Packrat spread out his sleeping bag in the small, cramped room, and the puppy climbed over to rub her wet nose against his hand. He played with her while Marsha left the room to line up her shot. Hours later, their candles turned blue and dim as the wicks sank into melted wax. The room was cold, but through the crack in the closed door, he could feel even colder air blowing through. They padded it as best as they could with a torn-up piece of carpet, and huddled deep into their sleeping bags. Packrat pulled his hood over his head and slept.
He dreamed there was something waiting for him in the alley between the parlor and the apartment complex. In the dream, he passed through the window and the fence effortlessly, like a ghost, and approached the thing waiting for him. No matter how close he got, the thing seemed to retreat even more, never reaching enough light to make out what it was. Instead of fear, all he felt was burning curiosity.
He woke up in the middle of the night with the unshakable certainty that someone was watching him. His foggy, half-asleep mind suggested that someone had called his name, and while he knew the voice was from his imagination, it seemed to get more real as the minutes passed, until he felt as wide awake as if someone had shouted it in his ear. He rolled over and tried to go back to sleep, ignoring the imaginary ringing in his ears and the adrenaline pulsing through his heart, and after half an hour of feeling eyes at the base of his neck, he finally fell back to sleep.
He woke up again when he missed a step on the stairwell. Gravity rushed up to flip him down the stairs, but when his hands rose up to catch him, his left hooked on the bannister. Once he was still, he found himself halfway down the stairs, the echo of his name still ringing in his ears. He felt confused, and a little angry; he didn’t expect the wards on the funeral parlor to still be in place, but most bums carried their own blocks to help protect them. A camp could be just as sturdy as a house, if there were enough old bums carrying strong enough work. He lost his good ward in Virginia in the last stretch of summer, and didn’t have the funds to replace it. Was the whole group was compromised, or just him, the one kid without a ward?
He got up, wiped plaster off his palms, and peeked into the room. Everyone was asleep, including the puppy, burrowed head-first in Marsha’s sleeping bag.
He didn’t know if that meant the thing in the alley wanted him, or if he was the only one it could get, but since it wanted him awake or asleep, he would go to it prepared. He put on his shoes, belt, and coat, then dug out his knife and taser. He couldn’t know if they would protect him. He squeezed through the window, out the fence, through the alleyway, to the tunnel. The alley was dark-- the flashlight in his belt seemed too small to light it, and he couldn’t remember which corners he was supposed to take. He felt his way along the side of the tunnel with the flashlight facing the floor, touching his pocket to make sure the taser was still there.
He walked for so long the fear had time to dissipate. He walked until he was confused; where was the street? Even the purple glow reflecting off the city had faded to complete darkness. He looked back towards the funeral parlor, but couldn’t see anything. Abandoning the search, he tried to re-trace his steps back to the alley, but the walk felt long, and the branching paths between doorways had evolved into smooth, sloping curves, and the rough, rocky texture under his fingers was not like the mortar between bricks. He pointed the flashlight on the wall and found it a rough, yellow gray. Pointing it up, he found a rock ceiling. Gingerly, he let go of the wall and stepped out into the darkness, like a swimmer in deep water, into layers of unknown ecosystems. He went back to the wall to catch his breathe, then fumbled for his phone and checked the signal bars. His phone was off- when the screen came on, he had no service. He shut the phone off again, then his flashlight, then closed his eyes.
He could not think beyond this moment. He was alone, with no belongings, in a strange place, with no way to call for help. There was nothing but him and the soft, unknown darkness
