The Legend of Death Alley

If walls could talk, would people listen? As pessimistic as it sounds, no, I don't think they would. They don't listen to the legends of this place, Death Alley, from their kind, so why would they listen to me? Maybe I wouldn't be so callous and caked with flesh and blood if they did.

But something tells me you would listen. So, come and stay a while. Listen to my tale.

***

It begins in the year 1947 in a little Louisana town. I had been built a couple of years before this, but this was the year when I truly understood how horrific humankind could be. Of course, I heard whispers from people stepping into the alleyway on their breaks. But you think you're spared from it all when terror hasn't come and intruded your bubble.

This day, the sun seemed to shine brighter. The humans had an air of gaiety emanating from them in waves. I felt it would be a grand day at the time, but now I think it was the calm before a decades-long storm.

There was this one woman whose visits to the alley I adored. I only heard people call her "Penny." If it was her real name, I don't know, for she had wavy copper hair that shined like a newly minted penny. Besides her hair, the thing I remember the most about her was her optimism, which I imagine enveloped any room she walked in like a bright light.

Penny came out to the alley to take her routine morning smoke break dressed in her usual garb - a knee-length, light blue dress; a short, white apron; and pristine, white sneakers. Everything about her was almost the same, so much so I nearly missed the slight tremoring of her hand as she lit her cigarette. What could have happened inside that made her so nervous?

A woman dressed in a similar uniform as Penny rushed outside, face twisted in anger and worry. It was Becky, the cynical blonde who rarely showed her sweeter side. She squeezed Penny's shoulder comfortingly. "You alright, darling?"

Penny's response comes out bitter and gruff. "What ya think, Becky?" She puffed out a cloud of smoke which seemingly appeared darker to match her mood. After aggressively tapping her cig, Penny sighed heavily. "I've dealt with creepy folks before, Becky, and you know me; I ain't one to scare easy. But this one," she shivered, "this one gives me the willies."

"You and me both." Becky leaned against me, allowing silence to fill the alley. This wasn't the first time I heard the women discussing troublesome patrons, but their words never left the sour taste of fear behind.

A rush of uneasiness came over me, the irony of which is not lost to me. I may not be human, but they rub off on you, even if you don't want them to. Besides, there isn't much to do but observe and learn when you're a wall. And I have learned a lot in the past couple of years.

Penny tossed her cigarette on the ground and stamped it out. The very habit meant to calm her only added to her agitation. "God, I need to quit. This ain't doing nothing for me," Penny muttered under her breath. Becky scoffed in disbelief, granting her a weak glare from Penny.

Becky held her hands up in defense. "Darling. All I mean is words lose meaning when you don't follow up." She turned away from Penny to open the door, motioning Penny to walk through first. Penny mumbled something unintelligibly as she went back inside, followed by Becky.

***

A week passed uneventfully; at least, it did for me. For Penny, it was a week in the heart of a warzone. Whoever this creep was, they came every day, ensuring they sat in her section. I could see her optimism melting off her day by day. It sounded like Becky attempted to run interference at the beginning but was chastised for it. "You are to serve the customer, not yourselves," the quack of a manager told them before threatening to cut their pay.

There was something Penny said one time that has stuck with me all these years. "Everyone did their part in the two great wars, but no one wants to do their part when someone is obviously dealing with their own war on their own streets. And those who try to help suffer battle wounds or death." I would soon learn enough how accurate that statement was.

***

Penny stood in the alleyway debating on whether to light her cig or not. I don't think she ever realized it, so distracted by the nightmare of a person she was dealing with, but her smoke breaks were starting to consist of more inner debates than smoking. Yesterday, she barely allowed herself a puff before putting the cig out. Maybe, just maybe, she was finally on her way to truly quitting.

I felt the stranger's presence before I could see them. It was a dark, twisted kind of evil, darkening the shadows as he skulked forward. I could almost see gnarly hands shooting forth from the snake's own shadow to capture the little sliver of light left in Penny. Was this the lowlife that kept haunting Penny?

For once in my short life, I wished for a mouth so I could shout a warning to Penny. I wished for arms to sprout forth and toss this man as far away as I could manage. This desire to warn and protect should have surprised me, but as I said before, you can't help the effect these humans have on you.

Penny felt the change in the air, reaching into her front pocket for some hidden object. She turned slowly, her eyes sparking in hateful recognition. "So it's not enough to bother me at my work; you intrude the only safe place I have here too?" Penny attempted to sound strong and fearless, but I could hear the slight tremble in her voice. So did the snake of a man slithering closer and closer.

