It was a rainy night in Portland, Oregon, just like usual. The clouds were low and hid the tops of the skyscrapers. A dense fog was dodging its way between the buildings as a middle-aged man was walking home from work.
His name was Patrick Hopkins. He stood about five foot eleven and was well put together. It was around 10:00 p.m., and he was coming home from a late night at work. He usually took the bus, but that night the 9:30 didn’t show, so he decided to walk home.
He lived about fifteen minutes away by bus, so he had a good forty-five minutes to walk. He asked his phone for directions, and it told him he could take a shortcut if he went under the overpass on the west side of the city. He headed in that direction.
It took him a few minutes, but he reached the overpass and began to look around. It was a quiet night. Nobody was on the road. Everyone had gone home. The streetlights were barely lighting the street, and the only thing he could hear was the sound of the rain lightly tapping the roads and buildings of the surrounding city. He looked up for a moment and took a deep breath and felt relaxed. After a minute or two, he continued to walk down the dimly lit street.
Under the overpass now, the feeling of calmness suddenly faded. The buildings became broken and abandoned. Trash and glass filled the alleyways between each structure. The buildings that weren’t abandoned had neon signs that flickered on and off, reflecting colored light off the raindrops.
After a while, Patrick felt something strange. A shocking sensation traveled down his spine, triggering all his senses to heighten. He turned to notice a building that gave him an awful feeling, one that made him aware of the burbling bile that was brewing in his stomach.
It was an old chapel. The cross was missing, but it was easily identifiable due to the way the building was shaped. The windows all around it were boarded up, and it was covered in darkness—or maybe it seemed that way because it looked as though it had been burned by fire.
Chills now covering his whole body, Patrick began to feel his sweat mix in with the raindrops already on his face. He felt as if he was being watched from a small crack between the boarded-up windows of the chapel. His heart filled with fear, and the only action he could think of was to get away from that building as soon as possible.
But before he took his eyes away, he noticed something coming from the chapel. A faint light, a candle maybe, shined between the cracks—it was moving around. Someone was in there. Patrick instantly dropped his stuff, including his umbrella, and he ran away as fast as possible. He didn’t know why it scared him so much, but the vibe of that entire area just felt…sick.
Sprinting like his life depended on it, Patrick panted and moved his legs as fast as he could. He had no regard for his speed or where he was going. As he ran like a bat out of hell, he became further and further lost.
He stopped at a street corner to catch his breath. At one point, he swallowed the mucus that had risen to his throat. He was struggling. He was in shape, but the fear was killing him.
He briefly looked across the street. His eyes kept surveying the area, but he had to do a double take, because across the street and under a streetlight was a tall figure—very tall. Very, very tall. About six foot ten and covered in black robes. It had what looked like a sack on its head. Patrick’s eyes went wide.
The two looked at each other for a long while. Doing absolutely nothing. Just watching one another. Then, slowly, the being raised its arm up until its elbow made a ninety-degree angle, and, ever so slowly, it started moving its hand back and forth.
It was waving.
Something about that wave sent Patrick over the edge. In a normal setting, he would’ve asked if the man was okay. But at that moment, the way both his body and mind felt, he wasn’t taking any chances. He took a step forward, but the second he did, he heard a strange noise coming from across the street. A gasping, almost choking noise that stopped Patrick in his tracks.
He slowly glanced back at the being, whose hand had stopped waving. After a short while, its hand slowly returned to its side. Scared beyond belief, Patrick turned around and started walking away from the masked stranger.
He walked a few steps until, amid the sound of rain hitting concrete, he heard faint but quick footsteps followed by another gasping sound. Patrick quickly turned around. The tall being was now on his side of the street. It stood still under a street lamp maybe twenty yards from Patrick.
He mumbled to himself, “Not me. Not today. No, no, no,” and started backing up as he glanced behind him to make sure he was still going the right way.
BAM!
The being slammed its foot on the ground in order to keep Patrick’s attention. Then the tall figure sat still for a moment. Patrick stared at the being, and the being stared back at him, although the weird brown potato-like sack didn’t allow any sort of emotion. Just two little holes where only darkness could be seen.
All of a sudden, the tall figure began to sway back and forth in a dancing motion. The long, almost sticklike arms of the being rose and swayed with the rest of its body. Patrick, frozen by fear, wasn’t sure what to do.
The being continued to dance closer and closer.
Every time Patrick would attempt to take his eyes off the thing closing in on him, another gasp from the creature would freeze him with fear. Before he knew it, the being was only a couple feet in front of him. Patrick screamed as the streetlight flickered off.