4:20 A.M
Mikey's alarm went off, waking him up. He went about his usual routine: washing his face, brushing his teeth and dressing up.
He then sent a quick message to his parents.
"Heading to the library for a 2-hour intense study session."
As he found himself always doing, he waited a good 30 seconds before receiving the exact same response he got every single time.
"Good."
Mikey's eyes indifferently stared at the phone for a moment. Except they held a new darkness in them today. It seemed to burn, but dimmed down once Mikey noticed his shaking hands.
He shook his head and sighed.
'What am I thinking?'
He packed his bag, taking his usual necessities: a water bottle, gym membership card, towel and change of clothes.
"Who actually believes their kid is studying this early in the semester?"
***
4:30 A.M
Mikey was jogging through the dark, damp streets of campus. His destination—the gym—was half an hour away and he couldn't afford to waste time.
As per usual, the early morning street was dark and quiet. Mikey enjoyed the dim atmosphere, which is why he preferred to move around this time.
He noticed something odd this time, however. On his jogging path, there was a person lying on the ground, muttering to themselves. He couldn't make out any of the person's features, mostly due to him not wearing his prescribed glasses at the moment, but he did know to stay clear.
Perhaps, if he had his glasses, he would have noticed that the person laying on the ground was a young woman. Scantily clothed and covered in red liquid, she gushed out of her stomach.
'A hobo.' he thought.
The young man jogged around the person. He gave no second thought to the entire situation.
He'd heard rumours about how dangerous the campus was at this time. That was mostly the reason barely any students moved around, even though it was a Saturday dawn. Of course, he believed it was just that—a rumour.
Ghanaians were quite superstitious after all.
"Hey."
A lazy, feminine voice called out.
No, Mikey must have just misheard things. He didn't see anything, nor did he hear anything. He was just jogging like he always did. Except he felt like picking up the pace.
"Hey! Can't you hear me?"
The voice got louder and more forceful, almost angry.
'Boy, those phantom sounds sure have gotten stronger.'
His pace got monumentally faster. Hell, forget jogging; Mikey was sprinting away on the asphalt like a speeding motor. Mikey wouldn't consider himself a fast runner, but if he noticed just how much distance he covered in the span of a few minutes, he'd have considered joining the Olympics then and there.
***
'Well, that was a weird experience.'
Mikey thought as he leaned onto a street lamp, catching his breath. Sweat dripped down his fat neck and onto his chest, making his white shirt soak it all up.
Mikey stood up, looked down and sighed, exasperated.
"Sweating before I even get to the gym. Great."
He muttered dejectedly.
He looked at his watch.
4:42 A.M
He ran for 12 minutes straight at his top speed before stopping. His face was indifferent as he stared down at his watch.
'Yes! A new record!'
Internally, however, he screamed with joy.
"Might as well skip cardio then."
He shrugged nonchalantly, and pocketed his hands. Now it was time to go to the gym. He could see the building just up the street. From the looks of things, it was empty, save for about three or so people working out.
"You seem to be in a good mood."
To his side, he heard a voice. This one sounded haggard and raspy. Mikey gulped as he felt scaly, bony fingers grab his left shoulder.
Every instinct in his body screamed for him to run away. There was no point in thinking or trying to talk; his legs just wanted to go as far as possible. But for some reason, he felt like he shouldn't dare move. He couldn't explain it, but something bad would happen if he moved rashly.
"You won't talk?"
The man asked mockingly
Mikey flinched as the grip tightened. From the corner of his eye, he tried to make out details of the man. He was lean and had unusually pale fingers—they were practically corpse-like. But that was the end of Mikey's observations. Most of the man's features were covered by the dark cloak he had on.
"Don't look."
The man's voice was sharper. It effortlessly cut through Mikey's ears, forcing his eyes to turn back to the gym.
The man squeezed harder. Mikey winced in pain, trying his hardest to stifle any pained moans.
"You smell delicious."
The man whispered, slowly walking behind Mikey. His fingers slowly and smoothly moved over from his shoulder to his neck. Mikey's body shuddered under the unnerving cold of the stranger's finger tips. The stranger's other hand moved across his body and grabbed his chest from behind.
Mikey could feel the man's breath on him as he moved in closer. The man sniffed, taking in Mikey's scent.
"No alcohol, no cigars, no poison. Unlike that girl from before."
The girl from before? He couldn't possibly have meant the hobo, right?
"Yet you reek of despair. How rare."
Mikey was unsure of what to do.
He'd only ever seen such situations in comics or novels, but nothing else. Even the rumours of late-night encounters he'd heard didn't involve situations that felt so invasive.
