Lucy walked toward home along the darkening streets of New York City. Not that it ever really got dark in New York. Even when the sun set, lights stilled blazed from every direction, no matter where you looked. Even so, the darkness was still noticeable.
It was nearly winter in the city, and as Lucy walked she tugged her coat tighter around her. A chilly wind seemed to blast through the intersection she was approaching, and Lucy and all the other people standing there gave a collective shudder as it passed.
It had been like this for a few days, of course, but Lucy still wasn't used to the chilly weather yet. She figured she would finally adapt to it somewhere in the middle of January.
But I digress. As Lucy approached her own block, where her apartment building stood, a chill crept up her spine. And not the "her body was simply cold" type of chill, the "the hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end" kind. And so they were. Lucy looked around the seemingly mostly deserted street and frowned. Even at night, no New York street was going to be abandoned. For any reason. Something was wrong. But there were no cops or barricades, which would have kept people out.
Lucy frowned again, deeper, but pressed the button on the intercom of her building to have the doorman let her in. The door buzzed open after a moment, as the doorman studied her appearance on the camera above the chicken-wired door. Lucy quickly took the handle, glanced around the abandoned street once again, then went inside.
The usually warm building was oddly cool, and Lucy groaned. "Stupid heating unit," she muttered. "It's always going out."
Lucy breathed into her hands, then began to tramp her way up the stairs. The stupid building always seemed to be in a constant state of disrepair. It didn't even have an elevator, for God's sake!
Lucy lived on the fourth floor, and she was currently on the landing leading to the to the third when a soft whisper echoed through the vent at about Lucy's eye level.
She stopped, glanced at it in surprise. She wondered if she'd only imagined it. Lucy turned to continue up the stairs, deciding she had.
Then, louder; "Lucy!"
Lucy turned around, right foot still on the step. "Who's there" She demanded. No one.
But. Someone.
"Just me," the voice replied. Or, more accurately, voices. The one voice had multiplied into many. But "me" implied one, so Lucy, stunned, didn't know what to think.
Lucy took a step closer to the grate. "Who are you?"
"No one, really," the voices replied. "Just a few friends."
"Friends who live in a vent?" Lucy asked skeptically.
"Oh, yes. We live down in the boiler room, mostly. So spacious. There's even enough room to float."
Lucy took a step back. "W-what?"
"Yess." The word was hissed. "Room for us to float. You could float too, you know. Wanna float, Lucy? We could help you."
Something black swarmed in the vent, behind the grate. Lucy, for a reason she couldn't fathom, couldn't move. She stared in terror at the grate.
Spiders swarmed fro the vent, and Lucy couldn't even scream. To say she was an arachnophobe would be an understatement. They reached the ground, and began to form a single being. It great tall, forming a silver suit and orange hair. A blood red grin was etched onto its face. A clown.
"Wanna see the deadlights, Lucy? They'll help you float."
The clown reached forward, toward her. "Let's float together!"
Her throat seemed to open, and Lucy could finally scream. And scream she did, until she ran out of blood and the darkness took her.