No one ever mentioned him. Sometimes I almost convinced myself he was only a part of my imagination; the shrieks and singing that haunted me was just my imagination, too. He only came out after dark. In the day time everyone pretended he didn’t exist. Added to that, nobody who saw his face lived to describe it. It was also part of the reason his trail of victims grew longer: Not a soul was willing to break the unspoken vow of silence. Forget reporting him to the police, the residents of Park Street never spoke about it outside the confines of their home. Even at home, it was only whispers.
Once I ran petrified to the police station but I waited outside contemplating how to explain the situation to the cops. The real conflict was if such a man existed, someone else would have, should have, raised their voice too. So I shut up and walked slowly away.
But my curiosity drove me to follow him once. I dressed up to blend into the night. I hid behind the large garbage bins at the end of Park Street. Three consecutive nights he didn’t show. On the fourth night, I saw him move slowly, singing.
Let out your fear
Come meet me here,
I won’t talk
I do bite.
I watched him sit on the bench. I wanted to see his face but I was scared to get any closer to him. The fear gripped my body and I hid behind the bins. The lack of proper street lightning on the road made it difficult to spot anything but a rough layout of his body. He was taller and fatter than I imagined. Without any prey in sight, he slowly got up and wandered off in the direction he had emerged from. I was tempted to follow him to find out where he lived or hid in the day. A location would be concrete information to provide the police. But I was too afraid. I was not willing to risk becoming his next meal. His walk seemed hungry and agitated. With a cannibal, I assumed that is inviting trouble. I heard his voice trail off into the darkness.
It’s time to eat
It’s time to eat
Read part one here