Mr. Charles Collins was an alcoholic. He knew this of course, and every morning after drinking himself numb the night before, he swore to himself he wouldn't drink another drop in his life. When the opportunity arose though, he could never quite keep that promise.
It just so happened to be one of those nights on January 17th, 1954. Charles was sitting in a dirty bar, barely able to keep his head up. He had just finished off his drink when the telephone behind the counter rang. The barkeep picked it up, and a short conversation ensued. The barkeep put the phone down, a bit of confusion in his eyes.
“There’s been a bit of an emergency apparently,” he said to Charles, “I’m going to need to close up early. Can you find your way home alright?”
Charles groggily nodded, and grunted as he pulled himself off of the stool on which he sat nightly.
He put on his coat, and stumbled out into the damp, and chilly New York street. He wasn’t sure which direction he was going, but he began to walk wherever his feet would take him.
It only took Charles a few minutes to notice that something was wrong. The streets, even at this hour usually inhabited to some capacity, were completely deserted. This realization sent a chill down his spine. He suddenly became aware of every little sound that would normally be drowned out by the sounds of society. Rats scurried down alleyways, droplets of water falling. He began to walk faster, looking around every corner for some sign of life.
Finally, he found it. He looked down a dark alleyway, and he saw what looked like a man standing there.
“H-hello?” Charles shouted out. “Is there anybody down there?”
The man began walking towards him. With every movement of his body, Charles heard an eerie creaking sound. When the man finally stepped out of the alley, Charles began to study his appearance. He was a tall man, and wearing a battered trench coat. But the feature that stood out most was his head. Perched on top of his shoulders, was an old lantern.
“What, is that some sort of a costume?” The words came out of Charles’ mouth messily. The man didn’t seem to notice the exclamation. He kept walking briskly towards Charles. Even in his drunken state, Charles knew he should get away. He began stumbling away, as fast as he could manage.
After a few minutes, he became exhausted. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He felt as though his lungs were about to pop. When he couldn’t bring himself to run anymore, he dared to look behind him. He didn’t see the strange man anymore. Perhaps he had lost him! Charles smiled to himself and turned back around. What he saw wiped the smile from his face entirely.
There were two of them. Two men. Two lanterns. Two candles, burning seemingly without end.
“No… please, leave me alone!” Charles desperately gasped out the words. “What do you want, my wallet?”
The men approached him, and cornered him; then there were three. Then four. It seemed as though more and more were coming out of the darkness every moment. Charles let out one final cry of terror, as one of the creatures reached its long, bony hand out at him.
Barely conscious, bleeding out on the sidewalk, Charles Collins made one final promise to himself. To never drink another drop in his life. But it was too late now. Everything was fading away now, as the man with a lantern for a head walked back into the alley.
It just so happened to be one of those nights on January 17th, 1954. Charles was sitting in a dirty bar, barely able to keep his head up. He had just finished off his drink when the telephone behind the counter rang. The barkeep picked it up, and a short conversation ensued. The barkeep put the phone down, a bit of confusion in his eyes.
“There’s been a bit of an emergency apparently,” he said to Charles, “I’m going to need to close up early. Can you find your way home alright?”
Charles groggily nodded, and grunted as he pulled himself off of the stool on which he sat nightly.
He put on his coat, and stumbled out into the damp, and chilly New York street. He wasn’t sure which direction he was going, but he began to walk wherever his feet would take him.
It only took Charles a few minutes to notice that something was wrong. The streets, even at this hour usually inhabited to some capacity, were completely deserted. This realization sent a chill down his spine. He suddenly became aware of every little sound that would normally be drowned out by the sounds of society. Rats scurried down alleyways, droplets of water falling. He began to walk faster, looking around every corner for some sign of life.
Finally, he found it. He looked down a dark alleyway, and he saw what looked like a man standing there.
“H-hello?” Charles shouted out. “Is there anybody down there?”
The man began walking towards him. With every movement of his body, Charles heard an eerie creaking sound. When the man finally stepped out of the alley, Charles began to study his appearance. He was a tall man, and wearing a battered trench coat. But the feature that stood out most was his head. Perched on top of his shoulders, was an old lantern.
“What, is that some sort of a costume?” The words came out of Charles’ mouth messily. The man didn’t seem to notice the exclamation. He kept walking briskly towards Charles. Even in his drunken state, Charles knew he should get away. He began stumbling away, as fast as he could manage.
After a few minutes, he became exhausted. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He felt as though his lungs were about to pop. When he couldn’t bring himself to run anymore, he dared to look behind him. He didn’t see the strange man anymore. Perhaps he had lost him! Charles smiled to himself and turned back around. What he saw wiped the smile from his face entirely.
There were two of them. Two men. Two lanterns. Two candles, burning seemingly without end.
“No… please, leave me alone!” Charles desperately gasped out the words. “What do you want, my wallet?”
The men approached him, and cornered him; then there were three. Then four. It seemed as though more and more were coming out of the darkness every moment. Charles let out one final cry of terror, as one of the creatures reached its long, bony hand out at him.
Barely conscious, bleeding out on the sidewalk, Charles Collins made one final promise to himself. To never drink another drop in his life. But it was too late now. Everything was fading away now, as the man with a lantern for a head walked back into the alley.
Comments
Log in or register to post comments.