In the heart of a sprawling city, where the neon lights flickered through the night like restless spirits, two men stumbled through the streets, their laughter echoing off the walls. Their gait was unsteady, each step a testament to the excessive alcohol that coursed through their veins. The hour was late, the streets mostly deserted, save for the occasional drunkard or stray cat.
One of the men, a burly figure with a face flushed from drink, squinted into the darkness. He halted suddenly, grabbing his friend by the arm.
“Look at that!” he slurred, pointing toward the shadow of a large tree. “A woman! A big, beautiful woman!”
His friend, slightly smaller and equally inebriated, squinted in the same direction. “What woman? That’s not a woman, you idiot—that’s a buffalo! Big and black as night!”
The first man scoffed, “You’re blind! That’s no buffalo, it’s a woman! Look at the size of her!”
The two men began to argue, their voices growing louder with each passing moment. Their shouts filled the quiet night, disturbing the slumber of the neighborhood. Lights flicked on in windows, curtains were drawn back, and faces peered out into the darkness, annoyed by the commotion.
In one such window, a young man in his early twenties rubbed his tired eyes, pulling himself away from his books. He had an important exam the next day and needed all the rest he could get. The racket from the street below was the last thing he needed.
Annoyed, he decided to give the drunkards a piece of his mind. He stepped out onto the balcony, ready to yell at them to shut up and go home. But as he leaned over the railing, his voice caught in his throat.
The shouting had stopped. The street was eerily quiet. The two men stood beneath the tree, frozen in place, their faces pale in the dim streetlight. There was something unsettling about the way they stood, staring into the shadows as if transfixed.
The young man’s annoyance quickly turned to unease. He leaned over further, trying to see what had silenced them so abruptly. His breath caught when he saw it—a figure, dark and indistinct, standing between the two men. It was neither a woman nor a buffalo. It was something else entirely, something that shouldn’t have been there.
Without thinking, the young man pulled out his phone and dialed the police. His hands trembled as he gave them the address, urging them to come quickly. He then called an ambulance, waking the neighbors with frantic knocks on their doors. By the time the authorities arrived, the two men were lying on the ground, their faces twisted in expressions of sheer terror.
The paramedics confirmed what the young man had feared—they were both dead. The cause? Shock. Pure, unadulterated fear had stopped their hearts.
The police began to question the neighborhood, trying to piece together what had happened. When they reached the young man, he was still trembling, his eyes wide with lingering fear.
“I saw it,” he whispered to the officers. “I saw something between them. It wasn’t a woman or a buffalo. I thought maybe I was drunk too, or maybe I was feverish, hallucinating… But I wasn’t. You need to check, please, check if I’m drunk or sick. I’m not crazy.”
The officers exchanged uneasy glances but did as he asked. They brought out a breathalyzer, checked his temperature, and ran a few quick tests. The results came back clear. No alcohol in his system. No fever. No sign of hallucinations.
For a moment, the police were silent, staring at the young man who was now staring blankly at the spot where the bodies lay. He was telling the truth.
The officers looked at each other, then back at the young man, unsure of what to say. In a city where drunkards were common, where the supernatural was nothing more than a story told to frighten children, they had no explanation for what had happened. But they knew one thing for sure: whatever those two men had seen, whatever had caused them to die of sheer terror, was still out there, lurking in the shadows of the night.
