Running: Chapter 3

// September 3rd, 2007 // fun

Chapter 3 of running…to read the first two, go here.

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The light had faded a bit behind him, but still John ran.

He didn’t know what else to do.

The alleyways he was fleeing down never ended. He was positive he wasn’t going in circles, but they all appeared to be the same. Black asphalt, brown walls, bricks, dumpsters with endless piles of trash surrounding them, empty crates, torn boxes and puddles of murky water.

The light was ever behind him, pursuing him relentlessly, untiring. John on the other hand was losing strength. Cracks and gashes in the pavement were stumbling blocks to his faltering gait. His hands had bloodied from a few of his falls, along with a gashed knee clearly visible through a fresh rip in his jeans.

Soon the pursuit was going to end. John would trip, land on the ground and not be able to get up this time. His hunter would approach and the chase would be over.

It ended sooner than he thought. The unending maze of alleys suddenly stopped. A dead end, with a brown brick wall towering above him until it faded into the haze from the storm. Stark with fear, John reached out to touch the wall, as if in disbelief that he was trapped. He slid his hand down the cold, slimy bricks. He pulled it back, stared at the oily residue on his fingers and went to sniff it when the wall lit up with a blaze of light.

He didn’t turn at first. Shock and denial were there, along with fear of facing the unknown.

Then the most extraordinary thing happened, which was an understatement considering the events since the star descended behind his jeep. As he slowly spun to accept his fate, a doorway opened along the wall to his right. Where bricks had been before, suddenly a gap appeared. Light flowed from it, even though it was eaten by the rays of the thing chasing John.

The sight of an old man standing just inside made the revelation of a door seem unimportant.

“Quick, follow me!” came a shockingly clear voice from the gap in the wall.

John just stared, mouth open. The man wore nothing but an old burlap sack, somehow formed into a long overcoat. His mouth was missing teeth, and the yellow ones remaining looked as if they’d soon follow. Balding in the front and some on top, the old man had white hair down to his shoulders, long and stringy. He appeared to be nothing more than a old, dirty transient. Yet John felt there was something strange about him when he spoke.

“You don’t have much time if you want to escape…follow me,” he gestured to John.

The voice was what stopped John cold. Convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’d never met this old hobo, the tone behind his speech seemed oddly familiar. It had a strange, comforting feel to it, yet it also filled John with a sense of…

The old man was reaching his hand out now. “Take it!” he said. From the opening in the wall John felt warmth seeping out. He was sure he heard the sounds of laughter through the door. A smell of something cooking filled his nostrils. He longed to take hold of the old guy’s hand and embrace the warmth and safety behind that door.

“It’s safe in here, let’s go. Don’t be a fool!” cried the silver-haired bum. Despite the determination and worry on the old man’s face, John saw something else. Something that filled him with uneasiness.

John looked back towards the light approaching for a second and suddenly a bear trap closed around his arm. At least he imagined that’s what it felt like. The old man had grabbed him and was trying to pull him through the door. John was surprised at his strength, which quickly turned painful. Long nails, almost claws, from months of neglect were tearing into his flesh. He could feel his skin being peeled off his muscles as he struggled to free himself.

Pulled up to the doorway, John used his feet to brace himself from being yanked all the way inside. The pain was overbearing and he almost gave in to the power of this little hobo when he spotted a bottle sticking out from under some boxes. He snatched it up, smashed the bottom against the wall and slammed the sharp blades of the broken glass deep into the arm of the old man.

Screams of anguish from the assailant exploded into the night and the skies boomed with thunder. His grip was weakened and John was able to yank the shredded arm away from the old man. He tried to stumble away from the door but the hobo sprang for him like a lion, eyes blazing red.

A blast of light hit the old man square in the side and slammed him into the wall. Bricks crumbled where his body hit and the ground cracked when he landed on the pavement. Like a cat he was back on his feet, dirty hair blowing in the sudden storm. Instead of charging John again or assaulting the light, he just stood there, eyes glaring at the luminous being approaching.

The light stopped its advance. John cradled his arm against his body, looking from the old man to the glowing star, suddenly unclear who the enemy was.

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