The city seemed larger at night. Flickering street lights buzzed and cast moving shadows all around. A police siren sounded in the distance. Wirt walked to the street corner, staring hard at the piece of paper in his hand. He glanced around cautiously.
"It's got to be around here somewhere," Wirt looked again at the address on the paper. He had just been to the flat that morning, but that was when it was still light out, when the city was kinder, gentler. As soon as the sun went down, the atmosphere took a darker, more sinister ambiance.
Wirt wrapped his navy blue jacket tighter around him. He knew he had to get home to Greg, who, lord knows, had probably burned the building down. Wirt briskly walked up the street, everything looked so unfamiliar. Wirt stopped to check the street signs, and heard footsteps behind him.
He froze.
"Should I look back..." Suddenly his feet started walking. The footsteps followed. Wirt hastily turned a corner and began to run. Another corner, he paused, panting hard. The footsteps had subsided, but he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was there, watching. He peeked around the corner. The street was empty, save a few stray cats sifting through the trash. He sighed, relieved. He was about to begin walking, when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder.
Wirt jumped, whipping around to face the unknown. An old man stood in front of him, staring. His eyes were bloodshot and dark. The old man's brow was furrowed, his hair unkempt and matted under a tattered black hat.
"You shouldn't be here," the old man's voice was gruff, as if he smoked a pack a day.
"L-look here old man, I don't want no trouble," Wirt shakily reached for his wallet and pulled out some cash, offering it to the old man, The old man scowled, slapping away Wirt's money with a dirty, bandaged hand.
"Fool!" he yelled, "I don't want your money!" The old man's shifty eyes darted around, as if he were looking for someone.
"You shouldn't be out this late, boy," the old man began to bite his nails which were yellow stained and ragged.
"He knows you're here now," the old man's teeth were stained various shades of grey. "Probably from meth," Wirt thought distastefully.
"Sure, old man. I've got to go-"
"No! He knows! He knows you now!" The old man's eyes were wide... With fear? Was he just stoned? He grabbed Wirt's arm.
"You must leave," the old man muttered, "Before he finds you…"
"Before who finds me?" Wirt questioned him. Would this old man be okay out here?
"The Beast!" the old man wheezed, "The Beast will find you. He will find you and he will kill you." Wirt pulled away from the old man.
"Get off of me!" He stumbled back and hit, what he thought, was a wall. The old man looked up in fear, and began to whimper, tears streaming down his face.
"Well, well," Wirt heard a deep, seductive voice come from the wall behind him. He turned around. It was not a wall, not a wall at all.
A tall, tan man stood in front of Wirt, He had long black hair pulled back into a bun at the nape of his neck. He smiled, showing neat white teeth, with unusually sharp canines. He was wearing all black, including his duster trench coat. Wirt looked into his eyes and immediately wished he hadn't. The man's eyes were a swirling vortex, were the blue? Were they green? Flecks of gold danced in his irises, his pupils were barely visible, but Wirt wasn't sure if it was due to the poor lighting, or perhaps, he just didn't have any.
Wirt jumped when the man put out a leather gloved hand. He chuckled. The old man's weeping turned to wailing.
"Pleased to meet you," the man smiled.
"I'm the Beast."