Urban Ghosts

Anonymous

High School Student

November/December 2025

Neon flickers on wet pavement streets, Footsteps chase echoes that nobody meets. Concrete sighs, steel bones groan, City lights burn, but I walk alone.

Smoke curls from alleyways like fingers, Grasping at coats and ankles, Whispering names I don’t know, Calling me to places I should avoid.

Windows stare with glassy eyes, Mirroring faces that shift and leer. A shadow detaches from the brick, Moves too fast, too human, yet not.

My breath hitches; the air turns thick, As sirens wail in the distance, But the sound is wrong, too hollow— A mimic of life, a mockery of rescue.

I hear it then—ragged, dry laughter, Scraping along walls, over puddles, A voice that knows my name before I do, Promising a kiss colder than frostbite.

I run. Shoes slap against the slick streets, Neon bleeding red and blue in puddles. Every corner twists, every alley bends, And the city itself seems to conspire.

A hand, thin as paper, hooks my shoulder, Spinning me into the darkness between buildings. I look up—eyes blacker than midnight, Grinning wide enough to swallow me whole.

And then—nothing.

Only the echo of my own footsteps, Slapping against wet pavement, Ending at a pool of crimson that wasn’t there before.

Somewhere, the neon hums, And the city waits for the next soul to wander alone.