I used to go out at night

  I used to go for walks at night. I quite enjoy them. I used to go out drinking alone. I don't anymore, not since the night I was mugged. It was a Tuesday, and I was out drinking again, and decided it would be cheaper and better to walk home than get a cab. When I staggered my drunk ass out of that bar, I was too drunk and stupid to give any thought to the neighborhood it squatted in or what that may mean to my safety. It wasn't until I felt the barrel of a gun press itself against my kidney that my drunk brain realized I'd been a huge idiot. 

  "No sudden moves buddy. I just want your wallet and your phone, but I swear to God if you try and play the hero I'll pull this trigger."

  "'dn't have my phone" I slurred "l'ft it at h'me". I could feel his rank, greasy breath on my neck as he risked patting down my pants. He swore under his breath but yanked my wallet out of my pocket and took off. His retreating steps made the only noise in the silent street. They had gone a fair ways away before I risked looking behind me to confirm he was gone. By that point, he was nothing more than a retreating blue hoodie lost in shadows. 

  Now, drunk me may be slow on the uptake but even he knew it was time to get the hell out of there. I booked it as fast as I thought I could go. However, a minute later, when I heard a gunshot and a scream I somehow managed to go even faster. I didn't stop to let my breath catch up until I was in a better looking street with regularly spaced street lamps.  I allowed myself to slow down, but my heart was still racing. Adrenalin fallout left me shaky and twitching at every shadow.  This hyper awareness was probably why I noticed the soft sounds of footsteps coming down the road behind me. I spun around before I fully thought through my actions, this might have provoked my follower. Instead they stopped in the ocean of darkness between the streetlights and stood their, presumably staring at me. He was standing some hundred yards behind me, hands in pockets, as still as stone. 

  I turned away and tried for the world record of nonchalant get-the-fuck-out-of-there's, hoping that since this was a better part of town he was just on his way home too. Two blocks later, when I could hear him still slowly getting closer, I began to panic. I sped up, praying he would turn off into an apartment.  His footsteps never changed their tempo, never seemed to speed up, they just got louder. He was gaining on me. I went faster, but he still got closer. As I began to really freak out, a new sound insinuated itself between his footsteps, and the sound of my own heart. It was a rhythmic jingle, like he was playing with his fucking keys. 

  He drew closer.

  The jingle got louder.

  I broke into a run. I no longer cared if he thought I was weird or knew I was onto him, I just wanted the hell out of there. I was getting closer to home, if I could just get back to my apartment building I could duck inside and close the door before he got to it. He likely wasn't a tenant so wouldn't have the key. 

  Closer

  Louder

  His footsteps rang out in my ears. The sound of his keys making a sinister counterpoint to their march. Sweat beaded on my forehead as my lungs began to burn. My body screamed out in protest of how hard I was pushing it but I had to keep going. Purple and green lights flashed across my vision as a migraine blossomed in my alcohol pickled brain. He was still getting closer. He was still playing with his keys like he was out for a damn midnight stroll.

  "Hey kid" the words cut through me, clear and calm. I couldn't run anymore. I couldn't get away. My exhausted body shuddered to a halt, and slowly turned to face him. He stood on the edge of the circle of light cast by the street lamp I was under. He couldn't have been more than ten feet away now, but his features were as dark and shadowed as they had been when I spotted him several blocks and a hundred years ago. 

  "Yes?" my voice sounded small and feeble even to me. I had no fight left. Without appearing to move, the man threw something into the lamps harsh yellow light. It bounced off the ground, leaving a long red streak in its passage. It was halted when it ran into my shoe. It was my wallet, and it was covered in some red, sticky liquid. When I finally managed to tear my eyes away from it and look up, the man was gone. 

  Quickly, I snatched it from the ground and ran. I tried hard to ignore the organic warmth coming off of it as I sprinted the last block to my building. When I was safely locked inside, I ran it under the kitchen faucet to try and get rid of the stains. I had already vowed not only to never speak of tonight again, but also never go out after dark. I would have kept both of those promises, had it not been for the fact that a few days later, the police were informed of a bloodied human torso dumped in a garbage bin near the industrial docks. 

  It was wrapped in a blue hoodie. 

  I'm telling you this now not to scare you, but to warn you. There's something out there. I don't mean the average, run of the mill bad guys. Stay away from them, sure. But anything that can reduce a man to a torso without, if the coroner is to be believed, using a knife? I don't drink as much anymore, God knows sometimes I want to. Nor do I go out alone, and I have never since then, been out after dark.