The Alleyway

THE BOX

The box is a dark deep ocean. Its alluring to go near but if you get to close it sucks you in. There in front of me stood the dark blue, tall box. As I stood staring at the box not moving, curiosity zooming through me like a bullet, I wondered and pictured what might be in such a large box. The neatly done bow at the top made it look like a present but something told me it was not a present, despite the large, dark blue bow at the top. I stood there staring at the mysterious looking box, something giving off the vibe, something was not right.

The vibe that something was not right began to grow. I wanted to turn around and walk out of the alley I walked into. I knew I should not have come in here. It looked so alluring. I had to come in. It was like someone was standing right next to me and whispering 'go in, go in. You know you want to.' The alley had dumpsters on both sides, with disgusting trash over flowing them all, the filthy wrapping was all over the floor. When I moved my foot, you could hear the wrappers make a crackling sound that echoed through the whole alley, but as I was walking in I didn't seem to notice the wrapping on the floor or the sound it made beneath my feet. Just like I didn't seem to notice the bright, colourful graffiti on the walls or the homeless man with the empty eyes at the end of the alley. I just walked, oblivious to it all. I just walk toward the end of the alley, toward the box.

I began to sweat, all I wanted to do was run out of the ally. Out of the corner of my eye, next to one of the disgusting over flowing dumpsters, was a mirror. I could see the sweat beginning to form on my face, I was trying to act calm, though I didn't know why. It was as if  portraying what I felt would make me weak and put me at a disadvantage, to whom or what, I don't know. In the mirror I could only just see my face. My red wavy hair was damp with sweat, my brown eyes were wide and wild, despite my really hard attempts to act calm. I looked down at my body, I was wearing black denim shorts and what was a white top. It now has garbage smeared all over it. It almost looked like someone had picked up mud and garbage with their hands and rubbed it on my shirt. I looked at my hands and they were clean. My eyes travelled once again up my body, to my face. My face that was clean, what had to be only a couple of seconds ago, was now filthy. I have what I hope is dirt smeared all over my face and my hair has half come out of its once neatly done pony tail. My once bright and rosy cheeks now have dirt all over them. The dirt on my cheeks almost looks like finger marks. I don't dare look down again, afraid that when I look back up it will be much worse.

I wanted to yell, I wanted to scream but most of all I just wanted to run. But I was stuck and my voice was on mute. I finally took my eyes from the mirror and focused my attention on the box once more. The tension changed, something seemed pleased with my decision to focus back on the box. When I looked at the box again, the desire to open the box hit like a wave at the beach when your back it turned. It hit again, but stronger. I took a step. And another. But it wasn't in the direction I wanted to go. I was stepping forward, I wanted to go back, but instead my feet, mind and will betrayed me. They took me to the one place I knew I didn't not want to go. They took me to the box.

My hand raised up to the box despite all my will power. My hand touched the box lid, I averted my eyes. I did not want to see what was in that box. At the end of the alley I saw the homeless man with the empty eyes staring at the end of the alley, staring straight at me, but at the same time he seemed completely oblivious. The lid of the box opened and I turned back to look in the box. My curiosity that vanished long ago turned into confusion and frustration. Inside the box was another smaller, neatly wrapped up box with the same dark blue wrapping and the same dark blue ribbon. The only thing that was different was the pull to open this box was stronger. Like I was closer to the end prize, whatever that prize might be. I looked back at the homeless man, who still seemed to be staring at me. His what I assume once light brown hair was greasy and full of dirt. He wore a long sleeve top, with massive holes all in in, I couldn't see what pants he was wearing, he has a thin black and red checkered blanket over the top. His hands were filthy and had mud and garbage all over them. He had a short beard that even from here I could see was going grey. I looked at his eyes, they were empty, where eyes have colour his did not. Looking into his eyes, I knew something was not right. His eyes were lifeless and dull. The urge to open the box slowly subsided until I didn't feel like I needed to open it. The more I thought the more I started to realise and put the pieces together. Someone whispering in my ear, not remembering him or anything else as I walked in, the finger smears of mud down my face and top, the desperation to open the box. It was all him! I don't know how he did it, but he did. It had to be him. When I broke the trance he hadn't seemed to of noticed. The most important thing was to not get him suspicious. I had to keep letting him think he had control over me. At least until I had a plan to get out, I doubted that he'd just let me walk out.

