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1
Sometimes I swear the world has it out for me.
The pouring rain came out of nowhere, meaning I was soaked the moment I stepped outside. Once more, the incorrect weather forecast proved that nature would do whatever the fuck it wanted. The prediction of 0% chance of precipitation meant I didn’t have my umbrella. The bus shelter couldn’t provide any respite, as a homeless man had taken it over, papering the glass and hanging a torn sheet from the door, making it clear he didn’t want to share his space. I wasn’t about to fight him for it, so I stood outside with cold droplets rolling past the neckline of my jacket and down my spine.
Miserable and wet, I waited for the bus that seemed to follow its own schedule. It never came on time. Ever. Either it arrived a few minutes early and I missed it, or it showed really late. Either way, I’d gotten used to standing.
It was only seven o’clock and already dark on the streets of Toronto as we marched into autumn. The streetlights did little to illuminate, given a few appeared to be malfunctioning again. I’d heard it said that the solar panels powering them had issues charging during the day because the birds loved to shit on them. Whatever the excuse, it resulted in gloomy streets, especially since the shops lining the street were closed and darkened, and the few apartments above the stores had their blinds drawn.
The pounding downpour hit the pavement and rolled for the curb. The sewer intake on the opposite side of the road gulped water as fast as it could, which made it odd that the grate rattled and lifted against the current.
Something had to be pushing it from below. I’d wager a rat. A big one, grown fat on city scraps. I’d seen my fair share down on the subway platforms, feeding off the garbage that people left behind. Mostly harmless, so long as you didn’t try to steal the half-eaten sandwich they scrounged. Luckily, my shitty job still paid enough I didn’t have to dumpster dive for dinner.
Whatever shoved from inside the sewer managed to push the grate to the side and slide out, slick and hairless, misshapen as well. I frowned as I squinted in the pouring rain, trying to make sense of the strange shape. The thing stood, and I gaped as I realized it wasn’t a rat at all but a child. A bald and naked one, its ass cheeks scrawny like its body.
I might not have a single maternal bone in my body, but I did have some compassion. I took a few steps into the road and approached slowly so as to not startle. “Hey there. Are you okay? Do you need help? Are you in danger?” Dumb questions. Obviously they were not okay given they’d just crawled naked from a sewer.
The child whirled, and I gasped at its wizened face, wrinkled and spotted, the pale flesh gleaming with moisture. Its eyes glowed a strange yellow, but more frightening was the gleam of its sharp teeth.
Ever seen Lord of the Rings? Remember that nutty fucker Gollum? I was looking at his cousin. Had to be a costume or a trick of the light.
It stared at me for a second, and I held still until it turned away. I fled back to the relative safety of the sidewalk but kept an eye on the thing as it crouched by the sewer. A second form slithered out from the opening then a third. By the fourth, I wondered if I should walk to the next bus stop.
The four sewer creatures stood in a cluster, scrawny in size, about waist high or a little bit taller. Their eyes all had that strange yellow glow, and as they crossed the street with hitched gaits and dangling arms, their gazes locked on me.
And what did I do? What everyone who had social media would do. I took out my phone and started filming, all the while hoping the rain didn’t ruin my cell since I couldn’t afford another. Worth the risk, because, honestly, who would believe me if I didn’t have video proof? If I died, I wanted them to know it was alien sewer monsters and not rats that had torn me apart. I couldn’t have said why it made a difference.
Now some might ask, why not run? Firstly, I’d just worked ten hours on my feet—I was the only employee other than the owner of Crack Kitchen Housewares—and the thought of the exertion made me want to barf. Second, the pavement gleamed slickly, and my clumsy ass would most likely do a spectacular face plant. And thirdly, I’d rather face a threat, sobbing in fear, than have it tackle me from behind. Assuming these things meant me harm. For all I knew, I’d been chosen for some elaborate prank that someone filmed. It took everything in me not to babble and scream and sob. Only the thought of becoming an eternal meme held my tongue.
A car’s bright headlights illuminated the foursome and their indistinct appearance became even worse. Their gray skin looked papery thin and wrinkled. Their teeth were definitely filed into sharp points, and their hisses as they shielded their eyes against the bright glare sent a shiver down my spine.
The driver laid on the horn and braked to avoid hitting them. A useless gesture, as the monsters didn’t budge from the road. On the contrary, one of them leaped to land with a thud on the hood.
The driver jumped out and hollered, “Get off my car, you cosplaying freak!”
The last thing he said as the thing—for lack of a better word—launched itself at the man and tackled him to the ground. The car blocked what happened next, but it involved much shrieking and then abrupt silence. The other three sewer aliens leaped upon the vehicle and appeared to be having a grand ol’ time jumping up and down on it, denting the hood and roof.
The one that took down the driver popped up to join them, and it took me a second to realize what it held.
A head. A fucking severed head.
Run, Sadie. Run, you fucking idiot. My brain tried to kick-start my self-preservation, but I remained frozen in horror. What if moving triggered them?
New headlights shone from up the road, higher and more powerful. My bus, fifteen minutes late.
The sewer aliens paused in their stomping of the car to stare at the bus, which slid to a stop by the shelter.
Bad move.
The creatures flung themselves at the windshield, but the flat front didn’t offer much purchase. Although one did manage to grab hold of a wiper and go for a ride, back and forth. It might have been funny if in a movie on a television. In person? Fucking terrifying.
The other three sewer aliens found different handholds on the bus. A pair hung from the mirrors on either side, while the last did its best to wedge open the folding door and hissed when it refused to budge.
From the back of the bus, a passenger emerged—a big burly dude in construction yellows—and yelled, “Listen, you fucking punks. It’s late, and I want to get home. Pull your fucking shit elsewhere.”
The way that two of the sewer aliens suddenly stopped dangling from the mirrors and hit the ground to lope on hands and feet was something straight out of a horror movie. The bulky man stood courageously—dumb—and even beckoned them. “Think you can take me, you little fucks? Let’s go. Time you got the spanking your parents neglected to give.”
Brave last words. Wait, not his last. I heard, “What the fuck are—” and then the sewer aliens were on him. Poor construction dude didn’t even have time to scream.
