Hunger & Hollow

Pulling my jacket tighter across my chest, I curse under my breath.

“Patrick?” I hiss, bending down to look under a box next to the dumpster. “Where are you?”

The rain hits the ground so hard that it bounces back up and soaks through my pants.

“Patrick! You are definitely not getting a treat tonight!” I’m freezing, wet, and beyond annoyed. I have a deadline to meet, and instead of triple-checking that everything is perfect, I’m creeping around in the garbage looking for him.

“If you don’t come out, I’m going to leave you! I swear, I’ll do it!”

Nothing but rain. He knows I won’t do it. I can’t stand the thought of him out here all night, cold and wet.

Looking up, I let my eyes move over the rows of windows. Nine floors up, the lights glowing from my apartment send a shiver down my spine. I could be up there, warm and cozy.

“Damn it, Patrick.” I growl under my breath as I turn my attention back to the alley.

At the end of the alley, a sound catches my attention. The rattling clink of glass breaking against the ground.

Squinting, I step under the flickering streetlamp and look.

“Patrick? Come here, buddy. Don’t be stubborn. You don’t want to be out here either!”

There is another sound, something moving behind the last dumpster in the row.

Stomping angrily toward the sound, I expect to see his wet orange face hiding from the rain.

Instead, there is a man crouching down behind the bin. Yelping, I shuffle back, startled and frightened by his unexpected presence.

“Sorry to scare you.” He jumps up. “I was looking for something.”

Something about the way he’s moving toward me makes my heart leap up into my throat.

“Oh, uh, it’s fine.” I take a step back, directly into a puddle that soaks my socks. “P-Please stop approaching.” I feel stuck in time. I don’t want to turn my back to him, but I need to get away.

He’s walking strangely, like his leg is injured, and it drags behind him just slightly.

“I hope you’re having a nice night.” His voice is flat, too calm, as though the words don’t quite belong to him. He shuffles sideways in a stilted, jerking motion. His movements are awkward and uncoordinated, like he’s a puppet with tangled strings—as if he’s not in charge of his movements.

My eyes dart around the alley for something to use in case I need it. Reaching into my pocket slowly, curling around my keys. I shift two between my knuckles, the jagged edges pointed outward. Not much, but better than nothing. I can use them to hit him.

“Yeah, good night.” I quickly move away without taking my eyes off of him. If I break into a sprint, I might have a second to get away. I just have to make it to the end of the alley. It’s raining, but there are still people on the street. They feel miles away right now.

His head tilts sharply, too far to one side. The motion is wrong, almost insect-like. “What’s your name?” he asks, his tone cheerful yet hollow, like an automated recording.

Full-fledged panic courses through me. There is definitely something wrong with him.

Run, my instincts scream, but my feet are cemented in place, my gaze locked on him.

For a split second, the illusion breaks. Where his features were smooth and human, they shifted—distorted, alien. A fleeting glimpse of jagged teeth, hollowed eyes, and something dark crawling just beneath his skin. It was like a glitch. One second, he looks normal, then not at all. It’s like a mask that slipped.

The alley is shrinking around us. The walls are closing in.

I tighten my grip on the keys. My fingers are shaking now. “I—I really need to go,” I stammer, forcing my legs to move, inching toward the mouth of the alley. "Good night."

He smiles, and his teeth gleam, sharp and inhuman. “I really would like to know your name.”

“Fire!” I scream as loudly as I can. My feet pound against the ground, splashing in the puddles full of rainwater.

I knew I wouldn’t make it far, but he’s got me faster than. I was expecting.

The world rolls, head over heels, and my back hits the ground hard.

Gasping for air, I panic. Not only is he on top of me, but the wind is knocked from my lungs, and I can’t breathe.

“This won’t hurt.” He runs one of his fingers over my cheek before bringing his mouth down to me.

In my confusion, still trying to take a breath, I think he’s going to kiss me.

He doesn’t.

He passes my mouth and latches onto my neck. At first it’s just a small sucking sensation. Very quickly, I feel dizzy.

My mouth falls slack, and my whole body relaxes on the ground. I have no energy—not enough to fight, to speak, or even to think. I’m in a thick haze.

What is happening?

The edges of my vision go dark, a creeping inky black that spreads quickly.

Nothing makes sense. I can’t figure out what he’s doing, but I’m too tired to care. It’s like my mind has been scattered, the pieces are there, but they can’t connect to form a coherent thought.

Then, in a burst of sudden movement, he’s gone.

Blinking my eyes open, I watch in slow motion as he drops to the ground beside me.

He’s not gone.

He’s here, and I think he might be dead.

His face is flat against the concrete, and thick, black liquid is dripping from his mouth and nose.

Deep in my brain, far away from anything I can grab onto, I feel fear.

My eyes blink closed again, feeling heavy as I try to open them.

Big black boots scrape against the pavement, and I watch them as the person wearing them grabs the man and drags him to the dumpster.

My mind races through the fog. Is it a police officer?

The man falls into the dumpster with a loud thud that echoes through the alley. A frightened yowl screeches beneath the big metal box—a soaked orange cat sprints from the alley, without sparing me a second glance. Traitorous Patrick.

The boots walk toward me again, worn and only half-laced with dark jeans tucked into the tops. Definitely not a police officer.

It also occurs to me that an officer would probably not have thrown the body in the garbage…

“Oh shit.” A low, rough voice speaks, and the boots stop inches from my head. “You’re still alive?”

I try to respond, but only a weak cough comes out.

“Fuck.” He groans, seeming frustrated by my continued existence. He crouches down, his body a silhouette against the dim light from the street lamps. His long black jacket and the hood tucked up over his head make it impossible to see anything but the faintest glint of sharp eyes.

“P-Please.” I feel desperate. Cold is creeping up my legs, a kind of cold that I’ve never felt before. It’s not coming from the outside to chill my bones, it’s inside of me, and it’s spreading. “Help me.” I use all of my strength to move my hand across the ground. Touching his boot is all I can manage. “I’m dying.”

The chill is moving up into my stomach now. It’s so heavy and full of sadness.

A tattooed hand takes mine, lifting it up slightly. He sighs and moves my hand around like he’s studying it.

Another sigh, heavier this time, and his broad shoulders slump as he brings my arm higher. Then, slowly, he leans down.

When his mouth touches my wrist, I flinch. The pressure is featherlight, just a graze of warmth against the unbearable cold. It doesn’t hurt, not like I expected, but it still sends a jolt of fear through me.

It feels somehow fast and slow. Like time stopped and sped up all at once.

Just as quickly as he started, he stops. “Where do you live?”

Before I can answer, strong arms slide under me, lifting me off the ground as if I weigh nothing. My head lolls against his chest.

The edges of my vision blur and darken as unconsciousness pulls me under. The last thing I hear is his voice, softer now, murmuring words I can’t quite make out.

Even with my eyes closed, I know I’m alone now. He’s gone.

There was something comforting about him, a quiet calm that made me feel safe. Now it’s gone and I'm alone in the cold.

I can’t move or open my eyes. The rain has stopped for now, so I just wait—for someone to find me or for the strength to get up.