The Hunted Man

Building Blocks

The Hunted Man
by Ken Chandler
Copyright © 2008


I’d taken refuge from the storm under an overhanging canvas tarp, my hair and clothes were soaked and dripping a puddle on the concrete sidewalk beneath me; evidence of the tempest that raged mere feet away. The sign painted on the window of the now dark shop read, “Valini’s”. I silently wished that the store were open so I could ask if they sold umbrellas. My own hung on a hook by the front door of my apartment.

The storm didn’t appear to be lightening in the slightest, if anything, the sounds of raindrops thrashing the night around me seemed to be getting louder. A coin operated newspaper vending machine stood near the door of the shop, and it struck me that I could use a newspaper to keep the rain out of my eyes. I reached into my pocket and found several coins, one of them larger than the others. A quarter, I sighed with relief.

As I drew the money out of my pants pocket I noticed a massive figure standing motionless under the street lamp on the corner opposite my own. His wide rimmed hat cast deep shadows across his face, making him unrecognizable. The storm overhead unleashed torrents of rain down upon the stranger. Large drops of water danced on his trench coat, creating a halo effect immediately around his person. I admit, that my blood ran cold as I looked on the forbidding man.

In my anxiety, I felt my fingers slacken and the quarter fell from my hand. A crisp ring of metal on concrete sounded above the tumult of the storm. To my horror I saw the man take a deliberate step toward me, his foot sinking ankle deep in a roadside puddle without taking notice of it, his full attention on me alone. I recoiled into the newspaper stand, and he was half way across the street before I regained sense enough to move my leaden feet. I staggered backward into the rain soaked streets, every step sent up a spray, soaking my pant legs. Seeing through the sheets of rain was impossible, and I shielded my hand over my eyes, and ran. Looking backward over my shoulder I inadvertently stepped off the sidewalk and fell headlong into the gutter with a splash. Sputtering and choking, I scrambled to my feet and blinking water out of my eyes, I looked around to see that the hulking man was less than 10 feet away and closing the distance. I sprang to my feet and sprinted to the end of the block. Upon reaching the corner, I turned to see that the man, who had without running, stayed close behind me, and in my hesitation had again closed the gap.

I rounded the corner and ran another block before stopping to look back and saw that he was again within 15 feet of me, his hands clenched into fists, his silhouetted figure driving through the downpour like a freight train through fog. What the man wanted with me, I did not know. What reason he relentlessly pursued me, I couldn’t fathom. And so I ran, in preservation of my life, I ran, all the while my mind raced with thoughts of what earthly thing I could have done to cause this man to hunt me with such tenacity. The cold in me ran fathoms deep; into the very marrow of my bones; my breath came in ragged gasps, my muscles began to weaken, and still my pursuer with unrelenting energy bore down on me.

By some miracle, through the driving rain I saw that I was within 100 yards of my apartment, my salvation. And so with the last vestiges of strength and with shoes weighed down with grief and fatigue, I trudged on; first reaching the base of the steps, and then the landing. With my heart thrilled with terror, I groped a shriveled and near-frozen hand into my sodden clothing and produced a key, drove it into the keyhole. Then my muscles seized with terror as I heard a splash on the steps directly behind me. A large hand grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. The voice that rumbled from the shadowed face rasped. “I’ve been waiting to give you this.”
I saw a flash of silver, and with a lighting thrust, and he handed me the quarter I’d dropped.