Chapter 2: Death’s Alley and the Fish-Head Savior

He glanced back. Gave me a reassuring nod.

No moon tonight. Just endless dark.

Clouds blanketed the sky, blotting out even the faintest starlight. The world shrank to the narrow cone of the flashlight and the sound of our footsteps.

Our footsteps echoed.

Tap, tap, da-da—

Tap, tap, da-da—

The rhythm was hypnotic, almost soothing. Then I realized how loud my own breathing had gotten. Each step sounded like a drumbeat in my chest.

My legs felt heavy. The click of my heels got louder and louder.

Every step sent a jolt up my spine. The sound ricocheted off the walls, turning the alley into a tunnel made of noise and fear.

Why did this alley feel so long tonight?

It was like time had slowed, making every step feel endless. My mind screamed at me to run, but my body moved in slow motion.

No, my feet hurt.

My feet ached, but I couldn’t stop. I just needed to make it to the end. To the safety of my building’s lobby.

My mind felt sluggish, like my brain was stuck in molasses.

Thoughts slipped through my fingers like water.

I tried to focus, but everything felt distant, muffled, like I was underwater.

I tried to look down, but could just barely see my own toes.

It was like my neck wouldn’t move. Like I was trapped in my own body.

Panic clawed at my chest. I couldn’t breathe.

But... I wasn’t wearing heels?

That thought surfaced for a split second, then vanished.

I blinked, confused. My shoes were flats—plain black ones I wore on long days. But the sound, the feel—something wasn’t right. My head spun.

A wave of drowsiness hit me like a drug.

It hit like a drug, heavy as syrup. My eyelids drooped, and I stumbled, barely catching myself on the driver’s arm.

My eyelids drooped, heavy as lead.

The world tilted, colors smearing at the edges. I fought to keep my eyes open, but it felt impossible.

Even though I realized something was wrong, I couldn’t do anything. My arms and legs felt stuffed with cotton, totally useless.

I tried to scream, but my lips barely parted. The alley spun, the flashlight beam wobbled, the driver’s silhouette going fuzzy.

The footsteps grew closer, and the driver’s figure up ahead blurred, splitting like a broken mirror.

I blinked, trying to clear my vision. His outline fractured, multiplying like a broken mirror. The air buzzed with static.

“Ma’am, here’s your building.”

His voice boomed, cutting through the fog in my mind like a church bell. The world snapped back into focus. Suddenly I could move again, like I’d been shocked awake.

Just as I was about to collapse, his voice exploded in my ear. An invisible wave of sound radiated from me, like I’d been shocked awake.

It felt like getting dunked in ice water—shocking, but lifesaving. My knees buckled, but I managed to stay upright, clutching my purse like a lifeline.

I shuddered, saw him pull a stack of business cards from his pocket, hand me one, and smile, “If you need a ride next time, call me. And if you need help, you can call me too.”

His smile was kind, a little crooked, and for a moment I forgot how scared I’d been. The card was warm in my hand. The gold lettering caught the streetlight as he pressed it into my palm.

I swallowed my fear, bowed my head in thanks, took the card, and hurried inside. My hands shook as I unlocked the door. Only after I got inside did I finally breathe and slide down against the door.

The deadbolt thunked home, and I slid down to the floor, heart pounding. The silence of my apartment wrapped around me like a familiar blanket—shaky but safe.

Looking around, my tiny apartment—barely five hundred square feet—was covered in crosses and dreamcatchers. At first glance, you’d think you’d stumbled into some kind of New Age cult HQ.

Crystals lined the windowsill, sage bundles dangled from the curtain rods, and the faint scent of lavender and sandalwood clung to the air. My friends joked I was one crystal away from starting my own Etsy shop. I could almost hear them now, teasing me.

But this was my safe haven.

No matter how weird things got, this was my sanctuary. The clutter, the mismatched furniture, the glow of string lights—

this was where I could breathe.

My name is Autumn Lane. I’m twenty-three. An intern at a Madison Avenue ad agency.

I’d always dreamed of making it big in the city, but lately, I was starting to wonder if the universe had other plans. Maybe being a golden child wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

Tonight wasn’t my first brush with the supernatural, but it was by far the worst.

