It was only seven o’clock and already dark on the streets of Toronto as we marched into autumn. The streetlights did little to illuminate, given a few appeared to be malfunctioning again. I’d heard it said that the solar panels powering them had issues charging during the day because the birds loved to shit on them. Whatever the excuse, it resulted in gloomy streets, especially since the shops lining the street were closed and darkened, and the few apartments above the stores had their blinds drawn.

The pounding downpour hit the pavement and rolled for the curb. The sewer intake on the opposite side of the road gulped water as fast as it could, which made it odd that the grate rattled and lifted against the current.

Something had to be pushing it from below. I’d wager a rat. A big one, grown fat on city scraps. I’d seen my fair share down on the subway platforms, feeding off the garbage that people left behind. Mostly harmless, so long as you didn’t try to steal the half-eaten sandwich they scrounged. Luckily, my shitty job still paid enough I didn’t have to dumpster dive for dinner.

Whatever shoved from inside the sewer managed to push the grate to the side and slide out, slick and hairless, misshapen as well. I frowned as I squinted in the pouring rain, trying to make sense of the strange shape. The thing stood, and I gaped as I realized it wasn’t a rat at all but a child. A bald and naked one, its ass cheeks scrawny like its body.

I might not have a single maternal bone in my body, but I did have some compassion. I took a few steps into the road and approached slowly so as to not startle. “Hey there. Are you okay? Do you need help? Are you in danger?” Dumb questions. Obviously they were not okay given they’d just crawled naked from a sewer.

The child whirled, and I gasped at its wizened face, wrinkled and spotted, the pale flesh gleaming with moisture. Its eyes glowed a strange yellow, but more frightening was the gleam of its sharp teeth.

Ever seen Lord of the Rings? Remember that nutty fucker Gollum? I was looking at his cousin. Had to be a costume or a trick of the light.

It stared at me for a second, and I held still until it turned away. I fled back to the relative safety of the sidewalk but kept an eye on the thing as it crouched by the sewer. A second form slithered out from the opening then a third. By the fourth, I wondered if I should walk to the next bus stop.

The four sewer creatures stood in a cluster, scrawny in size, about waist high or a little bit taller. Their eyes all had that strange yellow glow, and as they crossed the street with hitched gaits and dangling arms, their gazes locked on me.

And what did I do? What everyone who had social media would do. I took out my phone and started filming, all the while hoping the rain didn’t ruin my cell since I couldn’t afford another. Worth the risk, because, honestly, who would believe me if I didn’t have video proof? If I died, I wanted them to know it was alien sewer monsters and not rats that had torn me apart. I couldn’t have said why it made a difference.

Now some might ask, why not run? Firstly, I’d just worked ten hours on my feet—I was the only employee other than the owner of Crack Kitchen Housewares—and the thought of the exertion made me want to barf. Second, the pavement gleamed slickly, and my clumsy ass would most likely do a spectacular face plant. And thirdly, I’d rather face a threat, sobbing in fear, than have it tackle me from behind. Assuming these things meant me harm. For all I knew, I’d been chosen for some elaborate prank that someone filmed. It took everything in me not to babble and scream and sob. Only the thought of becoming an eternal meme held my tongue.

A car’s bright headlights illuminated the foursome and their indistinct appearance became even worse. Their gray skin looked papery thin and wrinkled. Their teeth were definitely filed into sharp points, and their hisses as they shielded their eyes against the bright glare sent a shiver down my spine.

The driver laid on the horn and braked to avoid hitting them. A useless gesture, as the monsters didn’t budge from the road. On the contrary, one of them leaped to land with a thud on the hood.

The driver jumped out and hollered, “Get off my car, you cosplaying freak!”

The last thing he said as the thing—for lack of a better word—launched itself at the man and tackled him to the ground. The car blocked what happened next, but it involved much shrieking and then abrupt silence. The other three sewer aliens leaped upon the vehicle and appeared to be having a grand ol’ time jumping up and down on it, denting the hood and roof.

