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Trash Alley Demon

Harry Noussias

    Some people refer to it as Trash Alley - rats, alley cats, dirt, litter, garbage, beer joint back door, fire escapes, dumpsters and a large cardboard box.
    He refers to it as Home Sweet Home.
    No one knows his name, and no one cares. Better just to call him as they see him - the bum, worthless leach, filthy dog, scummy pig, worm of the dust, dumb jackass, sewer snake, and all else on the zoo’s roster. A name would mean respect. It’s more comfortable this way.
    There is no beauty to be seen in Trash Alley. But, everyone doesn’t need to see beauty.
    On the fire escape, three stories up, a flower pot sits. If it could stand and walk it would leave this place. But, it’s stuck here. Out of it a single dandelion grows. Why a dandelion? Maybe its yellow is symbolic of the sun; warm glow, cheerful, bright future. Maybe its hardy nature inspires us to endure and overcome. Maybe it’s none of these things.
    Every morning she waters it. A rusty sprinkling can. Bad tasting water. But, plants don’t care. Sometimes she misses the pot. The drops of water fall the three stories pounding the large cardboard box below, the cardboard box that he sleeps in. It awakens him. But, he doesn’t mind. She will greet him with a friendly good morning. An ever so slight touch of kindness. An angel from above.
    Everyone doesn’t need to see beauty. Everyone doesn’t need to see the ugliness either. Some people don’t need to see at all. She is blind.
    Just another day in paradise.
    It should have just been another night in paradise as well. But, who cares what should have been?
    Night brings darkness. Darkness brings .... Well....
    You know. You’ve seen it. In the movies. A guy goes down into the dark basement where it lurks. And it gets him. Serves him right for being so ignorant. A blond bimbo decides to go for a swim in the lake where the monster alligator waits. She gets eaten. Good for her. Stupid bitch. A fool takes a shortcut through the woods at night. But, you know. Yeah. We all know.
    It was just a shortcut.
    Three pistol packing hoodlums took their nightly shortcut through Trash Alley. It doesn’t matter their names. Just hoodlums. Better off dead. No one would miss them if they were suddenly struck by lightning or run over by a truck or maybe a demon would come and take them to hell.
    Does anyone really believe in demons? Do hoodlums?
    Shots rang out. Horrifying screams were heard. Bodies torn to shreds. A quick flash of something dark. But, what?
    Blood was everywhere.
    Next day. The investigation was routine. Cops didn’t care. Neither did anyone else. Just some dead criminals. Good riddance.
    At least it was gone from the alley. Things could return to normal. There was no need to get involved. Anyway, who would believe the story? It’s best to mind your own business.
    But, reports persisted. TV, radio, newspapers. Other attacks. More deaths. Terrifying gory details. How it toys with its victims, and if they escape it will return to finish the job. How efforts to stop it were in vain. Bullets didn’t work. Trapping didn’t work. Electricity didn’t work. Nothing worked.
    The media dubbed it “The Trash Alley Demon”. The media loves a juicy story, especially when someone dies.
    Anyway, it is just better to mind your own business and not get involved.
    But, you know what is to follow. Yeah. You do. We all do.
    He stood. Middle of the night. In the dark. In the alley. Beneath the fire escape. Drinking from a bottle of cheap booze. Maybe he was standing guard to protect his blind angel from above. Maybe he was just getting drunk.
    All was still and quiet until he felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. Then he knew. And he was gripped with fear.
    The demon crept slowly toward him, like a cat stalking a mouse. Toying with him. Playing with him. Tormenting him. He dropped his bottle, shattering the glass and spilling his precious booze on the pavement. What does a mouse think when its head is about to be crushed in the jaws of the cat? The demon moved forward, stepping in the spilled alcohol. Suddenly it let out with the most frightening sound imaginable. And then it ran off leaving behind only a stench. The stench of burning flesh.
    The question was not asked. But, the answer was given. The demon could be killed with alcohol.
    Simple plan. The blind angel. The fire escape. Sprinkling can full of booze. He as prey. The demon would come after him. The exact moment. He would shout. She would shower the demon. The demon would be sent to hell.
    Great plan. But, where do you get booze in the middle of the night when everything is closed?
    Thank the stars for Trash Alley’s dumpsters, especially the beer joint’s dumpsters.
    A thousand discarded bottles. A couple of drops left in this one, a few drops left in that one. All emptied into the sprinkling can. There was more than enough.
    But, would it work? Would he freeze with panic? Would he be able to shout? Would she hear him? Would she pour at the right time? Would she hit the target?
    One more thing. Would they feel sorry for the creature?
    Hell no, they wouldn’t feel sorry for the creature. This wasn’t some ridiculous movie.
    This was going to take time and lots of patience, lots and lots of patience.
    Finally the seemingly endless eternity of waiting came to an end as the demon entered the alley. It approached. Not cautiously. Not stealthy. But angrily. And with great speed.
    She waited to hear his shout. But, he couldn’t shout. The demon had him by the throat, toying with him, letting up on its grip to allow him to gasp for some air before reapplying its vise like hold. More pleasure in a slow, painful, torturous death. He felt his life slipping away.
    Then came the shower from above. The demon’s bone chilling cry filled the alley as it went up in flames. It burned into complete disappearance. Not a trace was left except the stench that would remain for three days.
    Later he asked how she knew when to pour when she didn’t hear him shout. She said she could hear his heart beating.
    This whole thing started very suddenly and ended very suddenly.
    They vowed never to tell anyone about this. And you know why. Because no one would believe it. Neither would you.
    Eventually this whole thing would be forgotten.
    All would return to normal.
    And calm and tranquility would once again return to the paradise that is Trash Alley.

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