THE NIGHT STALKERS

This is a fictional piece I wrote a while ago and it’s very dark – totally different to what I’ve written before. We live in a society that reveres the handsome and beautiful, and my hero is deformed but has a beautiful soul. The reason I am posting it is because I believe that a beautiful soul is much more awesome than just a beautiful or handsome body.

THE NIGHT STALKERS
C 1996 JOJO

She steps out of the university building across the street where she takes her night courses. The woman I love, so dear to me and to whom I am completely unknown.

It’s better so – through an accident of birth, I am an ugly man, with lumpy misshapen features and a squat but powerful body. My mother told me there had been problems when I was born. The doctor used forceps and in so doing, had paralysed the nerve leading to the right side of my face, which has caused it to droop. At night when I sleep, I have to tape my right eyelid shut because it remains permanently open. The whole effect on my appearance is devastating.

Going through school was a nightmare. Kids called me names, threw rocks at me and refused to sit next to me in class. I was known throughout the school as The Freak. The closest I ever came to dating a girl was when I asked Betty McGovern to be my date to the Senior Prom. She had looked at me with disgust and contempt etched on her pretty face. “I’m not in the habit of dating freaks or monsters” she said viciously. My God, how that hurt. It hurt more than all the horrible things that I’d been called before put together. I didn’t go to the Prom, nor have I ever asked another woman out on a date again.

At school, I comforted myself by being an A student and never once failed to make the Dean’s list. When I graduated, I was offered a full scholarship to that University across the street – and turned it down. I just couldn’t face even one more day of having people stare at me and whisper behind my back. So I got a job as manager and custodian of a building directly across the street from the university because I wanted to be as close to it as I could. And I buried myself in my building. The only people to see me during the day are the tenants, and after their first initial reaction to my appearance, they always take care to look the other way when passing me in the corridor.

Although I turned down the university scholarship, I have never stopped furthering my knowledge and have spared no efforts in educating myself. Every spare cent I have is spent on books which I read voraciously, absorbing information like a parched desert drinking up a rain storm. I suppose this is ridiculous, seeing I’ll never use any of the knowledge I’ve acquired. It’s pride really, my way of telling the world that whereas they’ve robbed me of my dignity and self-respect, they can never take away my God-given intelligence.
I only come out at night because under the cover of darkness, none can perceive my face and flinch from the sight of it. I often sit on the steps outside my building and watch the night students hurrying in for classes, wishing I could be one of them.

Which is how I came to see her. Nightly she attends classes, so keen to improve her mind and chances for a better life, that the sacrifices she makes to achieve it are clearly visible. The threadbare coat, worn shoes, shabby clothing and above all, the thin pinched face which permanently looks hungry and undernourished. My God, how I admire her tenacity, her determination to succeed at all costs. How I wish I had some of that indomitable spirit and courage.

She walks home each night in order to save the few pennies of a bus ride which would take her safely to her front door. The streets are not safe at this late hour, which is one reason why I follow her. There is another much more pressing reason.

I don’t know when I first became aware of the man who stalks her. Frequently he emerges from an alley down the street and stands in the dark doorway of a house located about three doors from mine. When she comes out of class, he watches her. Once he’d tried to accost her, grabbing her arm as she passed by, and whispering something to her. She’d pulled her arm free and hurried away. As he turned, I saw the expression on his face, and it was one of pure, naked rage. After that, he started stalking her and I stalked him.

I knew it was just a matter of time before he’d make his move. As long as she sticks to the main, well-lit street, he is powerless to attack her, because there are always too many people around.

She doesn’t know it, but I’m her guardian, her protector. I always make sure she’s safely entered the shabby building where she lives, before turning around and making my way home.

Today she walks ahead of me, her precious books clasped to her chest. There’s a mean north wind blowing, and she bends her head against its bitter touch. Resolutely I follow her. I can almost read her mind. My God, it’s so cold, and I’m so tired and hungry. I just want to get home and fall into bed where I can hopefully warm up.
To my alarm and consternation, she decides to take a short cut up the dimly lit alley – his alley – which has a sinister aspect to it even in broad daylight. At night, it’s redolent with evil, the stench of it fills my nostrils and I feel enveloped by it as I follow her. She walks about a hundred yards ahead of me, her shoes clacking against the slick cobbles.

To my horror, my worst fears are realized. Her stalker steps out from the shadows and grabs her as she passes. He clamps his hand firmly over her mouth, stifling her screams. I see that he’s holding a knife to her throat, and has bent his head, whispering evil words into her ear. She’s paralysed with fear and stands still, like a stricken bird. I am consumed with a rage that propels me forward. I take my knife from its sheath attached to my belt and rush to her aid. The stalker is so intent on terrifying her that he doesn’t hear me coming. At the last moment, just as I’m reaching him, he suddenly turns. I am confronting the most malevolent individual I have ever encountered. A big brute of a man, savage and ruthless, lips drawn back in a snarl, eyes absent of even a flickering of compassion or humanity. His arm is upraised clasping his knife which he plunges into me before I am able to defend myself. As I feel the lethal steel penetrate my body, I realize that I am mortally wounded. There is just one last service that I must render to this precious woman I love so much. Still clutching my knife as I fall, I use the last little bit of strength I have to thrust it into him. He lets out a shriek of agony and we both fall to the ground.

Looking across at my assailant, I am unable to determine if he’s dead or merely wounded. I am terrified it’s the latter, and that he’ll recover sufficiently to get up and attack her again. This time, I wouldn’t be able to stop him. My heart is gripped with paralysing fear for her safety.

I have just seconds to live, precious moments in which to speak to my love and tell her my last conscious thoughts. She kneels beside me sobbing. I look up at her sweet face and thankfully see no trace of revulsion on it as she gazes down at me. My head is cradled in her arms and she is gently stroking my ravaged face which has never before felt the tender touch of a woman, and never would again. I struggle to speak.

“I’ve bought you a little time, so run like the wind beloved, run.” I gasp in a painful whisper. “Take the bus home … please don’t walk these streets again … because I won’t be here to protect you anymore. Run, sweetheart, run…
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