The one that took down the driver popped up to join them, and it took me a second to realize what it held.

A head. A fucking severed head.

Run, Sadie. Run, you fucking idiot. My brain tried to kick-start my self-preservation, but I remained frozen in horror. What if moving triggered them?

New headlights shone from up the road, higher and more powerful. My bus, fifteen minutes late.

The sewer aliens paused in their stomping of the car to stare at the bus, which slid to a stop by the shelter.

Bad move.

The creatures flung themselves at the windshield, but the flat front didn’t offer much purchase. Although one did manage to grab hold of a wiper and go for a ride, back and forth. It might have been funny if in a movie on a television. In person? Fucking terrifying.

The other three sewer aliens found different handholds on the bus. A pair hung from the mirrors on either side, while the last did its best to wedge open the folding door and hissed when it refused to budge.

From the back of the bus, a passenger emerged—a big burly dude in construction yellows—and yelled, “Listen, you fucking punks. It’s late, and I want to get home. Pull your fucking shit elsewhere.”

The way that two of the sewer aliens suddenly stopped dangling from the mirrors and hit the ground to lope on hands and feet was something straight out of a horror movie. The bulky man stood courageously—dumb—and even beckoned them. “Think you can take me, you little fucks? Let’s go. Time you got the spanking your parents neglected to give.”

Brave last words. Wait, not his last. I heard, “What the fuck are—” and then the sewer aliens were on him. Poor construction dude didn’t even have time to scream.

I stopped filming at that point and shoved my phone into my pocket with trembling hands.

Hide. I had to hide. The stores up and down the road were locked up this time of night, but I did have a key to my place of work less than twenty feet away. My feet finally decided to do something smart, and I hightailed it away from the carnage, huffing and convinced that at any second, one of the creatures would tackle me from behind. My hands shook as I tried to slot my key, breathing so fast I keened. The lock clicked, and as I opened the door, the bell tinkled, making me almost sob. I didn’t want those things to come running for dinner.

I threw myself inside and slammed the door shut, locking it right away. Beep. Beep. The alarm system gave warning, and I wheezed as I punched in my code twice because the first time my fingers shook so hard I messed up.

Alarm disarmed, I then glanced around for a weapon. I had a few options, starting with the knife set by the register. They were sharp but would require stabbing, which I wasn’t sure I could manage with how quickly those weird little alien freaks moved. The frying pan, on the other hand… Even I could swing that.

With a sweaty grip on the handle, I dropped down to below the door’s window and did my best to calm my breathing. Not that anything would have likely heard me over the blaring of the bus horn. Then again, who knew? Sewer aliens weren’t supposed to exist in the first place, so, for all I knew, they could have super-duper hearing.

Help. We needed help. Since I didn’t have a number for sewer alien exterminators, I called 911 and got put on hold with some shitty prerecorded message about what constituted an actual emergency.

When the line clicked to transfer me, I mentally practiced what I’d say. Hi, there’s some sewer aliens killing people. Send someone with a flamethrower. The line rang three times and disconnected me.

Fucking hell!

The horn stopped blaring, and things got quiet.

Too quiet.

Despite knowing it might be stupid, I inched up enough to peek out the window. The one-inch crack between the closed sign and the door frame was enough for me to see the sewer aliens still trying to get into the bus.

Three of them, at least. One on top. One plastered to the windshield, looking like it was licking it, and the third banging on the folding door.

What of the fourth?

It came flying from out of the bus shelter as if punted and slid on the damp pavement. The homeless dude emerged from his makeshift home, wild-haired and waving his arms. “Go find your own shelter. This one is mine!”

The sewer alien hissed and flipped to its hands and feet before racing back to confront the guy refusing him entry.

I looked away before impact and sank to the floor, wondering if maybe I was dreaming because this couldn’t be real. Most likely sewer gases making me hallucinate.

Yup. Only explanation.

I sat with my head pressed to my bent knees and took deep breaths. This isn’t happening.

