Edward went on, the crunch of his boots on wet pavement the only sound as night closed in around him. Cold air, heavy, became some kind of gravity. The stillness was unbearable, raw nerve. The further he walked, the more the streets seemed to stretch out before him, opening up like some ghastly labyrinth. The streets were relentlessly motionless.
Behind him, something was forming. It was a figure in the distance, a one-legged man staggering down the sidewalk. Edward stopped, his heart pounding. He couldn't help but stop. The figure was moving jerkily, their feet dragging slowly down the street in stiff, staccato steps, as if they couldn't tolerate the effort.
Edward's breath caught. He couldn't quite place it, but something was wrong with the figure. The way it moved—it wasn't the way a man walked during a late-night stroll. It was too stiff. Too deliberate.
The figure stepped closer, its face still obscured, its body leaning forward slightly. Edward's eyes narrowed, his body tensing. His mind started to spin—what if this was it? What if this was something that would change everything?
Then the figure tilted its head.
"Hey," a voice said, gruff but still unmistakably human.
Edward blinked in shocked silence. The voice hadn't sounded inhuman or slurred, as he had feared. It was a voice. A human voice.
The figure stopped just a few feet away now. Edward could see him more clearly—a man, disheveled but ordinary. He wore a jacket that was a little too big for him, and his face was pale, eyes wide with the kind of exhaustion you'd expect from someone who'd been walking too long, maybe too far.
"I beg your pardon for cutting in," the man said curtly but correctly. "Do you know where Spring Street is? I've been walking quite a distance, and I think I'm heading in the wrong direction."
The man's gaze quickly raked over Edward before settling on him, a lopsided grin flickering across his face, half embarrassed. He nervously fidgeted with the hem of his coat as he silently awaited a response.
Edward just stood there, unsure of what to do. The two of them stood in silence, the only movement being the soft stream of air rustling the leaves on nearby trees. The man wasn't intimidating, wasn't threatening. He was just… lost.
"Spring Street?" Edward finally echoed, glancing around. He could feel the weight of the question hanging in the air, but the tension in his chest began to loosen, just a little. Maybe this isn't so bad after all. Maybe I'm just jumping at shadows.
He cleared his throat. "You're pretty far off. It's a few blocks down, you'll need to take a left at the next corner."
The man nodded, and for a moment, a look of relief flickered across his face. "Thanks, man. I thought I was never gonna make it."
"Yeah, sure," Edward said, struggling to push the gnawing uncertainty aside. The man, tired and a little battered, seemed harmless. Just some guy who had gotten out late and lost his way. That's all.
The man stiffened again, his expression shifting as he glanced over his shoulder, his eyes darting quickly as though something—someone—was behind him.
"I don't know, man…" The man's voice trailed off. "It's been so quiet tonight, hasn't it? Like… everybody's vanished."
Edward shivered down the nape of his neck at the words. He grunted softly. "Yeah, sure. It's late, I guess."
He swallowed, looking out over the street again, that desolation creeping back into his bones. "Anyway, you'll be okay. Just go on down there."
The man nodded, then forced a smile before he began to walk away. "Thanks again, man. Take care."
Edward stood there for a moment, staring after him before the man disappeared into the darkness. His stride was normal now—no limp. The ache in Edward's chest eased just a little as he watched the man's figure dwindle into the shadows of the evening.
For a moment, everything felt fine. Perhaps it had all been a misunderstanding. The guy was lost, and that strange feeling Edward had experienced was just his mind playing tricks on him.
And then, when the man had disappeared, something caught Edward's attention—something soft, a shuffle. For a moment, it was impossible to tell if it had been muffled by the stillness that hung around him. He stood up straighter, straining to listen. The street was vacant.
The rustling grew louder, but it wasn't coming from the man who had just left. Edward gazed down the street, but there was nothing. The café-like hum of a distant streetlamp swayed in the wind, rhythmic and calm.
Had he dreamed it?
He shook his head, struggling to focus. Maybe it was the wind, or his adrenaline kicking in. Or perhaps he was just too keyed up. He breathed deeply, trying to clear his thoughts.
But the silence was overwhelming—pressing, smothering. The longer he stayed in one place, the more certain he became that something wasn't right. Something was off with the world around him.
He looked up at Sam's house in the distance. He had to keep going. He needed to unwind.
He took a step. And another. Slower now, with each step, shadows darting around him.
With every movement, the irrational fear crept back into his chest again and again. The streets still too empty. The shadows still too ominous. Edward couldn't shake the feeling that something lurked out there—just beyond his sight, just out of reach.
But the words the man had spoken weren't directed at him. The empty street lay before him, a cavern of darkness and uncertainty.
And in the back of his mind, the shuffle lingered, just out of grasp.