged, stretching wider than any human jaw should. His teeth, jagged and sharp like broken glass, sank into the bartender’s neck. The scream that followed cut through the club like a knife.

Blood sprayed across the floor, and suddenly, it was like a switch flipped. People started running, pushing toward the exit in a panicked frenzy. I turned to run too, but the place was packed—bodies pressing against each other, trying to squeeze through the doors all at once. It was chaos, pure and raw.

I shoved my way through the crowd, heart racing. Everywhere I looked, there was more blood. Another one of those… things—another person, or at least what used to be a person—was tearing into someone near the DJ booth, ripping flesh like it was paper.

People were screaming, but I could barely hear them over the pounding in my ears. The music was still blasting through the speakers, distorted and eerie against the backdrop of violence. Strobe lights flickered, casting everything in a surreal, hellish glow.

I pushed through, knocking people out of the way, stumbling toward the front doors of Woody’s. My mind was racing, desperate for an escape. Someone grabbed my arm, and I jerked back, ready to swing, but it was just a guy dressed as Doctor Frank-N-Furter, his fishnets torn, face pale with fear.

“Are you okay, darling?” he yelled over the chaos, his eyes wide with panic. His costume—a gaudy mix of corset, pearls, and lipstick—looked so out of place now, like a bad dream clashing with the nightmare unfolding around us.

I couldn’t speak, just shook my head, pulling free from his grip. I wasn’t okay. Nothing was okay.

“Run!” I finally shouted, and then I bolted, sprinting past him, past the bodies on the floor, past the screaming, the blood, and the horror, out into the street.

I kept running, breath ragged as the night air hit my face, the screams from the club still echoing behind me. I could hear footsteps following—quick and frantic—and when I glanced over my shoulder, I couldn’t help but do a double take.

Frank-N-Furter was still behind me, but now he wasn’t alone. Two women, one in a maid costume with wild red hair, and the other in a glittering top hat and sequins, were running with him, heels clacking against the pavement. Magenta and Columbia, I realized. A whole Rocky Horror crew.

They were all sprinting down Church Street in full drag, heels and all, keeping pace with me like we were in some bizarre marathon.

For a second, I was too stunned to be scared. “That’s the fastest I’ve ever seen someone run in heels,” I muttered to myself between gasps of breath, my eyes flicking back to the trio.

They were all running like pros, like the heels were just extensions of their feet, and I swear they were faster than most of the people I’d seen in sneakers. Behind us, I could hear the sound of breaking glass and more blood-curdling screams. It was spreading. Whatever the hell was happening inside Woody’s was spilling into the street.

I had to focus. I had to get out of here.

“Where are we going?!” I shouted, trying to keep up with them, my voice cracking with fear.

As we turned down another street, I looked around at the empty Halloween decorations strung from light poles, ghosts and skeletons dangling like they were mocking us. This was supposed to be a night of fun, of costumes and drinks, not a nightmare come to life.

“Why is this happening?” I asked, more to myself than anyone else. But Frank-N-Furter, still somehow managing to keep up, responded without missing a beat.

“Sweetheart,” he said, his voice smooth and theatrical despite the circumstances, “when the world goes mad, you just have to make sure you stay ahead of the madness. In style.”

I almost laughed, but then I heard it—more footsteps, heavy and slow, dragging behind us. Something was coming. And it wasn’t human anymore.

We dashed down the dimly lit street, my heart pounding in my chest, but just as I thought we might have gained some distance, I heard it. A low, guttural growl, echoing off the brick buildings. The sound sent a chill racing down my spine.

“Keep moving!” Frank-N-Furter shouted, urgency creeping into his voice. “They’re gaining on us!”

Columbia glanced over her shoulder, a look of dread twisting her face. “What the hell are those things?” she yelled, but it was too late.

Before I could answer, a figure lunged from the shadows, a ghastly zombie with decaying skin and hollow eyes. It reached for her, teeth bared in a grotesque snarl.

“Columbia, watch out!” I screamed, but my voice was lost in the cacophony of chaos.

She spun around just in time, eyes wide as she realized the danger. But the ground beneath her stiletto heels was slick with the remnants of spilled drinks and broken glass, and she stumbled, losing her balance.

In that split second, the zombie lunged forward, hands grasping for her.

“NO!” Frank-N-Furter cried out, but I felt helpless, frozen in place as I watched the horror unfold. The undead creature closed in, sinking its teeth into Columbia’s arm. She screamed, a shrill sound that echoed through the night, but it was quickly muffled as the zombie dragged her down.

“No! Brittany!” Magenta yelled, spinning around to help her friend. But it was too late. Columbia— or what was once their dear friend Brittany— her body went slack as the creature pulled her into the shadows, her screams fading into a chilling silence.

My stomach twisted, a cocktail of fear and disbelief coursing through me. “We can’t go back for her!” I yelled, the panic rising in my throat. “We have to keep moving!”

We ran on, adrenaline surging as the night thickened around us. The growls echoed from all directions, a haunting symphony of the undead.

“What’s the plan?” I asked, desperation leaking into my voice.

“Get to the church!” Frank-N-Furter shouted, gesturing down the street. “The doors should still be unlocked. It’s safer there!”

“Safer?” I scoffed, but I knew we had little choice. The zombies were relentless, their moans mixing with the laughter and chatter of Halloween revelers long gone.

As we sprinted toward the church, I glanced back one last time, half-expecting to see Brittany’s face appearing from the shadows, but all that remained was darkness.