To prove it, I peeked again.

Wrong. So wrong. The screaming started just as I looked. The windshield of the bus had been splintered. I saw no sign of the sewer aliens, most likely because they’d boarded the quickly emptying public transport.

Bet they didn’t pay a fare. My hysterical mind thought it a good time to joke, but it was better than sobbing and rocking on the floor. I wished I had the guts to help, to do something for those people who thought it safe to exit the bus from the rear door, pushing and shoving to get out. As if there was any escape. A creature suddenly dropped from the roof of the bus and clung to a lady like a hat. She ran screaming. All of the passengers did, bolting in different directions in their panic.

One man tripped over the corpse of the homeless dude in the street. That was the last thing he ever did. I sank back down and tried calling 911 again, only to get a busy signal.

A strange shiver went through me, as if a cold breeze had entered the shop. Outside, no more screams, but I did hear a deep male voice say, “All right, you pesky fuckers, time to go back to Hell.”

With that kind of statement, you’re damned right I had to see what the fuck was happening. I glanced and, at first, didn’t see him, the man’s long duster somehow making him almost invisible. What caught my eye? The gleam of a blade.

Not just any blade. A scythe.

What the heck? I stood and pressed my face against the window for a better look. There was a dude out there, a tall one, wearing all black, including an Indiana-Jones-style hat with a brim that sluiced the rain away from his head and partially masked his features in shadow.

He wielded his farm implement with two hands, whirling it like a drum major with a baton. Although, in this case, instead of guiding the marching band, he lopped limbs off of the sewer aliens. An arm went flying, a head. The blade was sharp enough it went right through a torso, the top half sliding off slowly and hitting the ground with a thud.

Holy shit.

In no time, the four murdering creatures were oozing in the street.

And then the Grim Reaper whirled and stared right at me!

Chapter Two

I ducked so fucking fast I almost quacked.

Don’t make a sound.

I slapped a hand over my mouth to prevent any noise. Possibly overkill. I mean, a fellow who showed up to kill monsters probably wasn’t the bad guy, but at the same time, PEOPLE WITH SCYTHES DON’T SHOW UP TO KILL THINGS!

Like seriously. This wasn’t a horror flick or a book. In the real world, this kind of shit didn’t happen. The Grim Reaper didn’t exist.

Tell that to the big dude outside.

A shadow suddenly blocked what little streetlight seeped in through the window, and I held my breath. As if that mattered when my heart pounded so loud it might as well have invited the looming specter in.

The door handle rattled, and I almost peed my pants. I sweated so hard I almost lost my grip on the frying pan.

The shadow of the scythe man moved away, and I waited. Waited a good thirty seconds before I couldn’t stand it and I crept upwards for a peek.

And got caught!

The man in the duster stood staring at the store’s front door and caught my gaze.

I gaped. Did I look upon my killer? At least he wasn’t ugly. Despite the low brim of his hat, he had a square jaw, sexy stubble, and surprisingly tempting lips set in a frown.

“Who are you?” he asked, his voice muffled but still distinct enough to hear through the glass.

“No one,” I squeaked, putting a second hand on my weapon in case he burst in and I had to swing.

“What did you see?”

“Nothing,” I lied. “I just finished work.”

“Open the door.”

“I don’t fucking think so,” I huffed.

“I mean you no harm.”

“Says the dude with a giant scythe,” I muttered under my breath.

His head swiveled as sirens wailed in the distance, their strident woo-ooo getting louder as they neared. He glanced back at me. “You might want to keep quiet about what you saw.”

“What did I see?” Because I still struggled with it all.

“Nothing. If anyone asks, it was dark, and you didn’t see shit.”

With that warning, the guy whirled, his long coat swinging with him. He tapped his scythe on the ground, and it shrank. Don’t ask me how, but it got small enough he could tuck it into his pocket. He strode off, and my whole body slumped in relief.

He’d not killed me.

The sewer aliens were dead.

