Dante stepped out of the alley and headed into the only corner store open at this hour, though it was strange to find the place dead this time of night. Usually, it was crawling with assholes bumming snacks and cigarettes off the idiot left in charge.

He stood, waiting. 

Beside him, a display of lighters sat on the counter next to a bunch of off-brand chargers and headphones. He chose one and took another look around.

Minutes rolled by, too many for his patience, and Dante pushed off the counter with a growl.

He walked over to the back room door. 

“Hey, asshole! You back there?” He hollered down the hallway, noticing the back door propped open. 

No doubt that prick was on break, or just slacking off. Whatever he was doing, Dante was about ready to kick his ass and steal the fucking cigarettes. He stepped into the back, avoiding stacks of paper and kicking boxes out of his way. 

Dante reached the door and caught a whiff of something foul—the rotting corpse of an animal or something worse. The place was a fucking sty, leftover garbage, boxes of shit all over, and at his feet, Dante saw a brownish-red spill tracking stains across the tile. 

“What the fuck?” He muttered in disgust and wiped his shoes clean on a pile of Sunday papers. 

Annoyed, Dante made his way back and stepped behind the counter where he located his brand of cigarettes. 

“I don’t have all fucking night, asshole,” He said, tossing a crumpled bill next to the register and leaving. 

Dante stopped outside to light a cigarette, but a soft breeze put out his flame, and the faint echo of some melody turned his attention to the alleys beside him. He stood, staring down the open road where the mouth of another alley sat spilling darkness. His eyes squinted, trying to make out what lingered on the edge of those shadows as the melody—no, ringtone—continued.

A thought crossed his mind, that dumbfuck was still on break somewhere, and he’d sure as hell call the cops after coming back to missing merchandise and not enough money. It wasn’t murder, but Dante was positive the place had cameras, and the last thing he needed was to get pinned for stealing a cheap pack of smokes. 

Dante grunted in annoyance and walked into the alley while catching a break in the wind to light his cigarette. He inhaled slowly and exhaled into the sky where he saw the moon, full and bright, waiting. 

Then, the noise returned. The same ringtone repeated itself as Dante followed it further into the alley. He stepped over spilled bags of trash in the middle of the road, then stopped at a small, shadowy space tucked in between two abandoned buildings.

He stared into the darkness, hearing nothing after the ringtone stopped.

“Hey, dumbfuck,” He called, voice echoing. 

Dante waited, listening to the odd sounds now slithering out of the shadows—trash bins shifting, metal scraping against cold asphalt.

Then, a voice.

A whisper-soft murmur that changed its volume with every word until Dante could only make out a few of them.

He listened.

“…..scre…you….screa—”

Something moved, and Dante flinched.

“You jump out at me, you little cocksucker, and I’ll break your skull against the fucking ground.”

Laughter met his threat, and Dante stepped into the darkness.

He was going to kill that fucking asshole. 

“scream….you….scream…li-like…”

The laughter was in front of him, a smoker’s laugh, loud and obnoxious, mixing with the snarls of dying beasts.

“You…scream….like a…fucking girl.”

His muscles tightened, but Dante stopped after stepping on something firm, yet soft, too soft, and he looked down. 

Carefully, his fingers loosened, allowing the cigarette to slip from his grip as an uneasy feeling turned his stomach and gave his mouth a rancid taste. 

A body—mauled and mutilated into a pile of chewed limbs and ripped flesh. There wasn’t anything human about it now, just what remained wrapped in dirty, tattered clothes that smelled worse than the body itself. 

“What the fuck?” Dante backed away, walking further into the shadow stretching up behind him.

He whipped around. 

Nothing. 

Silence. 

Dante took a few more steps toward the light and patted his body down for his phone, seemingly forgetting where he’d pocketed it. 

“Jesus Christ.”

Dante’s eyes shot upward and met with a maimed face half-devoured by neon shadows. It rose, hunched and dislocated, smelling of blood and letting out a noise similar to a gutted man’s final breaths.

He screamed and tore down the alley where the night thickened and every floodlight went dim. Dante looked back once, catching a glimpse of something feral and big stepping out of the darkness in his direction. It was then he realized he was running further into the alley, and the blue neon storefront became a flicker in the night. He eyed every opening, hoping to see people or the city streets, but everything was blocked by barbed fences and cluttered with garbage. 

It—whatever it was—wailed close behind him, a hideous, blood-curdling sound that caressed his skin like hot iron. Dante felt its shadow upon him, its fangs craving his throat.

He looked back. 

Dante collided with a trash can and hit the ground with violent force, though he hardly noticed any pain. He rolled to his feet as quickly as he could and looked around the alley, pacing in circles and gasping for air. 

A door shut and Dante turned, seeing two waitresses exiting a screen door laughing. They hardly noticed him on their way to the dumpsters, consumed by conversation and protecting their cigarettes from the wind. 

No. 

Dante looked around. Still, his breath hadn't calmed nor did his heart slow.

There was…something. Something behind me.

The women closed the dumpster lid and lingered for a moment to finish smoking. 

Their presence gave him comfort. 

Or little of it.

Dante wiped his face. His trembling palms pushed into his face until it became painful and dark stars burst behind his eyelids. Sweat ran down his face in rivers, and every noise made him cower like a fucking kid. 

A trash can slammed shut. 

Dante uncovered his eyes—and saw teeth.

He screamed as something heavy and powerful tackled him into the alley. It tore into his face, ripping flesh off his bones, then violently shaking its jaw in an attempt to snap his neck. 

His fists pounded against the thick jaws devouring his shoulder. Fangs sank into his flesh, shaking and tearing to open the wound, so blood flowed like a plentiful river. A pop severed his arm, leaving it to hang in a bag of skin as his bones were gnawed and his neck half-eaten. 

The world flickered.

Then, a permanent snap turned everything off.

And Dante was dead.