Alex Walker stepped out of the subway station, the cold New York night hitting him like a wall.
It was late, past midnight, and the streets were mostly empty. He pulled his jacket tighter, his breath fogging in the air.
At 28, Alex worked as a freelance journalist, always chasing the next story. Tonight, he had been at a bar interview with a source about city corruption.
It had gone nowhere, just another dead end. He was tired, ready to head home to his small apartment in Brooklyn.
The city was alive in its own way—distant sirens, the hum of traffic on the bridge, and the occasional shout from a late-night crowd.
Alex walked quickly, sticking to the main streets where the streetlights still worked. He didn't like the dark alleys, but sometimes they were the shortest way home. Tonight, he decided to cut through one to save time.
As he turned into the narrow passage between two old brick buildings, the air grew colder. The sounds of the city faded. His footsteps echoed off the walls, and he quickened his pace.
Something felt off. Maybe it was the way the shadows moved, or the silence that pressed in too hard. Alex shook his head. He was just being paranoid. New York was full of weird vibes, especially after a long day.
Halfway through the alley, he heard it—a soft scuffle, like shoes on gravel. He froze, listening. Nothing.
Then, a low whisper, almost like a breath. Alex turned, peering into the darkness. "Hello?" he called out, his voice sharper than he intended. No answer. He cursed under his breath and kept walking. Probably just a rat or some homeless person sleeping it off.
But then he saw her. A woman, slumped against the wall at the far end of the alley.
She was young, maybe in her twenties, with dark hair and pale skin. Her eyes were wide open, staring at nothing.
Alex hesitated for a second, then rushed over. "Hey, are you okay?" He knelt beside her, checking for a pulse. It was there, weak and irregular.
She was breathing, but barely. There was blood on her neck, a small wound that looked like it had been made by an animal. Or something else.
Before he could process it, a shadow shifted behind him. Alex spun around, his heart pounding. A figure stood at the entrance of the alley, tall and still.
The streetlight caught just enough to show a man in a long coat, his face hidden under a hood. He didn't move, but Alex felt a chill run down his spine. The air seemed thicker, heavier.
"Who are you?" Alex demanded, standing up slowly. His phone was in his pocket, but he didn't dare reach for it.
The figure tilted his head, as if studying Alex. Then, he stepped forward. The movement was unnaturally smooth, like he was gliding.
Alex backed away, his mind racing. This wasn't right. The man's eyes glowed faintly in the dark—red, like reflections from a fire. "Stay back," Alex warned, his voice steady despite the fear building in his chest. He glanced at the woman on the ground. She wasn't moving anymore.
The man smiled, revealing teeth that were too sharp, too pointed. "You shouldn't be here," he said, his voice low and rasping, with a hint of an accent Alex couldn't place. It sounded old, foreign.
Alex's instincts kicked in. He turned and ran, his shoes slapping against the wet pavement. The alley seemed longer now, the exit miles away. He heard footsteps behind him—fast, closing in.
Panic surged through him. He wasn't an athlete; he wrote articles for a living. But he pushed harder, bursting out onto the main street.
The sudden light from the streetlamps blinded him for a second. Cars honked as he darted across the road, nearly getting hit. He didn't stop.
He kept running until he reached a crowded area, a 24-hour diner on the corner. Only then did he risk a look back. The alley was empty. No sign of the man.
Breathing heavily, Alex leaned against the diner's window. His hands shook as he pulled out his phone and called 911. "There's a woman in the alley off 5th and Elm.
She's hurt bad. Send someone quick." The operator asked for details, but Alex hung up after giving the basics. He didn't want to explain the rest. Who would believe him about a man with glowing eyes and sharp teeth?
He stepped into the diner, the warmth and smell of coffee grounding him. The place was half-full, with truckers and night shift workers nursing mugs at the counter.
Alex ordered a black coffee and sat in a booth by the window, his mind replaying the scene. The woman's pale face, the blood, the man's eerie smile. It didn't make sense. Muggers didn't have red eyes. This was something out of a bad horror movie.
As he sipped his coffee, Alex tried to rationalize it. Maybe the lighting had played tricks on him. Maybe the man was just a junkie, high on something that made him look monstrous. But deep down, he knew that wasn't it. He'd seen something real, something dangerous.
The police arrived at the alley about 20 minutes later, according to the news alert on his phone. They found the woman, but she was already dead.
No suspects in custody. Alex debated going to the station to give a statement, but what could he say? "I saw a guy who looked like a vampire"? They'd think he was crazy.
He finished his coffee and headed home, taking a cab this time. The driver was chatty, talking about the latest sports scores, which helped distract Alex.
By the time he got to his apartment building, the adrenaline was wearing off, leaving him exhausted. He locked the door behind him, double-checked the windows, and collapsed on his bed.
Sleep didn't come easy. Every creak in the old building made him jump. He kept seeing the man's face in his mind. Those eyes. That smile. Finally, around 3 a.m., he drifted off, but his dreams were filled with shadows chasing him through endless streets.
The next morning, Alex woke up with a headache and a sense of dread. He checked the news on his laptop while making breakfast.
The woman's death was already online—a brief article on a local site. "Woman found dead in Manhattan alley. Cause of death: suspected animal attack." Animal attack? In the middle of the city? It didn't add up.
Alex scrolled through more articles, his journalist instincts kicking in. There had been similar incidents in the past month—three others, all young women, all with unexplained neck wounds.
The police called them random crimes, but the pattern was there. And last night, he had seen the attacker.
He grabbed his notebook and started jotting down notes. Who was that man? What had he done to the woman? Alex knew he should let it go, report it and move on.
But something pulled at him. This could be the story of a lifetime, if he could prove it. Or it could get him killed.
By afternoon, Alex was back on the streets, heading to the library to dig into old records. He wasn't sure what he was looking for—maybe something about urban legends or unexplained deaths.
As he walked, he felt eyes on him, like he was being watched. He shook it off, but the feeling lingered.
At the library, he found a dusty book on New York folklore. It mentioned old tales of "night stalkers"—people who roamed the city at night, preying on the weak.
Some called them vampires, though the book dismissed it as superstition. Alex read on, his heart racing. The descriptions matched what he had seen: pale skin, sharp teeth, strength beyond normal humans.
He copied down a few pages and left, his mind buzzing. This was insane, but it felt true. That night, as the sun set, Alex decided to investigate further. He couldn't just sit around waiting for the next attack. He needed answers.
But as he stepped out of his apartment, a chill ran through him. Across the street, in the shadows of a doorway, he thought he saw a figure watching.
The same tall shape, the same hidden face. Alex froze, his pulse quickening. Was it the man from the alley?
He turned and hurried back inside, slamming the door. His hands trembled as he locked it. This wasn't over. It had only just begun.