But so were a bunch of people. Or so I assumed? Maybe they were just injured and in need of some pressure to stop the bleeding. If so, I really should render some aid.

I rearmed the store and locked the door once I emerged. I wasn’t the only one standing in shock on the sidewalk. People in apartments had heard the commotion and, now that red and white lights blocked the street on both ends, they’d found the courage to step outside.

I hugged myself as I surveyed the carnage. Bodies lay all over. None moving. My gorge rose as I saw the head of the first driver just sitting in the street.

Some of the slickness on the sidewalk and asphalt had to be blood. Hard to tell for sure with the darkness and the pouring rain. Oddly, I didn’t see any sewer alien parts. Despite the scythe dude having diced them mere paces from the shop, not a trace of them remained.

Odd. I’d not see the Grim Reaper taking the bodies with him.

Police officers came running with guns out, shouting, “Hands up! No sudden moves.”

Despite knowing I wasn’t a criminal, I shot those babies in the air.

A man in a suit came striding through the people in blue uniforms aiming their weapons at those of us looking shell-shocked on the sidewalk. The rugged-looking suit ignored the fact the rain soaked his jacket and plastered his hair as he planted hands on his hips and stared at the bodies.

It took him a second before he bellowed, “What the fuck happened here? Anyone see?”

Someone across the street in her housecoat yelled, “It was racoons! I knew there was something shifty about them.”

Yet another person hollered, “Probably the Nazis.” The go-to excuse for any depraved crime that people couldn’t fathom.

The detective—had to be, given the way he waved officers to question those who’d offered answers—crouched by the body of the homeless guy just as a female in uniform approached me. “Who are you? Why are you here?” she barked.

“I’m Sadie. Sadie Butler. I work here.” I inclined my head to the store at my back with its sign, Crack Kitchen Housewares. According to my boss, Enzo, people couldn’t resist weird and unique kitchen gadgets, hence the crack part.

“Are you armed?”

“No.”

Officer Perez, according to her badge, eyed me suspiciously before saying, “You can put your hands down. Mind if I ask you some questions?” Before I could answer, she continued. “Did you see anything?”

The reaper’s warning about not talking about what happened ran through my head. It made sense, because the story sounded crazy; however, it was the cops asking. They arrested people for lying. I blurted out, “Sewer aliens.”

Officer Perez blinked at me. “Er, what?”

Rather than repeat myself, I mumbled, “The things that attacked those people came from the sewer.” I pointed to the hole across the street. The grate still sat to the side of it.

“Rats did this?” she asked as if to clarify.

I wished I could say yes. Instead, I had to mutter, “I don’t know what they were. They were hairless and could walk on two legs.”

Her brows lifted. “Oh. I see.”

“It’s true,” I hastened to add, seeing as how she didn’t believe me. “I got a video of it.” I reached for the phone in my pocket.

She jerked back a step, put a hand on the butt of her gun, and barked, “Hands where I can see them.”

“I was just going to grab my phone so I can show you.” I withdrew my hand, holding my cell.

“Let’s see.” She didn’t move her fingers from her gun as I entered my passcode and then poked at my folder for media, the first thing on there being the video. I tapped it, and as it began to play, I flipped it around for her to see.

As she leaned in for a look, the screen did a weird flash with bright colored lines before it died.

“No.” I snatched it close and shook it as if that would fix it. My lips turned down. “I think it got too wet.”

“Forget the video for now. You saw the attack?” Perez questioned.

I nodded.

“We’ll need you to come to the precinct to answer some questions.”

“Must I?” I grimaced. “I mean I don’t know what those things were that attacked those people, other than they weren’t human.”

“And you’re sure they weren’t rats?”

“Very sure.” I’d have nightmares about those savage freaks.

“Racoons?”

“I told you. They were two-legged and hairless. Also naked.” I grimaced.

“Male? Female?”

“Don’t know. I wasn’t looking between their legs on account their faces freaked me out. They had their teeth filed like sharks!”