"Look at you, chere, trying hard to be an elephant when you're just a mouse," he mocked sinisterly. The way he looked at Penny only emphasized his point; a greasy cat preying on and playing with an innocent mouse.

"Leave! Me! Alone! Bartholomew!" screamed Penny, possibly hoping to draw some attention from inside. At this moment, I realized the lack of Becky's presence, who had designated herself as Penny's bodyguard. Where was she?

Bartholomew grasped his chest, feigning hurt at Penny's reaction. "Now, now, chere. There's no need for that." This man was truly a psychopath. "Don't you know what I've done for you?" He reached out for Penny's curls, forcing Penny to back up and nearly stumble.

Bartholomew took advantage of Penny's unsteadiness and pushed her against me. Penny attempted to shove him off but failed due to his unhuman grip and close proximity.

"Helmm!" cried out Penny, muffled by Bartholomew's hand mid-word. Why wasn't anyone coming? This building was not soundproof; they should be able to hear Penny's screams.

"Can't have that now, chere," Bartholomew scolded as he leaned in. His eyes were crazed and bloodshot, adding to his devilish appearance. I couldn't smell anything, but if the smell was anything like what I saw, he presumably smelled of rotten tobacco and cheap beer.

"Oh, chere, the things I've done for you," he buried his nose in her hair, "but who wouldn't for you?" Penny's eyes widened in horror as she shrieked underneath Bartholomew's hand.

"I've seen such horrible things, mon chere. I thought my eyes were only meant for war and death, not 'til I walked into this diner and saw your smile," he hummed at the memory, "I finally felt whole, and I knew I had to have you."

Penny protested behind his hand, but Bartholomew was too swept up in his twisted nostalgia. "But that dumb blonde kept getting in the way. She was always nearby, always watching." His hands squeezed in indignation, drawing a stifled and pained-laced squeal from Penny. "So I followed her last night, knife in hand, and waited for the perfect opportunity."

All I could think of was Penny's words from before, "those who try to help suffer battle wounds or death." How I wished they didn't come true.

"She's finally gone, chere. We can be together now."

The implication stunned Penny into silence, seemingly draining her body of the last of her fight. Bartholomew took it as a sign of her submission and loosened his grip from her face, allowing Penny to speak.

Tears rolled down Penny's face as she spoke. "You killed her. For me?"

Bartholomew gave a deranged smile and held her head tenderly. "Of course, chere. I would kill anyone to be with you."

Penny didn't respond as she placed a hand in her apron's front pocket.

BANG!! A shot rang out, echoing throughout the alley. Bartholomew fell to the ground, his face twisted in permanent shock. Part of her uniform was now dotted with red, and her apron had a blackened hole from where the bullet had torn through.

The gun fell from Penny's hand, hitting the ground before her knees did. If I had a heart, it would have broken for her as she sobbed from her heartbreak and agony.

***

The next moments were a blur. As if by some cruel joke, the gunshot was the sound that alerted everyone inside. Men in blue swarmed the alleyway, tagging evidence, talking to witnesses, and taking pictures. All in the middle of it was a shell of Penny, handcuffed and wrapped up in a blanket.

After a couple of hours, one of the officers walked over to Penny, holding a small key. Bending down on one knee, he cautiously reached for her hands, not wanting to startle her. The gentle gesture snapped Penny from her trance-like state. The officer unlocked the handcuffs and whispered a few words to her before helping her stand.

As they passed Bartholomew's covered body, Penny paused as another set of tears fell. The officer held her close and reassuringly told her, "you did what you had to do to survive."

"It doesn't change the fact that two people died 'cause of me," she commented dejectedly. With that, she walked away, followed by the kind officer.

I never saw Penny ever again. There were whispers from the occasional visitor, some rumored, few confirmed. Thankfully, she was never charged since it was proven as self-defense. And, even in her death, Becky protected Penny, for the gun came from her.

***

As years went by, I saw more and more people enter my sight, only to die, their blood tattoed on the brick as a gruesome memorial. Many have come to wash away and paint over the carnage as if doing so will make people forget. No one can forget. More than people die here. Happiness. Innocence. Joy. Optmism. They all come here to die too.

***

Ah, I'm surprised to see you stuck around; most people run when I start speaking to them. But now I would recommend this.

Run and don't come back.

Or else, well, I think you know.