The Monster In The Alley: A Short Story

I stand with my feet planted on the roof shingles, looking down on the street’s depressing conditions. My hood is pulled low to conceal my face, regardless of the night mist’s fine job of veiling me from the people below. No one bothers to question what could lie within the mist above their heads, leaving them unaware of the lone figure that looms high over them. With the tangy smell that coats the air in every street and alley, it is no wonder why most seem to have a lack of interest in anything but being situated in one spot. Every person displays an uncomfortable aura, ranging from subtle indications to obvious expressions.
As I continue looking around, the shared aura among the people starts to rub off on me. The miserable feeling prods
I look down for a last time, assessing the shadows the assassin disappeared into. He had gone into what looks like an alley; it was the darkest one where no one stood by, and people who walk past seem to quicken their feet. They probably feared alleys due to a common children’s tale: The Monster in the Alley. The story tells of a monster which stretches out its arms and pulls mortal lives into the never ending blackness. Mothers tell their sons and daughters that unlucky victims would not know what had struck them, until they find themselves ten seconds from
I spot a window with its shutters opening out into the chilly air, and a candle’s glow weakly flickering. I sit down with my legs dangling against the wall. After a few quick breaths, I grasp the edge and swing into the room. No one was in the inside, but the small thud was a little too loud for comfort. I silently creep through the house, navigating through doors and stairs. Oddly, no one was inside the house. Eventually, I reach the front door, opening it and stepping outside. No person seemed to find anything unordinary. Casually, I merge into the people, sauntering like I had no care in the world. The dark alley comes into view and I move a little faster, with my sauntering shifting into a rushed walk. I got closer and closer. Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder, halting me. I turn around to meet a pair of unnaturally yellow eyes, staring into the depths of my soul. In his left hand, a dagger was held. I unintentionally brace myself as it pierces into the skin of my neck.
(To be