“Mm-hm. Where did they go?” Perez asked next, and I could see by her expression she didn’t believe me. Hell, I had a hard time believing myself, and yet I couldn’t walk back my admission at this point.

“Not sure where their bodies went, but I do know they died. Some dude with a scythe came along and killed them. Maybe he took them their remains with him.” Yeah, I threw the Grim Reaper under the bus. Anything to deflect attention from me.

It only made things worse, as Perez raised a brow and drawled, “So you’re saying a male with a scythe killed the perpetrators.”

I nodded.

“And where is that person now?”

“Dunno. He took off when he heard your sirens. But he can’t be hard to find. He’s like really tall and wore a long duster, all in black. Had a hat with a brim.”

“And a scythe,” she added with a smirk. “Should be easy to find.”

“Actually, the scythe shrank, and he tucked it in his pocket.” My voice got smaller and smaller as my brain finally woke up and pointed out just how crazy I sounded. Never mind the fact it happened. I could see the cop didn’t believe it. Heck, I still had a hard time processing the events.

“You know what, on second thought, I don’t think you’ll need to come to the station. I’m sure we’ve got what we need.”

Perez dismissed me, making me home free, so why did my dumb ass blurt out, “I’m telling the truth.”

“Ma’am, this is a serious crime scene, and we don’t have time for your fanciful stories about creatures from the sewer and a man with a scythe who killed them.”

My lips parted, but I held in the words, I’m not lying. It was obvious she didn’t believe me. Hell, at this point, I began to second-guess myself. “Does this mean I can go home?”

“Yes, but just in case we need to follow up, I need your name, phone number, and address.”

The officer held out a pad of paper that got wet, and she frowned. “Let me find someone with a tablet who can take down your info.” She wandered off, and I glanced around, noting the growing crowd, as well as the arrival of more flashing lights as paramedics arrived to render aid. Not that anyone appeared to need any. Not a single body twitched or moaned.

A shiver went through me. I could have been one of those corpses given I’d stupidly stood there watching.

Perez didn’t return. I assumed she’d been distracted, and since the rain wasn’t getting any lighter I decided, fuck this. I walked away.

I headed away from the mess of lights and people, my feet squelching in my shoes. I usually avoided the subway at night, but I didn’t think they’d be sending another bus anytime soon, so it was my only option.

When it came time to head down to the station, I eyed the stairs and felt a moment of trepidation. Dumb, really. The sewer aliens literally crawled out of a sewer, and that system didn’t open up into the subway. Besides, if they were in the tunnels, people wouldn’t be calmly walking up the steps but sprinting while screaming. Or there’d be no foot traffic at all.

My prepaid Presto card let me through the turnstile, and I skipped down more steps to the platform itself. It wasn’t crowded this time of night, but there were enough people to make me if not relaxed at least not twitching. So long as I stayed behind a few, I’d get a head start if more of those sewer aliens decided to attack. I kept watch, staring left and right at the dark tunnels extending past the well-lit areas.

The train arrived in a rush of air that made my teeth clack as I finally reacted to the cold. My sodden clothes hung heavy as I embarked with everyone else, choosing a seat away from a door, where I could tuck against the window. Usually, I’d be reading or playing games on my phone, but tonight I just stared at the fast-moving concrete walls as we sped along. As it slowed for the next station, strange motion outside the window had me blinking and straightening.

Nothing there. Probably a shifting reflection in the glass.

When we neared the next stop, I stood and held the overhead bar as the train slowed. The doors whooshed open and I looked first before slipping out with the other folks onto the platform, a herd of us walking quickly for the exit. As I waited my turn to board the escalator, I glanced behind to watch the train leave and gaped, because riding atop the last car?

A bald, gray figure!

Gone in a flash, and so was I. I eschewed the moving stairs for the immobile version and pounded up them so fast I huffed, and my heart pounded against my rib cage trying to escape the cruel body making it exercise. A stitch in my side begged me to slow down and take a rest. Not happening. My fast-paced stride gave me shin splints but got me to my apartment building in three minutes instead of my usual lazy strolling five. Only once the security door latched behind me did I heave a sigh of relief.

