Ghost Eye
an excerpt

Most nights I just wander the streets, checking things out around town before calling it a night. It’s true I don’t like going to clubs...there’s too much going on, too many people. Not at all like the nice, quiet cleanness of the morgue or soft coziness of my apartment. Seriously. How people can just go cram themselves into the tiniest of places and perform those abominations they call dancing while hopped up on drugs is just beyond me. I know that’s a generalization, but honestly, one has to wonder just how many times it goes on on any given night. There’s nothing wrong with mingling about on the sidewalk though. At least I can breathe.
Heading down toward the open market, I noticed an unusual quiet in the streets. Normally it’s at least got some activity going on, but people seemed to cling to the fringes, staying in the lamplight as often as possible and scurrying to the next if there was shadow. It ran a chill up my spine. With the fog just starting to rise, it gave an eerie atmosphere to it all, and I caught myself looking over my shoulders every few seconds. Was I being followed? I couldn’t tell. Whatever the case, it seemed as if no matter how quickly I walked, there was something keeping in step with me the whole way. At last, I whirled around hand on my can of mace.
No one there.
Still, I couldn’t help but shake the feeling that amidst the cold Seattle air, there was something soft and warm pulsing, blowing against the back of my neck. Again I would turn, and again, there would be nothing. Looking up at the sky, I saw the full laughing moon shining down on top of me, like a lone eye watching and saying “You’d better go now before things get ugly.” I pulled my jacket tighter around me, to the point where it was almost choking me in its cold embrace, and I too went running, away from the market, away from back streets. Before long, I wound up in the main clubbing district, the lights and sounds doing a good job of pushing away the coming darkness which threatened to pull me under the surface and drown me in a world of cold.
Rushing my steps, I hurried onto the strip, surrounded by people, hoping that at least here, I could avoid whatever shade pursued me still. Unzipping my purse, I pulled out my sidearm, carefully slipping it into my sleeve so as not to draw attention to myself and make an already nervous crowd explode into a riot.
Let’s put it this way: It didn’t need the help.
As soon as I produced my weapon, I heard an earsplitting shriek from down the street...