Fifty Steps

The candles flicker in the street lamps above the girl. She looks around the empty street as she wraps her shawl around her tightly. It feels colder than it should be for this time of year. It’s barely even fall and she feels severely under dressed for the weather.

She turns down the alleyway. Fifty steps until she reaches the other end, until she’s back on the main streets again. She’s been in the area too many times to not count how many times her feet came into contact with the ground.

Forty five steps.

White Chapel is quieter than nights before. The girl could always hear or see someone on the street while she’s walking home. Even if she’s leaving a client’s house in the middle of the night, there’s always noise. She listens carefully for a carriage or at least footsteps of other people. But there’s nothing.

Forty steps.

There was talk of a killer going around and taking the lives of girls. Mostly in her line of work. And apparently the scenes were brutal. But all that talk is just that -- talk. Right? That’s what it is; that’s all it is.

Thirty five steps.

She has the gut feeling that she should have spent the night at her client’s house, but her boss will have a fit if she doesn’t show up again. She might get kicked out of the house. And if this killer is real, then that puts her more at risk. She didn’t want to die like those other girls did. But it’s not proven, right? There can’t be a killer on the loose.

Thirty steps.

She tries again to hear for signs of other people but all she can hear is her heavy breathing and the soft pitter patter of her feet on the cobblestone streets.

Twenty five steps.

It shouldn’t be taking this long to get out onto the main streets. It never took this long to get to the other side of the alleyway. She needs to get home before her boss gets angry with her.

Twenty steps.

She tries not to worry about all those rumors. But all rumors have a shred of truth. At least, that’s what her friends have told her. So maybe it’s someone attacking girls in her line of work.

Fifteen steps.

That doesn’t make her feel any better. If that’s the case, then there’s a chance that she can still get attacked.

Ten steps.

Even if this killer is real, to any extent, he can’t be working in her area of White Chapel. There’s no way.

Nine steps.

No one she knows has died.

Eight steps.

Or at least, not at the hands of a vicious killer.

Seven steps.

He can’t be real.

Six steps.

There. She catches a glimpse of a shadow out of the corner of her eye. It only puts her more on edge. All this time she wanted someone else to be on the streets, but now…

Five steps.

She holds her breath and puts a hand over her heart in hopes to calm it. There’s the shadow again, but no footsteps.

Four steps.

She wants to ask who it is. Her voice is lost; she can’t find it.

Three steps.

So close. She can make it.

Two steps.

She hears someone let out a hearty laugh. Her heart beats faster than it ever has before.

One step.

Her foot gets caught on her dress and she trips. Pain ripples through her body. She scrambles to get up, but the pain shooting through her leg is making it difficult.

She feels a hand on her arm. The girl lets out a blood curdling scream.