The lamp light flickered, erratic and with a irritating hum. She tightened the coat around herself, trying to insulate herself from the cold night's air. It had been a long night, a long shift at the factory. She looked behind, there was no-one , but she couldn't shake away the feeling of being followed, of being watched. She wrapped the coat even tighter around herself and quickened her pace.
The lamp lights at this particular alley were dim to the point of uselessness, it was narrow, bordered by the falling- apart walls of two abandoned buildings, light streamed from the two ends of the alley, the bright yellow light of fully functioning streetlamps, she turned quickly and entered the alley, her steps loud and distinct as it bounced of aged concrete. There was a rhythm to
her steps, a click and clack, click-clack,click-clack,click-clack,click.... She stopped abruptly, someone else had entered the alley, the sound of another's footsteps had been added to her own. She looked behind her shoulder to see the sillouette of a man, burly and wearing a cap slanted at an angle. Fear fanned her thoughts till it bordered hysteria, she quickened her place till she was nearly running, the alley mouth was closeby, but somehow seemed to take an infinite amount of steps to reach. She heard the man's steps also quicken as he raced after her, she was now running, hard. Her breath (which she drew in through rasping gasps) misted as she ran like she'd never ran before. The man easily keeping pace with her frantic speed, now calling her out. A piece of her mind wanted to curl up in a corner and sob, shocked by the fact that such a thing was taking place to her. But, that part was overwhelmed by a more primitive part of her mind, her mind now acting on pure instinct. She shot out of the alley and turned left, her home was in sight, just a little further. The man was shouting louder, his tone almost angry and ran harder, now only a few paces away from her. She fished her keys out of her pocket and tried to insert the key into the lock and missed, she turned and saw the man slow down at her gate(which was left ajar)bend forward, his hands on his knees panting heavily. She screamed, a ragged and panic filled one and tried the lock again, this time it went in, she swung the door open stepped in slammed the door shut. She stood leaning against the door, breathing in and out, she was safe now, the door was solid oak, old but sturdy. This was HER HOME and she was safe here. Suddenly someone banged the door, hard. A gruff voice, it's exact message distorted as it passed through the old wood, shouted, the shout was of rage and desperation. She slowly walked away from the shaking door, her earlier feeling of safety melting away like a Popsicle on a hot summer afternoon. She frantically looked around for something that could be used as a crude weapon, there in the corner was an umbrella, she grasped it, it's plastic solidity giving her a illusion of protection. The door shook more now, as if the man beating it with two clenched fists and just when she thought it was about to rip free from its hinges the beating and shouting stopped. She shakily got up, tip-toed her way to the door and peered into the eyehole.... There was no one. She slid down, her back against the door and cried.
Bob wad puzzled. He having one Of his nightly walks when he sees this woman drop her purse. Bob was an honest man, that he was, his dead momma (bless her kind soul)had drilled that into him, picked it up and as she turned into an alley ran up to catch up to her. Than the gal sees honest ol' bob and runs like she's seen clover feet himself(bob looked behind himself too, just in case). Bob calls out to her but that sends her scampering even faster.. So bob runs, his momma had always told him that he had the legs of a runner but was to busy eating pie to run. She holes up in her house, so bob goes up and rings the bell, real polite. No answer so bob goes ahead and knocks. No answer. Ol'bob thinks that the woman is hard in hearing and shout out a hello and knocks on the door, real soft. No answer. So here's bob, walking home with a leather purse in one pocket and his hands jammed in another puzzling over the nights mysterious events.
