Brian Keene: Urban Gothic

“Alright,” he said, “let’s handle this shit nice and easy. Tell you what we’ll do. Y’all give us—”

“Fuck you, nigger!”

Kerri was just as surprised as Leo and his cronies. She heard feet pounding on the pavement, and turned to see Brett running away, racing toward the large abandoned house at the end of the block. A second later, Stephanie and Heather dashed off after him. Stephanie’s cell phone slipped from her grasp and clattered onto the pavement as she fled. She didn’t stop to retrieve it. Tyler chased after them, shouting. Javier and Kerri stared at each other for the beat of one heart, and then he grabbed her arm and pulled her along.

“Come on!”

“Hey,” Leo shouted. “The fuck did you just call me?”

“Oh Jesus,” Kerri gasped. “Oh my God . . .”

“What the hell is wrong with you guys?” Javier called after their fleeing friends. “You assholes are gonna get us killed.”

“Shut the fuck up and run,” Tyler answered, not bothering to look over his shoulder and see if Kerri was okay.

“Yo,” Leo yelled, “get back here. Hey, motherfuckers. I’m talking to you!”

Kerri screamed as she heard them give chase. Leo had stopped shouting. Their pursuers moved in silence, save for grunts, gasps, and the sound of their feet slapping the sidewalk.

“Go,” Javier said, shoving her forward. He kept up the pace behind her, putting himself between Kerri and their pursuers. He paused only to duck down and retrieve Stephanie’s cell phone.

The chase continued down the street—Brett in the lead, followed by Stephanie and Heather, then Tyler, with Kerri and Javier bringing up the rear. The strap on one of Heather’s sandals broke, and the shoe flew off her foot. She slowed for a second, and Tyler shot past her, not stopping. Crying, Heather kicked off her other shoe and sped up again, running barefoot. Kerri noticed in horror that her friend was leaving bloody footprints. Heather must have cut her foot on some of the broken glass littering the sidewalk. Kerri wondered if Heather even realized it, or if adrenaline and instinct had overridden the pain.

They fled past the row homes and entered the wasteland of jumbled debris. The streetlights in this section weren’t functioning, and the shadows deepened around them. Kerri heard something scurrying behind a pile of crumbled masonry and nearly shrieked. Behind them, the sound of pursuit halted.

“Yo,” Leo bellowed. “Get the fuck back here. You all are asking for trouble you keep going.”

Ignoring him, they made a beeline for the abandoned house. It loomed before them in the darkness. Heather stumbled and fell behind, but Kerri and Javier helped her. Even though the pursuit had stopped, they didn’t slow. Kerri’s breathing became jagged, more frantic. She tried to calm herself by looking at her friends. Stephanie was mouthing the Lord’s Prayer. Brett’s face was set in a worried scowl, his steps drunken and dazed. Tyler’s eyes were wide and panicked, and beads of sweat dotted his forehead.

Kerri glanced back and saw Leo and the rest of his gang lurking at the edge of the wasteland, slowly milling back and forth. He shouted something, but they were too far away to hear him. Probably another threat. Kerri wondered why they’d given up chasing them so easily.

Maybe they were content to busy themselves with Tyler’s car. She felt a pang of sorrow. Poor Tyler—Dustin would be livid when he found out.

Javier urged them on faster, careful to step over the worst holes, guiding them around piles of debris. Brett mumbled something, his voice low and on the edge of hysteria.

“Shut the fuck up,” Javier told him. “It’s your stupid ass that got us into this mess. What the hell were you thinking, you dumb motherfucker?”

Instead of responding, Brett quietly sobbed.

Javier handed Stephanie her cell phone.

“Thanks,” she mumbled.

“What now?” Tyler asked, conceding to Javier.

“In there.” He nodded at the abandoned home. “We hole up inside and call the cops.”

“But they’ll see us go in,” Heather whispered.

“I don’t think so,” Javier said. “We can see them back there because of the streetlights. But here it’s dark. I noticed as we were running up—you can’t see shit from back there. Just shadows. Long as we’re quick and quiet, we should be okay.”

Stephanie eyed the house warily. “What if somebody lives there?”

“Look at it,” Javier said. “Who’s gonna live inside a shithole like this?”

“Crackheads,” Kerri answered. “Homeless people. Rats.”

Instead of replying, Javier pushed past them, plodding up the sagging porch steps. They groaned under his weight, but held. The handrail wobbled when he grasped it for support, and small flakes of rust and paint rained down onto the pavement. The others followed. Kerri studied the rough brick and mortar of the exterior wall. It was covered with sickly, whitish-green moss. The windows were all boarded over with moisture-stained plywood sheets. Curiously, unlike the occupied row homes, this abandoned house was free of graffiti.

When they were all on the porch, Javier explored the pitted wooden door. It was misshapen and water-warped, and several coats of paint peeled off it, revealing a variety of sickly colors. He found the doorknob, an old cut crystal affair, and turned it. The door opened with a grating squeal. Dirt and paint flecks fell onto his forearm and dusted his hair. Standing back, Javier brushed the debris away.

“Hello?” Brett’s voice was a hoarse whisper. “Anybody home?”

There was no answer.

They peered inside, but the interior was hidden within a deep, oppressive darkness. Kerri had the impression that if she reached her hand out, the darkness would be a tangible thing, capable of sticking to her fingers like tar. Javier shoved forward, stepping into the gloom. Kerri followed him. Stephanie and Heather hesitated for a moment before proceeding. Heather limped, still leaving bloody footprints in her wake. Brett trailed along behind them, followed by Tyler, who slammed the door shut once he’d stepped through it. The sound echoed throughout the structure. The others glared at him in annoyance. Tyler shrugged defiantly.

“We need some light,” Kerri whispered.

She pulled out her cigarette lighter and flicked it. The shadows seemed to converge around the flame. Tyler opened his lighter and did the same. Heather, Javier, and Stephanie flipped open their cell phones, adding the weak, green illumination from the display screens.

Kerri turned in a circle, sweeping the lighter around. A cobweb brushed against her cheek. She shuddered, brushing it away. They were standing in a dank, mildewed foyer. A hallway stretched into the darkness. Several closed doors led off from it into other parts of the house. Yellow wallpaper peeled away from the dingy walls in large sheets, revealing cracked bare plaster splattered with black splotches of mildew. There were holes in the baseboards where rats and insects had chewed their way through.

Something scurried in the shadows—a dry, rustling sound. Heather stifled a shriek.

“Hear anything?” Javier asked Tyler, nodding toward the door.

Tyler leaned close and listened. Then he shook his head and shrugged. “Nothing. This lighter is burning the shit out of my fingers, though.”

He released the button and the flame disappeared. Somehow, even with the other lighter and the cell phones still glowing, it suddenly seemed darker.

“Maybe they’re gone,” Brett suggested. “Maybe they gave up.”

“And maybe,” Tyler said, “they’re fucking up Dustin’s car while we’re standing here. Fuck this shit.”

He reached for the doorknob.

“What are you doing?” Kerri whispered.