Origins Of Hallowe'en
Jack O'Lantern
Photo Fun
Halloween Poems
Halloween Poems 2
The strange case of Miss Tippett
The Haunted Cottage
Trouble On The Tracks
Terror On The Streets
The Old House
Shelter In The Storm
The Old Woman and Brad
The Toll House
All About Me
Terror On The Streets

(c)Alison 2011/12

The city streets were deserted. All was quiet except for the occasional taxi taking the last clubbers home for the night. In the distance a dog barked and a clock chimed four.
A figure was slumped in a doorway, blood was splattered on the pavement all around them. Another taxi roared by, then out of the shadows came a lone figure wearing a hood, head bent so their face could not be seen. The figure moved slowly and quietly through the empty streets, clutching a blood-stained knife in one hand.
The following morning two men were walking early to work. One of them tripped over the figure in the doorway. Both men looked down and the sight that greeted them was horrific. Blood was everywhere and there was a huge gash in the head of what was once a man, a tramp, who’d obviously used the doorway as his resting place for the night.
The police and an ambulance were called, the street was sealed off and the poor old tramp was taken away.
A seemingly motiveless crime like this is always hard to solve, and when, later the same week, another unfortunate tramp was found with almost identical fatal head wounds, in a nearby street, the police were no nearer to solving the first murder.
A week later, all was quiet in the city park. Another tramp was huddled on a park bench, covering himself the best he could in old newspapers, a half empty bottle on the seat beside him. He never heard the hooded figure draw closer to him, and he never looked up when the first blow came crashing down on his head. Next came the knife with such force it left an enormous gash in the old man’s head and blood rushed out, soaking the newspaper, and the figure disappeared into the night.
By now these crimes had made the news, and the police appealed for any witnesses to come forward, but none did. The hooded figure only struck when there was no-one else about, and made his escape unseen.
Over the next few days nothing happened, but on the following Saturday the mysterious hooded figure struck again. Two old men were taking a short-cut home across the park. 
“Wait up, Bill” called one to his friend “I’m just nipping behind that tree, need to take a leak”. His friend nodded and went to sit on a bench to rest his tired feet. It was over in no time. The figure pounced and brought his knife down into the resting man’s head before he even had chance to cry out. Peeping out from behind the tree, Fred had seen the whole thing. The figure had seemed to have come from nowhere, brandishing a large knife, fatally wounding his drinking buddy. He told the police all he could. Said he hadn’t got a good look at the man, but yes, he was sure it was a man. He seemed to be wearing a cloak or something, at least he could tell for sure his head was covered, and the knife, he couldn’t tell for certain, but from where he was standing it could have been a kitchen knife. He couldn’t tell how tall the man was, as his head was bent, and besides, it all happened so fast.
The police nodded to themselves. The wounds on the tramps, and now the wounds on the old man, were consistent with the kind of wound a kitchen knife could make, but the force used in each case must have been tremendous. Now at least there was a partial description of the attacker, and since this attack was not on a tramp, things were looking more sinister.
But things were about to take another sinister turn. A woman was walking home from a club early one morning, when she was grabbed from behind and dragged into some bushes, a hand held tightly over her mouth so she could not scream. The assault was over very quickly. The hooded man ran off, leaving the woman sobbing and traumatised in the bushes. 
“You are very lucky to be alive” the police told her when she gave what little description she could of the man. 
“I could hardly see his face, he kept it bent, and his head was covered. But I did catch a glimpse of his eyes. Such staring, piercing eyes. Really horrible. I don’t think I have ever seen such evil eyes before,” she paused to sob some more, then she continued, 
“and I hope I never shall again.” 
Two weeks later, two girls were waiting for the last bus home, but it was late. Before they knew what was happening they were grabbed by the hair, and pulled several yards into an alleyway, and thrown roughly onto the ground. The younger girl, who was only a teenager managed to kick her way free and run all the way home. Her older companion, in her 30’s, was not so lucky and had to endure the same vicious assault as the woman a few weeks previously. 