My paranoid ass checked the elevator before getting inside just like I eyed the hall before stepping out onto my floor. I practically ran to my door, my jingling keys noisy, but at this point, I didn’t care. I just wanted my apartment.

I got in and quickly slammed the door shut. Locked it. Chained it. And then because it didn’t seem like enough, I wedged a chair under the knob.

Only then did my shoulders drop. Home, sweet, safe home. Just me and my plastic plants because I didn’t do well with other living things. Plants died, so did fish. I’d thought of getting a cat, but the idea of scooping a litter box icked me out.

As the adrenaline wore off, a chill hit me. I shivered so hard my fingers had a hard time stripping my soaked garments. My teeth clacked as I dropped all my stuff in the laundry basket.

A glance in the bathroom mirror showed me looking wretched. Eyes slightly bloodshot. My hair a ratty, sodden mess. My lips a purple-blue.

While a hot bath would have been nice, my compact apartment only had a shower, and the water emerged lukewarm. A cozy pair of fleece jammies did the trick, warming me up, as would a cup of hot cocoa with marshmallows. While I prepped the warm milk for it, I dunked my phone in a container of rice. Please god, let it dry out and work. I really didn’t want to downgrade to a cheap flip phone. I’d only finished paying for my current smart one three months ago and would prefer to not lose the extra grocery money, given inflation made everything more expensive these days.

My couch cradled my ass nicely, and my thick blanket cuddled me further as I balanced my laptop on my thighs. Despite having been a front-row spectator, I found myself curious as to what the news and social media were reporting about the murder scene by my work. Not much, as it turned out.

Internet searches of various keywords—massacre, bus attack, Bulberry, the street it happened on—didn’t pull up shit. Could be the search engine had not indexed anything yet. After all, it had only been an hour since it happened.

I went to Reddit, my local source for neighborhood drama, and finally got a hit.

WTF happened to Bus 678? A friend who lives on its route says it’s stopped in front of Moe’s Dry Cleaning and has its windshield smashed and its roof dented. Claims there’s bodies in the road. Anyone got the deets?

A bunch of replies followed, and the more I read, the more my brow creased. The stories and theories were all over the place. The most common hypothesis being a drug addict had an episode and turned mass murderer. The most ridiculous one mentioned a thick fog that killed people just like in that Stephen King story, The Mist. Even more oddly, no one spoke of the man with the scythe.

How could anyone who claimed to have seen the incident have not noticed either? I mean, yes, it was dark and rainy. However, part of the events had been illuminated by the headlights on the bus and car. Could it be I was the only up-close witness? I hoped not, because the lady cop had acted as if I were having a drug-induced episode, her entire attitude dismissive of my claims. In her defense, it sounded pretty far-fetched. Even in retrospect, I second-guessed what I’d seen.

A yawn cracked my jaw, and I noticed the time. Late. And I was supposed to be opening the store in the morning. I rose and shuffled to my kitchen to deposit my mug in the sink. As I headed for my bed, I glanced out the window. My view of the alley and the backside of a warehouse was the reason why my rent was fifty dollars cheaper a month than apartments overlooking the road.

A hint of movement by a dumpster had my lips pursing. Probably a racoon or an actual rat. Still…

I yanked the blinds closed, and then, because I was suddenly nervous in my own place, shut my bedroom door—not something I ever did—and slid my dresser in front of it. As for the window? I moved my nightstand under it and placed some knickknacks on top.

Wasn’t nobody getting in without waking me.

For the first time in my life, I also slept with my hand around the butcher knife I usually kept in my nightstand.

The next morning—after cursing out the phone that still glitched after I pulled it from the rice—I’d nearly convinced myself I’d overreacted.

Until I left for work. As I went to lock my place, I saw claw marks on the outside of my apartment door.