The Long Walk Home
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 506
With the thick evening fog covering the city streets, James shivered, feeling the chill penetrate his thick moleskin coat and flow through his body. He lit a Winfield Blue, keeping the flame of the Zippo burning to warm his hands. The fog made it difficult to see more than a few feet ahead as he walked home from the pub.
James felt eyes burning into his back after walking past a dark and gloomy alleyway, filled with overflowing wheelie bins. A rustle amongst the scraps of food on the ground startled James and he missed a step, almost tripping over the gutter and onto the road in front of the garbage truck rolling down the street. When he looked over the alley, he could not see far enough to identify what made the noise.
“Bugger this,” he said to himself and picked up the pace, hoping that a bus or taxi would come along to get him off the street. He felt extremely uneasy, a chill ran down his spine, and the hairs stood on the back of his neck.
James looked over his shoulder, feeling the piercing eyes burning into his back. The fog was like a milky soup; he still couldn’t see anything and felt even more uneasy with this walk home.
A screeching howl shattered the night’s silence, sending another thicker chill down his spine. He started to run. The sound of some kind of animal’s sharp nail scraped the bitumen behind James, slowly first then built up speed as it chased him. James could hear his heart thumping in his chest, pumping blood rapidly as he ran faster, fuelled by panic and a sense of self-preservation. Up ahead, the familiar glowing sign of the city Seven Eleven stood out in the fog light a beacon signalling safety.
The machine gun rat a tatting of the claws behind became louder, closer and more threatening.
“Help!” he yelled, as he got closer to the store, hoping to attract some attention and maybe even scare off the pursuer.
Through the fog, James saw the store’s automatic front doors open as a couple walked in. He pushed himself to run faster now he was so close to safety, spurred on by a renewed hope.
A hot breath beat at his neck. Claws ripped into his back and knocked him to the ground. The smell of rancid meat bled into James’ nostrils, causing him to vomit as he tried to scramble to his knees. He turned around, forcing the hairy claws from his body but unable to gain a firm grip because of the stream of blood dripping from the paws.
Two angry yellow and red eyes, part human, part wolf glared at James with an insatiable hungry and lust. Around the creature’s neck hung the glittering gold necklace of the woman he spoke with in the bar.
“You’re a werew...”
The Long Walk Home
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Our variety seems to be hiting the mark with over 100,000 views of our Online Magazine with a good spread across all articles.
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