Nightmare Shift: Part 2 of 3

treklord

2

Walking as nonchalantly as she could make it appear, Jane approached the foul-smelling, mouldy green, overflowing dumpster with not a little trepidation. Having a large rubbish bag in each hand she had nothing with which to defend herself should she be attacked. She walked warily in a straight line to the large bin, eyes scanning from side to side as far as her vision would allow. She dreaded meeting again the strange homeless wino that had scared her badly the previous week when he emerged from the dumpster like a volcanic sea mouth erupting in the Pacific ocean, rubbish flowing from him like superheated lava. Jane had been in the process of throwing the bags she had carried from the bar into the dumpster when the hideous apparition had arose before her. She had recoiled in terror and had ended up on her butt, struggling to push herself away from the bin and back to her feet. Later, in their apartment, Elaine had howled with laughter when Jane told her what happened. Jane now wished that the wino was here, just so that she wouldn’t feel so alone in the deserted alley.

The alleyway looked as it always did, and yet something had definitely changed. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she instinctively knew there was something amiss. Although it was still only July, Jane felt a cold chill even as sweat trickled down her brow and obscured her vision. As she blinked away the sweat drops that veiled her sight Jane caught a shadowy movement out of the corner of her right eye. When she stopped and stared directly at it, there was nothing there but a brick wall with a carpet of cardboard boxes interspersed with weeds. Silently rebuking herself for her overactive imagination, Jane turned and headed on to the bin where with a laugh at her silliness heaved the rubbish into the dumpster. But as she closed the lid on the awful smelling refuse something caught her eye. A grey shape separated itself from the shadows climbing the wall and moved to the centre of the alley between Jane and the safety of the bar.

Her heart was beating so hard that she heard it as a drum solo from a rock band in her ears that blotted out all other sounds. The shape resolved itself into the shape of a tall, muscular man, but the features were indistinct, wreathed as they were in grey shadows. The mouth worked but Jane heard no sound as her drumming heart continued apace. Jane made a conscious effort to slow her racing heart and calm her breathing. She was in danger of hyperventilating. The man-shape before her smile, its teeth gleaming white in the darkness. Some of them even appeared to be sharply pointed, like an animal’s.

Nonsense, she told herself, you’re letting your imagination get the better of you again. But as much as her mind told her she was being overly silly, her instincts blared and yelled that she was in the greatest danger of her young life. She reached into a back pocket of her jeans and withdrew her mobile phone. Taking of the key lock without taking her eyes off the strange man ahead of her Jane punched in 911, the emergency number in America, and thumbed the send button.

The weight of the phone in her hand steeled her resolve. She began walking back towards the propped-open door of the bar while keeping the phone hidden from view behind her back. Jane pleaded with God that the 911 operator would realise that the call she was monitoring was not a prank call but a cry for help. When she got within a few feet of the man she heard him speak.

“I like your smell,” he said, speaking in a low voice that Jane struggled to hear.

“Oh, thanks. It’s Beverly Hills. My boyfriend bought it for me,” she replied trying to make it sound as though her boyfriend was one of the beer-drinking, sports watching, musclemen that had filled the bar earlier and would be wondering why she wasn’t back yet. Personally she thought she stank of sweat, cigarettes and garbage (being so close to the dumpster).

“Not the perfume.”

The words chilled Jane to the bone. What was he talking about?

“I like the smell of your fear Elaine!”

Jane was panicking. The phone forgotten in a hand that hung limply by her side.

“Who are you? How do you know my name?”

“I know everything about you Elaine. I also know that this will be of no further use to you!” he answered smugly, venom dripping from his lips almost visibly. He raised his hand and showed it to Jane. Lying there in the palm of his hand was Jane’s mobile phone, the screen still alight with 911 displayed on it.

Jane looked down at her hand and with surprise registered that the phone had disappeared. When she looked back up the man was standing no more than a foot before her. Screaming in shock and fear she staggered backwards. The man had made no sounds whatsoever when he moved.
Jane stared into the eyes of the man before her and swore that the eyes that returned her gaze were tinted red. When she tried to tear them away from him to see the rest of him so she could describe him to the first New York Police Department officer that she met, she found that she wasn’t able. His eyes held her mesmerised. She had no defence against him. Smiling wickedly he released her from his gaze and Jane took several steps backward, shaking her head to clear the cobwebs. Every step taken moved her further and further from the safety of the bar. Through a force of will Jane found her voice once more.

“What….what do you want with me?” she stammered.

“I want your fear!”

The hairs on the nape of her neck went rigid with fear at the way he spoke to her. Jane did the only thing she could. She turned and ran. As she ran, the rush of adrenaline flooding her system blew aside the fog in her mind like a strong breeze. He had said Elaine, not Jane. Oh God, he thinks I’m Elaine!
Unknown to Jane her plea to the Almighty had been answered. The 911 operator was already dispatching cruisers to the location identified on her system by tracing the phone call. The operator’s blood ran cold when she heard the male voice speak. She said her own silent prayer that the young woman would still be alive when the cruisers showed up.

To Be Continued