Short story: The Stolen

The Face

They always seemed so happy.

In the rural parts of New York a rather small cabin stood in its wake, its creme colour standing out against the tinted red sky almost as if an artist took his brush to it.

A peaceful scene could be seen happening on the old varnished poarch of the cabin. A couple in their 50's were sitting out on the poarch seemingly enjoying each other's company. They were listening to music and just taking in the swirling shades of reds and oranges that moved in the sky almost as if they were dancing around the sun as it set among the horizon.

The glow of the sun reflected off the stained glass windows and created a beam of light onto the middle-aged couple, known as the Smiths.

The sun made the woman's eyes look like pools of honey, and how her hair became a deep auburn colour when the sun was just past its prime. Wrinkles from years of laughing and smiling crinkled in the corner of her eyes and lips.

She was laughing at her husband, he was kind and polite and his brown hair stuck up on his head looking almost as if he just rolled out of bed.

His kind blue eyes stared at her in admiration. In his admiration he didn't realise his square framed glasses fell down to the tip of his nose. When his wife Laura noticed she bursted into fits of contagious laughter causing Harold her husband to laugh as well. 

        What a lovely scene. It's a shame it has to end.
   

Things festered and buzzed in the dim lights of Brooklyn, New York, the soft whirring sound of a machine being drowned out by the city that never sleeps.

Nothing seemed out of place to the human eye except that young boy running down the sidewalk like his life depended on it and if you learned anything from New York then it probably did depend on it.

The boy ran into a nearby alleyway hoping to find a place to hide. He quickly settled himself behind an exceptionally smelly dumpster he tossed his backpack aside hoping to spare it from what was about to happen.

Just then a group of tall brooding men entered the alleyway, their eyes glinting dangerously.

The young boy held his breath hoping that they wouldn't hear him. The air was tense as he waited. It felt like hours he's been sitting there holding his breath and his lungs are burning for oxygen. Eventually, he couldn't handle it anymore and he gasped for air.

Almost immediately he stilled hoping he wasn't caught. Their footsteps seemed to have stopped. He thought he was in the clear, slowly he stood and went to gather the bag he previously discarded in his hurry.

When SLAM he was grabbed by the back of his shirt and thrown into the wall by the man that seemed to be the leader of the group. The other men from earlier blocked his escape.

"You're going to shut up and give us all your money."

Before the young boy could even reply one of the men surrounding him found his bag and unzipped it. Dumping the contents onto the wet alley floor. The young boy's things now laid strewn about.

The man who dumped his stuff stalked closer to the young boy holding what seemed to be his school ID.

"So, your name is Peter... Peter Smith. Good to know. Just to be clear Peter." He said mockingly, daring Peter to try and retaliate. "You won't tell anyone about this. Are we clear?"

Peter responded by nodding his head so fast it looked like it would fly off. They walked deeper into the alley grabbing the things of value that fell from his backpack.

Just as they were about to take off with their earnings the whirring sound got louder, louder, and louder until the only thing you could hear was the terrible sound. You couldn't even hear yourself think.

A figure cloaked in night stepped out from the depths of the alley. As each second went on the noise seemed to become unbearable it seemed to be coming from the figure slowly approaching.

Everything seemed to stop and hold its breath as they slowly made their way into the dim light of the moonlight . For a city that is said to never sleep it seemed to finally have calmedThere was no one around to help. The men attacking Peter froze and watched as the figure finally revealed itself.

Their body was mangled and torn. You could see wires protruding from what seemed to be their body. It would have been painful if the thing was alive. They stumbled closer and closer. The thing ripped them apart.

Their screaming wasn't heard.

The next morning Laura and Harold Smith got the news of their son Peter and some unknown thugs had been killed in the alley.

The couple mourned for many years to come. Only ten years later were they able to move on from their 17-year-old son Peter after all they never go to bury him his face was gone almost as if his killer had stolen it off his body.

The killer of their sweet child was never found. And probably never will be found. It was almost like they disappeared and slithered into the sewers.

But little did the Smiths know that a familiar young face was still wandering around the streets of New York never having to stop and rest, after all this is the city that never sleeps.

It seems that this time the face was on the wrong body.