I was thinking and thinking, I had no idea what to do at all. But I guess I took too long, he stood. My time was up. As he stood I realised he was much taller than I anticipated, at least 1 and 1/2 heads taller than me. Under the blanket he had nice, formal black pants on. Making me realise he wasn't actually homeless. He took a slow step. Then another. Almost debating whether or not to come to me. He must have decided he was going to and started walking faster. I had to think fast if I wanted to get out of here, alive.

When he was four steps away I still didn't have a plan and I was worried. I think he thought I was still under his influence and reached to touch my cheek. I didn't know what to do, so I let him. His touch was gentle, like he was patting a little baby animal. He took his hand off my cheek. But before I could even react his hand was back. My neck snapped to the side so fast it hurt. My own hand automatically went to the cheek he had slapped, the stinging pain almost unbearable. I didn't have to look in the mirror to know it was bright red. I slowly turned my head to look at his sneering smile on his face. He found joy in hitting me. He didn't have to speak for me to know what he was thinking; he knew I was not under his control. He knew from the minute I hesitated in not opening the second box.

I took my hand from my cheek, even though it still hurt, I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of me looking weak. I was not weak. I stood up straighter. I tried to look confident but I had no idea how I was going to get out of here. For some reason I knew yelling was not going to work. He straightened too. I tried to kick him but he moved, with so much ease and a sickeningly evil smile on his face. I tried again but this time instead of dodging he grabbed my foot, pushed it up high, making me lose balance. With his right foot he kicked me hard in the stomach. I fell to the floor with a thud. The fall and kick took the air from my lungs, but was not giving up. I stood up slowly. Trying to get my breath back. Once I was up, I was ready. But so was he. He went to punch me in the face, I ducked but his foot was ready and he kicked me in the eye. I couldn't see. One eye was already swelling and I know that if I live to see tomorrow it will be black. I stood up, only to be met by another foot to the rib cage. I flew back and hit the mirror. It shattered. The pieces sounding like rain as they hit the concrete. I could only just feel the bits of glass falling and cutting me. I stayed there curled up, on the floor, by the now shattered mirror.

He walked over to me in long purposeful strides. His hand was on my chin, grabbing it painfully hard. He pushed my chin up so I could look at him in the face. He was grinning, he knew he had won. I have no idea who this man is, I have never seen him before in my life. But that didn't matter, I knew I was going to die in a minute anyway. But not before I gave him something for him to remember me by. With all the strength I could muster I punched in in the eye, hard. His head snapped back. But he did not let go of his grip on my chin.

When his face was looking down at me I knew my death was not going to be painless or quick. He stood up. My body had gone back to a curled up position, but my stomach was still open. He kicked me right in the stomach and I felt like I was going to be sick. He kicked again but this time I heard a sickening crack and I coughed, blood dripping out of my mouth to make a pool just below my head. Then he bent down again and grabbed a piece of glass. He grabbed my chin again and forced me to look at him while he held the piece of glass in the other hand. Without hesitation, without a thought he plunged the glass into my thigh. I screamed in agony.

He still held my face in his hand his horrid smile would be the last thing I see. Every once in a while he would move the glass or just pull it out and stab me again. A thought crossed my mind how many girls has he killed? How many more can he do this to? The thought of him doing this again gave me more strength than I needed. Before he even realised what was happening, I had ripped out the glass in my leg and stabbed him in the chest. I saw, what was left of, the light go from his eyes. Every memory he must have made me forget came back even the one of him rubbing his filth covered hands all over my body, that man felt every part of me and I am afraid to know what he would have done if I hadn't broken his compulsion, what would might have happened before my death. It certainly wasn't pure thoughts. Death was always going to come but he would have enjoyed me first. I started to run to the end of the alley. I had no idea how long I had been in there for. When I left my house its was 12pm now it was pitch black and not a person in sight. I exited the alley wear I collapsed and cried. The horror of what I'd just been through hit me. In between sobs I pulled out my phone and called my mother before I blacked out from blood loss.

The end

By Molly Westwood