The Alley

This was a piece I wrote for my fiction writing class in college. I have made some adjustments to it based on the suggestions I recieved on it and I think they have improved the story greatly. The assignment was to write a scene (since I was incapable of this, I made a very short story) about an alleyway using only two pages. Enjoy!
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          Every day, Michael walked past the alleyway twice. On his way to work, it was just a harmless space between buildings. Small, forgotten flowers bloomed between cracks in the asphalt as if forcing their way past the man-made barrier. The sun reflected off of the windows and light danced on the brick walls of the surrounding buildings. But somewhere between the then and the time he returned, the alley changed. With its endless shadows and secret archways, it was a different world. Even the plants that had seemed so alive in the morning seemed like things possessed as a slight breeze made them stretch and writhe on the pavement. The only light came from a small arrow jutting out from one of the brick walls. Most of the light bulbs that encircled the arrow were burnt out and some flickered as if fighting the inevitability that they, too, would fail to shine much longer.

          The arrow pointed to a dark doorway. What was behind the door, Michael could only guess. But guessing wasn't good enough. He had to know where the door led. There was something about the alleyway that created in him an inherent need to know more. No case that has come to the detective agency has ever elicited such a response in him. The only problem was in squelching his apprehension enough to make his way deep into the alley. He refused to admit that fear was keeping him from entering the unknown. He was an investigator, trained to face all kinds of horrors, yet this mysterious door clutched at his heart with icy fingers. The dark windows stared him down and the unrevealed dangers within kept him from approaching the door.

          Finally, the need to know defeated his caution. His work load was mercifully slow one day, so he finished early one afternoon and ventured out to the alley. He walked around three sides of the building that housed the arrow and the door, but saw no other entrances or exits. No signs to advertise what type of building it was. His gun was secure in his holster, and his confidence was higher than the afternoon sun. On his left, he saw the ladder of the fire escape secured quite high off of the ground. On his right, a relatively small, forgotten dumpster sat against the wall. It's color had once been green, but the years and God knows what other types of monstrocities had depleted the color and rust encompassed most of the metal surfaces. Gauging the distance between the dumpster and the fire escape, he jumped onto the lid of the dumpster and with a quick twist of his torso and a great push of his thighs, he leapt toward the fire escape. He missed the ladder, but managed to grab onto the bottom of the railing. After hoisting himself up and situating himself against the wall beside a vertical section of gutter where the night shadows would definitely help to conceal him, he waited and watched the mysterious door.

          For a few hours, nothing happened. No one entered or exited the building and the light bulbs remained dead. As the sun passed overhead, he watched, transfixed, as the alley began to change. The beauty of the flowers and weeds diminished and they seemed to wilt with each ounce of beauty that dissolved. The windows seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it. And a lone wanderer approached the door. With a start, he realized that it was his and his wife's lawyer, Brenda! Happy, smiley Brenda! But he barely recognized this Brenda whose worry lines creased her forehead and whose eyes glanced frantically around her before she opened the door to which the arrow pointed. He wanted to call out to her, but he could not find his voice, so captured was he by the change in her demeanor as the door closed firmly behind her.

          Hours passed as he watched person after person sneak into the alleyway and slink to the door. None of them ever immediately opened the door: they paused to glance around them first. Whether they were looking for danger or followers, Michael didn't yet know. One person he saw even used a bit of deception in his routine. He first walked past the alley and Michael never thought more about him until he saw the man walk to the entrance once more, glance at his watch, and hurry into the alley as if he were late and decided to take a shortcut to somewhere. But as he neared the door, he looked around and ducked into it as if it were vitally important. Most of the people might have been normal people if their features hadn't been haggard, drawn, and pale. They reminded him of the nighttime alley: dead.

          All night he could not tear his eyes away from the door. He forgot the need for nourishment or sleep. He forgot about his family at home. He forgot where he was as his fear and dread grew with the coming of the morning and he suddenly realized a cold truth:

          For as many people entered the building, not one of them came out.







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Author Notes

I might just make this into a larger story if I had any idea what was on the other side of the darn door! Any suggestions would be more than welcome!