The Night Is Not Tender

DISCLAIMER: The following piece contains scenes that may (are) disturbing to most people (at least they should be)

Peeking intermittently from behind the clouds, the stars were my only companions. A lone moth circled the lamplight, flickering in fear of the encroaching darkness. All was silent, save for the low buzz of light and the occasional drops of water in the puddle. I pulled the overcoat closer, hoping the hastily stitched-in patches would protect me from December’s cruel grasps. Feeling my inner pocket for my flashlight, I began closing my eyes, concentrating on the amplifying lub-dups of my heart. Perhaps this was some malicious prank, and nothing truly happened. The moment I opened them, however, my hopes of self-deceit were dashed as I stared into the screen of jet black ahead…

After venturing a few mere paces into the alleyway, I began to long for the soft glow and buzz of the lamplight; it was almost as though I had fallen into an abyss of Nothingness. I fumbled for my torchlight, guided by an animal instinct and fear of the unknown. As soon as I flipped the switch, however, I realized the beauty of blissful ignorance. The blinding light in my handed shined on a pile of glossy garbage bags, oozing with an indiscernible liquid. Before I had the chance to gag at the rotten smell wafting to my nose, the sound of a shattered glass bottle pierced the silence. I slowly turned around with shaking fingers, only to find a family of filthy, arm-long monsters of rodents, baring their decaying teeth and glaring with those Beady Eyes, scrutinizing my presence. I hurried away and ventured deeper still into the alley. Shards of glass, spotted banana peals, and ripped newspapers soon completely covered the concrete as I inched closer to the end.

Suddenly, the trail of rubbish abruptly ended, and I figured that I had reached the wall. Looking up, I felt the color drain away, and I was dimly aware of the thud of the flashlight on the ground: there on the brick wall was a smiley face, with two dots for eyes and three strands for hair, drawn in glistening crimson blood. I stumbled backwards, my eyes fixated to the blo- painting, only to find it surrounded by child-like sketches of knives and a young lady, all drawn in dripping red. Picking up the flashlight with a pale, trembling hand, a tiny arrow pointed to the left came into view, and my body, free of my will, complied to turn.

I vomited at the sight. There, sprawled on the ground, was a corpse lying in a pool of blo- so thick it was black. The right leg was streaked in blo- and made an odd angle at the kneecap, and her heels were snatched away, leaving toe-less feet at the mercy of the elements. I prodded the left thigh with my foot, unsure of what to expect, only for it to slide right off. The pink cardigan she had sported was now maroon in soaked up blo-. Instinctively, I wondered if this body ever belonged to the realm of the living, the laughing, the real, but my mind would not (and perhaps could not) answer. Bracing myself for the worst, I pointed the flashlight at the head.

There was a note in its place.

I could almost hear the creak of my neck bones as I began facing left.

Slowly, slowly, I rotated, images of gore long repressed flashing through my eyes. I had seen everything, there could be no surprises.

It was not enough.

Inches away from my nose was the severed head of a brunette — at least, the hair was supposed to be hazel-brown. Instead, the flowing hair was cut blindly and marred by snaking highlights of red. I tried to turn my face away, but my eyes fell on her ears. They weren’t mutilated. They were cut off clean. Another ball of acid began climbing up my throat but stopped suddenly when I accidentally caught glimpse of the mouth, if that’s what you could call the toothless gash stretching to where the ears should be in a sadistic smile.

Then, in the deathly white light coming emanating from my hand, shone the eyes — eyes that I knew would haunt my dreams, day and night, for time to come: Torn eyelids revealing white colored in blo-. Lifeless amber irises staring blankly into Nothingness. These were not the eyes of a human, but a beast from a child’s nightmares.

I let out a guttural scream and rushed away, calling my superiors, if for no other reason than to know that society still existed after all this.

They had struck again.

Originally self-published, but it has been edited for the publication.