He really, really didn't like this.
Hell, he was starting to get annoyed by it. His fear from before was almost gone, slowly filling with rage and disgust.
"Excuse me, but could you let go of me?"
Mikey requested, finally having had enough.
"Huh?"
The man was surprised, to say the least. He gave Mikey a quizzical look for a moment, before deciding he'd just heard wrong. The hunger must have been getting to him. There was no way anyone in their right head would say such a thing in such a situation, right?
No point in wasting time here. It was time to dig in.
He opened his mouth to bite into Mikey's neck, but his teeth clashed with bone instead.
"I told you to let go."
The strange man stumbled back, grabbing his mouth and cursing silently. He looked up at Mikey, his eyes shaking in their sockets. The boy was already heading towards the gym at top speed, leaving the man even more baffled. That confusion took only a moment to turn into seething anger.
Mikey, on the other hand, had lost his anger and was back to his senses. At the moment, he was only hoping he'd be able to make it to the gym before the man realised what was happening. At least, once at the gym, he could work with the others to deter the man.
Or so, he would have liked.
Mikey screamed in pain as he felt the force of a raging bull hit him from the side. The blow sent him toppling like a rag doll on the coarse asphalt.
Mikey wheezed on the ground as he tried to recover. A sharp pain, like needles piercing his lungs, forced him back to the ground. Oh God, a rib or two were fractured, if not completely broken. Every cough and inhale felt like inviting hell on his chest, but he needed to breath to live.
Through vision clouded by the red of blood streaking down his head, he saw the man walking towards him. Or, at least, what the man was supposed to be.
It had thrown away its overcoat, revealing it in its malnourished form. Its bones stuck out, as if begging to be freed from the dry, scaly skin enclosing them. Its head, although shaped much like a human's, had unnatural proportions. A perfectly rounded mouth filled with sharp teeth, and pale red lips.
Even with no coat, that was all Mikey could make.
He gulped, the sound of his own heartbeat sounding louder and louder.
The monster's mouth moved in a poor imitation of how a human's did, producing a raspy, vile voice. Even then, Mikey couldn't understand a word it said.
Perhaps its voice was simply too rough for Mikey to understand what he said, or it simply spoke a language Mikey had never heard before, or maybe the sound of its extended claws scratching the asphalt in its cocky stride to its meal overshadowed its words.
None of that mattered. Mikey had to move.
He couldn't die here. This was not where he was going to allow things to end.
'Come on. Just stand up!'
Mikey screamed, trying his hardest to move his body. He slowly stood up, gritting his teeth through the pain. He was, however, immediately forced back to the ground, by a force equal to the kick he received earlier.
His chest hurt even more. Unlike before, Mikey heard something or some things break this time. His waist screamed in pain for a single moment as the thing landed on him.
But that was all it was. A moment.
Mikey couldn't feel anything past that single moment. Sure, before, it was hell on Earth, but he was soon filled with nothing.
Nothing?
'W-Why can't I feel? My arms! My arms! Oh God no. Please no, not my arms.'
It wasn't just his arms. Every body part beneath his neck—shoulders, chest and legs—had lost all feeling.
The creature rolled his body over, forcing him to face it.
Its slimy saliva drooped onto his face, as a long, sticky tongue stuck out. This grey tongue licked him, drowning his head in its saliva.
Mikey couldn't breathe, he didn't want to breathe.
It was over. He couldn't walk. He couldn't feel. He couldn't ever hope to accomplish his dream now.
The creature's eyes burned like hot red fire as it stared at him. Its eyes were set on his chest.
The boy couldn't even hope to resist. He just quietly resolved himself for what was to come.
At the very least, he wouldn't feel it, right?
Wrong.
The beast's circular mouth dug into his chest, creating a bloody mess. Mikey's scream echoed through the early morning sky, only to fall on the ears of no one.
This went on for a few more seconds, before Mikey heard something. That shouldn't have been possible. He was slowly losing all his senses in his head. His vision was blurry, he couldn't smell his own torn-apart chest, and hell, he couldn't taste the blood choking him at the very moment.
Yet, he felt he could hear something.
Like a horse galloping, but ten times faster.
In the next moment, he saw a blur right above him, with a slender leg stretched out in an elegant arch. This leg slammed into the creature's legs, throwing its body far off Mikey's body and forcing out a violent breeze.
Mikey might have winced in pain at the shockwave, but he is currently unable to.
He forced himself to look at his saviour from the corner of his eye.
All he saw was a baggy, blood stained white shirt, and beautiful, long, slender legs, slicing through the air.