“It was dark” she told the police later, when she had recovered enough composure to speak, 
“I didn’t get a good look at him, except his eyes, they were so scary, I thought they were going to burn right through me, and he never took off his hood. He was vicious, and oh! Those burning eyes”.
An elderly street cleaner was the next victim. On his way to work just as it was starting to get light. He was walking down a back street. The hooded man sneaked up behind him, knocked him down with his fist, then thrust the knife, still blood-stained from previous attacks, hard into the back of the man’s head. Blood splashed onto the pavement and onto the hooded man’s clothes. He withdrew the knife and fled.
This went on for months. Several more girls were assaulted, and more men, often tramps, but not always, were murdered in the same way, there seemed no end to the reign of terror, and the man did not seem to discriminate between the men he attacked. Black, white, old, young, it really didn’t matter to him. Women were afraid to walk anywhere at night, and usually kept in pairs, or small groups. But even that didn’t stop him. One particularly nasty assault took place late one Friday night. Two middle-aged women were walking home together from a party. The hooded figure came up behind them, knocking one of them out, and dragging the other one away from the view of the street. Neither women could give an accurate description, the first one didn’t see him at all, but the second one noticed his evil, staring, piercing eyes, and she also thought she noticed he had a long nose.
Sometimes he would attack at night, sometimes early in the morning before it got light. Most assaults, although not all, were on younger women, and many hardly got a look at him at all. 
One night, an all-night grocery store was robbed. Luckily it had fully functioning CCTV, and it was shown the robber was a man, seemed to be youngish, and he was wearing a hood. The CCTV footage appeared on the local news, and one of the attacker’s victim’s happened to be watching, and she recognised her attacker immediately, and told the police straight away.
Now, at least, they had the hooded man on film, but as usual, his face was hidden, but even so, it was a start.
One Saturday night, a young girl was getting ready to go to a party with some friends. She got dressed up, met her friends, and off they went. They had a lot of fun, drinking and eating and laughing together.
Some boys were at the party, drinking and having fun together. One of them, a tall boy noticed the young girl. She had a delicate beauty, with such grace and style. He had never seen anyone so beautiful in all his life. They got chatting, and he said nice things to her, all the things he knew girls wanted to hear, and they decided to go out with each other.
Things went well. He knew just the right things to say to keep her interested, and as she was such a kind, loving, thoughtful girl, she grew fond of the boy. She had the sweetest nature, and could only see the good in people. He came across as a nice person, and their relationship grew. They even stopped over at each other’s houses as often as they could. The girl was so kind, gentle and sweet that it was easy to see how anyone could want to be with her as much as possible.
One day, she was at his house, and the TV was on. More reports of vicious attacks were on the news. The girl shuddered. She hated violence, and she hated anyone being harmed. She just wanted harmony in the world, and everyone to live in peace. She glanced at her boyfriend, he had also seen the news. His face was motionless. He didn’t seem the least bit concerned about any of it, which saddened his girlfriend, but she put it to the back of her mind.
A few weeks later, and the girl was stopping at her boyfriend’s house again. They were chatting in his room, then he went downstairs to get himself something to eat. While he was gone she got a text on her phone. She read it, replied to it, but as she was putting her phone away in her bag, she dropped it on the floor.
Bending down to pick it up, she noticed something shining under his bed, where the light from a lamp caught it in just the right place. She knelt on the floor to take a better look, and found to her horror it was a kitchen knife, and not just any kitchen knife. This one was blood-stained. She stifled a cry of terror and sat on the bed, many confused thoughts going round her head.
Presently, her boyfriend returned. She looked up at him, and he smiled at her. She didn’t feel afraid. She’d known him some months, and he hadn’t lifted a finger against her, yet she knew what he must have done to all those people. Finally she spoke,
“It was you! All this time, and I never knew! Liam, how could you do it?”

The End.

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