The Man Beneath the Streetlights

Chapter 1: Shadows on the Walk Home

I always took the same route home after my late shifts at the diner—down Maple Street, past the boarded-up library, across the abandoned lot, and through the quiet stretch where the streetlights stood like weary sentinels.

Most nights, it was fine. The streets were empty, the air cool and still, the lights above throwing long, lonesome pools of yellow on the cracked sidewalk. I'd plug in my headphones, stare at the ground, and let my mind drift, the walk more habit than anything else.

But lately, I'd noticed something strange.

Under each flickering streetlight, just beyond the edges of the glow, a man would stand.

Always still. Always silent.

I tried to tell myself it was nothing. Maybe my mind was playing tricks after too many late nights, maybe it was just an ordinary guy heading home the same way I was. But every time I passed, he was there—standing just out of reach, just enough in the dark that I could never see his face.

And every night, no matter how fast I walked, he stayed with me.

One light to the next.

One shadow to another.

Chapter 2: Under the Last Light

Tonight, the fog rolled in thick and heavy, swallowing the world beyond the next few feet. The streetlights buzzed dimly overhead, each one a lonely island in a sea of mist.

I almost turned back. Something deep inside me screamed to take a different way, call someone, run.

But I didn’t. I just tucked my hands into my pockets and kept walking.

As I passed the first light, I caught the outline of the man again—a figure hunched just outside the glow, motionless, watching. I picked up my pace, heart hammering in my ears, the plastic bag of leftovers swinging wildly from my wrist.

One light.

Another.

Another.

Each time I crossed into a new pool of light, I swore I heard the faint scrape of footsteps behind me, perfectly timed to mine, but just a beat too late—like an echo chasing after me.

Finally, I saw my apartment building rising out of the fog ahead. Only one more streetlight stood between me and the safety of my door.

And he was standing directly under it.

For the first time, I saw him clearly.

His skin looked too smooth, almost waxy. His clothes hung loose, soaked through as if he had been walking in the rain, though the ground was dry. His head tilted at an unnatural angle, too sharp, like something was broken inside.

I froze.

The man smiled—or at least, something on his face shifted into the suggestion of a smile. He lifted one hand, slow and deliberate, and beckoned.

Come closer.

I didn’t move. Couldn’t.

The fog thickened around us, swallowing the buildings, the sidewalk, even the distant hum of traffic. All that remained was the dim halo of the streetlight, buzzing like an insect trapped in amber.

And then the light flickered—and went out.

For a moment, everything was pure, suffocating darkness.

When my vision adjusted, I was alone.

Or at least, I thought I was.

Somewhere in the mist behind me, soft footsteps began to follow.

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