The flickering lights of the church loomed ahead, but before we could reach it, Frank-N-Furter suddenly veered off to the right, dragging us along with him. “No! The church is too far! We need to find somewhere to hide now!”

“Where?” I gasped, my lungs burning as we darted down an alleyway, the sounds of groaning and growling growing ever closer.

“There!” he pointed toward a small convenience store, its neon sign flickering erratically. “We can barricade ourselves inside!”

We sprinted toward the store, the door hanging slightly ajar as if inviting us into its safety. Frank-N-Furter pushed it open, and we rushed in, slamming it shut behind us. The sudden quietness inside felt surreal compared to the hell just behind the door.

“Lock it!” Magenta shouted, her eyes wide as she glanced nervously at the windows. I fumbled with the sliding bolt, my fingers shaking as I pushed it into place.

“Is this really safe?” I panted, looking around at the cramped aisles filled with snacks and cheap alcohol. It felt more like a trap than a refuge.

“We’ll figure it out,” Frank-N-Furter said, glancing through the small window by the door. “For now, we wait. We just need a moment to catch our breath.”

We all leaned against the shelves, trying to regain some semblance of composure. My heart raced as I glanced at the cashier’s counter, a faint flickering light illuminating the face of the store’s security monitor. The feed showed the outside world—a group of zombies shuffling closer to the entrance, drawn by our frantic escape.

“We can’t just sit here,” I whispered, panic creeping back in. “They’ll find us. What if they break in?”

“They can’t,” Magenta assured me, her voice shaking. “This place is fortified. We just need to stay quiet and wait for them to leave.”

“We can’t let fear control us. We need to find a way out when the coast is clear.” Frank looked at the two of us, cowering and holding their pearls.

I nodded, though doubt gnawed at me. We couldn’t stay here forever, but what if the zombies had already surrounded the store?

Suddenly, I spotted something glittering on a nearby shelf—a pack of glow sticks. I grabbed a few, hoping to use them as a distraction if we needed to make a break for it. “Maybe we can lure them away,” I suggested, holding them up for the others to see.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Frank-N-Furter mused, a hint of admiration in his voice. “We can create a diversion. But we need to be quick.”

“Alright, on the count of three, we’re going to make a break for it,” Frank-N-Furter said, his voice steady, as if trying to rally the troops before a battle. “Just remember, we can’t let them see us.”

Magenta and I exchanged a glance, our shared fear mirrored in each other’s eyes. I could hear the muffled sounds of shuffling feet and low groans outside, and my heart pounded like a drum in my chest.

“Let’s do this,” I said, clenching the glow sticks in my hands. “One… two…”

“Three!” Frank-N-Furter muttered, and we all darted toward the door, my breath hitching in my throat as I turned the knob and peeked outside.

The alley was clear—well, as clear as it could be with the undead roaming about. They were a few yards away, stumbling and reaching out with decayed fingers, drawn to the slightest noise. My stomach churned at the sight of them, their eyes vacant, but we had no choice.

“Now!” Frank-N-Furter urged, and we bolted out of the store. I flicked the glow sticks open, a vibrant light casting a neon hue in the darkness as I tossed one toward the zombies. It landed with a satisfying crack, illuminating their decaying forms.

“Over here!” I shouted, trying to lure them away. A couple of the closer zombies turned toward the light, their attention diverted.

“Keep moving!” Magenta screamed, already halfway down the alley, her heels clicking furiously against the pavement. Frank-N-Furter and I sprinted after her, the sound of our frantic footsteps echoing in the night.

“Why do I feel like I’m in a really bad horror movie?” I panted as we turned another corner, the glow sticks creating a trail behind us.

“Because we are!” Frank-N-Furter shot back, glancing over his shoulder. “Just keep running!”

We turned a corner and skidded to a halt. The narrow alleyway in front of us was blocked by a cluster of zombies, their arms outstretched and mouths open in a soundless moan.

“Shit!” I breathed, eyes darting for another way out. “What now?”

Frank-N-Furter’s expression shifted from determination to panic. “We need to distract them!”

“Are you crazy? We’ll get killed!” I protested, glancing nervously at Magenta, who looked just as worried.

“No!” Frank-N-Furter insisted, pulling a small but fierce-looking hand mirror from his bag. “Trust me! I’ll lure them away.”

“Brian, don’t!” Magenta shouted, but he was already moving toward the zombies, holding the mirror up to catch the glow of the streetlights.

“Hey, ugly! Over here!” he called, waving the mirror as if it were a baton in a parade. The zombies’ heads turned, and I felt my heart race.

“Go!” he shouted, glancing back at us. “Get to safety!”

As we veered onto the street, I could see the desperation on Magenta’s face.

“No!” Magenta yelled, breaking free from my grip. “We can’t leave him!” She said as she buckled and started to run back towards her friend.

“Magenta, don’t!” I cried, but she was already sprinting back toward the chaos. I just turned around and ran like hell.

“Keep going!” I shouted at myself, my feet pounding against the pavement. I had to survive. But where was I running to? What was left in a world gone mad? The reality of being the last one standing loomed over me, the fluorescent lights of the neighborhood flickering ominously, illuminating the shadows that seemed to crawl closer with each passing second.

As I ran, I desperately searched for a refuge, somewhere—anywhere—to hide from the nightmarish landscape that had swallowed everyone whole. But as I glanced back, the horrors of that fateful Halloween night haunted me, and the city I once loved felt like a distant memory, now tainted with blood and fear.

The streets felt endless, and I was lost in a sea of darkness.