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A Short Story | Helen Ying

BLADE STREET

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Blade Street. The sign proclaiming the streets name stood shakily on the intersection on a metal pole

jauntily decorated with thickly layered graffiti. Maxwell took a deep breath and forced himself to

keep walking.

A rusted car body sat in a front yard overrun with grass that hadnt been mown for years. Skinny,

stray cats snarled at each other, hissing their disapproval at anyone who interrupted their feline

brawls. Somewhere in the vicinity, a dog barked, the sound echoing eerily down the otherwise still

street.

No-one ever walked these streets alone. Not if they didnt have to.

Number four, Blade Street. The house looked the same as any other house on the street. The

windows had steel shutters. These glinted menacingly in the sunlight. The front yard was covered in

junk, from a grease-covered chainsaw, its blade covered in something that looked suspiciously like

blood, to disposable Burger King cups.

Enter number four, Blade Street The door creaked as it swung open, a silent onlooker as Maxwell

stepped into its dark depths. He hesitated. Should he close the door? There was no knowing what

was going to happen. He decided to close it. His mother had always told him to leave things as he

found them. Surely that included the door of a dubious-looking building with him inside it

Stairs. There they were, straight in front of him. They, like the rest of the house, were in poor

condition. Mould seeped through the cracks in the splintering wood like a bloodstain.

Go up the stairs. They groaned and creaked under his weight as he made his way to the second floor.

Go up the stairs and go into the first room to your right. His had rested on the doorknob. This waswhere the instructions ended. With a deep breath, he stepped inside.

* * * * *

Eliana closed the door behind her, leaning against its familiar coolness. Home again. There was no

knowing what shed have to put up with tonight.

Shazzy! Im home! The house was silent. Eliana frowned, dropping her bag at the base of the stairs

and strode towards the back of the house, still calling.

Shazzy? No response.

The back door slammed in the wind. Eliana rushed over, fear blossoming in her chest. Who had left it

open? Why? What had happened?

She rushed outside to the garden. A few seconds later, the screaming began.

* * * * *

Maxwell licked his lips nervously. Brandon smirked at his nervousness.

Thought you could get away with it, eh?

Maxwell couldnt speak.

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The five men in the room were all watching him. Watching his every move. He shivered.

How could you possibly think you could do something like that and not get caught? Were not cops,

remember? Were not that dumb.

We know you. We know how your brain works. We know how to find you and how to get you tocome to us. As weve demonstrated quite well, dont you think, Gordon?

To an amazingly intuitive degree. Maxwell could only agree.

* * * * *

The puppy lay on its back, its four paws pointing towards to the sky. A puddle of blood lay under it,

staining its once-golden fur dark red. Its intestines spilled out of a gaping wound in its belly. Trails of

blood around the yard showed where it had dragged itself around, searching for some sort of respite

from its pain and misery. Finding none, it had collapsed in the middle of the yard, too dazed with

pain to do anything else.

Eliana knelt by the little body, trembling. Shazzy whimpered, raising her head to lick Elianas hand. It

was useless to try to save the puppy now, Eliana knew. But she couldnt just sit there and do nothing

while the poor thing suffered

She didnt have to wait long. With a soft almost-human sigh, Shazzy slipped away, the light in her

eyes dying.

Shazzy On a quiet Friday afternoon, a girl sat in her backyard, tears running down her face as a

golden retriever puppy breathed its last.

* * * * *

Maxwell Gordon stood in the backyard of number four, Blade Street. He held his hands up as

commanded, counting his breaths. He was still alive. Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen

He shouldnt have done it, he knew. But hed been angry. Hed wanted to dole out his own

punishment.

Shouldve chosen a better victim, Gordon. Brandon stood behind him, a knife in hand. Smiling.

We dont like to hurt girls, Gordon. How do you think your sister, Eliana, is feeling right now?

Shed be heart-broken. Shazzy was all she had.

And its all your fault, Gordon. How do you feel about that?

* * * * *

Eliana was numb. Where was Max? Did he have anything to do with it?

Well, he definitely wasnt home. If he had been, her screams would have brought him running

already. Maybe hed left a note?

She checked the kitchen. No note. His room, then.

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His room was nothing short of a minefield. But there was one thing that caught her attention. A note

made up of letters cut out of magazines lay on top of everything else on his desk.

We know what you did. We dont like people who tell tales. We punish people we dont like .

You know who we are. Follow the instructions below:

Enter number four, Blade Street. Go up the stairs and go into the first room on your right.

Friday 4:30 p.m. Or else your sister might accidentally stab herself.

* * * * *

Death on Blade Street

Eliana (15) and Maxwell (16) Gordon have been found dead in the backyard of a house in the already

notorious Blade Street. A social worker checking on the siblings found the dead body of their pet

puppy lying in their own backyard and proceeded to contact police. Police suspect local gangs of this

murder. Anyone with information is encouraged to step forward

And their puppy will end up slashed to bits too.Brandon chuckled at his own ingenuity. Come on,

boys. Weve got some policingto do.

A newspaper drops out of the window of the blue and white police car. It cruises calmly down the

length of Blade Street.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

It was just another day on Blade Street.