I’d had my share of weird dreams and unexplained chills, but nothing like this. This was the kind of night that left a mark. The kind you’d remember when you were old and gray, telling stories to your grandkids.

About two months ago, the company had a team-building hike up some random mountain in upstate New York. I didn’t want to go, but everyone was so hyped, I caved.

It was supposed to be fun—bonding, fresh air, a break from the city grind. Instead, it felt like a bad omen. I got blisters, sunburned, and came home with a sense of unease I couldn’t shake.

After we got back, weird stuff started happening.

At first, it was small things—keys vanishing, lights flickering. But then it got worse, fast. My apartment felt colder, emptier. Even the air tasted wrong. Nothing felt safe anymore.

First, all my potted plants shriveled up overnight. Then, the stray cats I fed started hissing at me for no reason. Sparrows kept flying into my window, smashing themselves bloody…

Every morning brought a new disaster. My basil wilted, my succulents rotted. The cats I’d named and fed for months now arched their backs and spat at me. One morning, I found a dead sparrow on my windowsill, blood staining the glass.

I started leaving the blinds closed.

It was one thing after another.

I kept a tally in my journal—dead plant, angry cat, broken mirror, bad dream. The list grew longer, and so did my anxiety.

At first, I just thought I was having a run of bad luck. Until one night after work, someone shoved me at a crosswalk, and I almost got hit by a speeding car.

The car missed me by inches, the wind from its passing nearly knocking me over. I spun around, ready to yell—but the street was empty. Not a soul in sight. The city’s neon glare suddenly felt menacing.

But when I turned around, nobody was there.

I stood in the crosswalk, heart pounding, trying to convince myself it was just a trick of the light, a city illusion. But deep down, I knew better.

That’s when I realized maybe something had latched onto me.

The feeling was like a cold hand on my shoulder—unseen, but impossible to ignore. I started triple-checking locks and sleeping with the lights on.

I visited almost every church and psychic in the city, collecting a pile of crosses, crystals, and lucky charms. Nothing worked.

My dresser looked like a flea market booth. I tried everything—holy water, tarot readings, even burning sage. The only thing I hadn’t tried was moving to another city, and even that started to sound tempting.

Everyone at the office teased me for believing in superstitions—everyone except my supervisor, Marlene.

She was the only one who didn’t roll her eyes when I showed up with a new charm. Sometimes, she’d just give me a look, like she knew more than she let on.

When I was about to give up, Marlene called me into her office, paused for a long moment, then handed me a purple lucky pouch with a folded, triangle-shaped charm inside.

She pressed it into my palm, her fingers lingering just a second longer than normal. “Keep this close,” she whispered. “It’s important.” I nodded, not sure if I believed her, but grateful all the same.

It was a keepsake from Marlene’s grandmother.

She told me her grandmother was a legend in her hometown, the kind of woman folks whispered about at church potlucks. I could almost picture her—hair in a tight bun, eyes sharp as knives, always one step ahead of everyone else.

That’s when I learned Marlene’s family used to be famous for “clearing spirits,” but the skill was lost over generations. By her mom’s time, it was gone. The charm was all that was left.

She looked almost embarrassed telling me, but there was pride in her voice, too. “It’s just a little something,” she said, but I could tell it meant a lot.

Now, she was lending it to me, hoping I could finally shake whatever was haunting me.

Her faith in me was humbling. I slipped the pouch onto my purse and promised to take care of it, like it was a piece of her family’s legacy.

Besides that, Marlene also took me to see a well-known local spiritualist. With his help, I set up a protective circle at home, and finally got some peace. But now, it seemed like the darkness was creeping back in.

The spiritualist was an older Black man with a deep, melodic voice—the kind that made you want to spill your secrets. He lit candles, muttered prayers. Drew a chalk circle around my bed. For a while, things got better. I almost believed I was safe—until tonight.

I flopped onto the bed, sighing. No point overthinking. Best to just get some sleep. With the protective circle, my apartment should be safe for now.

I stared up at the ceiling, tracing the cracks with my eyes, trying to slow my racing heart. The city’s noise faded, replaced by the steady tick of my bedside clock. I told myself I’d survived worse. Tomorrow would be better.