The Alley

“You’re going to need these. You know you will,” An older man said as he gave a younger man gloves and trash bags.

“I know…” he said in return.

Click Phil turned on his TV and flipped to the news channel. The news broadcast a grisly story today. Three people went missing mysteriously after entering a residential neighborhood: a mother, father, and child. They haven’t been seen in over 48 hours, so the chances of finding them alive now was low. Unfortunately, the suspicions were confirmed when an unsuspecting civilian stumbled upon poorly buried body parts. The police had finished investigating the area and confirmed the bodies as the three missing victims.

Phil turned off his TV and prepared for his morning walk. He grabbed his keys, phone, and two pocket knives. With someone out in his neighborhood killing people, he could never be too safe.

He walked out his front door, making sure to lock it after himself. He began his leisurely stroll past the quaint pastel houses his neighborhood was known for. He heard a conversation of what sounded like two men coming from a bit ahead of him but didn’t pay it too much mind.

However, when he passed by, Phil unconsciously eavesdropped on them. The men sat between two tall apartments in a cramped alley way.

“This is terrible,” a young man said queasily.

Phil stopped in his tracks, trying to hide a bit in front of one of the buildings. He didn’t try to listen in before, but something piqued his interest now. From the men’s vantage point they couldn’t see him. He listened further:

“I just don’t want to do this again,” the young man trembled.

“You have to,” said the other, harshly.

“What a peculiar conversation,” Phil thought to himself.

He continued to eavesdrop as he heard the men shuffling something heavy into plastic bags.

“God, I hate cleanup jobs,” said the young man.

“We all do,” the other one sternly spoke.

Phil heard strangely watery noises along with the plops of heavy objects being put into the bags. As if there was some liquidy substance forming in the bags.

Curious, he tilted his head to see into the alley. Phil hadn’t got a good look at the men before. He had never seen them before. One was a young kid, no more than 20, the other a middle aged man with a raggedy black beard. He studied their faces carefully. Then he focused on their outfits. Both men were wearing bright yellow hazmat suits.

That’s when it hit him. He understood now. They had found it. They found the bodies Phil had buried just two days ago. He reached into his jacket to grab his one of his pocket knives and remembered what he told himself before he left for his walk:

“You’re going to need these. You know you will.”