Hangman's Alley Novels & Stories

Tightening her grip on the compartment, she murmured. In the alleyway where there are potholes full of filthy water, trash from fast-food wrappers, flattened cardboard boxes and piles of wood, Jeonghan smelled the reeking scents of mixed human urine, rotting trash and gasoline. It's a sight he hated. However, he likes the darkness, mystery and creepiness every alleyway has to add some thrill on his thirst. "Come out while I'm asking. You won't like it if I suddenly appear behind your backs and slit your neck one by one," he marked as he bathed his expensive shoes in the puddled of cold dirty water.

The shadow of a hunched over creature tearing a man piece by piece cast on the ground. Then…. A pound of blood red flesh fell on the ground away from the alley.

“It’ll be fun, I promise.” I pulled away and shot back, “Yeah, well, I like to safeguard my fun times with a little thing called commitment.” “Gah.” He hissed at me and shied away even as he continued to hold my hand. “Alright, alright. Point made. I’m backing off now.” I grinned, feeling triumphant, and relaxed my grip in his. This was nice, I decided. I really liked hanging out with Brick. Even in scary neighborhoods. Glancing around me, I took in my surroundings. One side of the alley was lined with rick after rick of cut firewood that someone had piled along the outer wall of the building. The handwritten sign above the piles said each cord was for sale for three hundred apiece.

She scanned the alleyways adjacent to the building, each darkened passage holding only eerie silence. As she reached the third alley, a chilling sound pierced the quiet—cries of distress. Ashleigh’s pulse quickened. She peered into the dimly lit alley and her stomach dropped. There was Megan, pinned against the wall by the two men from earlier. One man held Megan’s arms forcefully against the wall, while the other was lifting her gown. The sight was horrifying, and Ashleigh’s mind raced with panic.

I wanted her mind and body to be all filled up with just me. Instead, I was standing in a dark, freezing alley. The second cigarette burned all the way down to the filter. Finally, the sound of heavy boots echoed at the end of the brick wall. I didn't move. I kept my back casually leaning against the wall. Five men walked into the dark alley. They wore heavy leather jackets. Three of them had dark bandanas wrapped around their heads, printed with the ugly vulture logo. They spread out quickly, blocking the only exit to the main street.

I gave the street a full five minutes before I let myself believe it was clean and crossed toward the alley mouth. The alley ran behind three buildings, the hardware store and a shuttered dry cleaner and a unit with no sign at all, and the drop was supposed to be the third one, a service door with a keypad Lena's old method would have wired to open on a code instead of a key. I checked the street both directions before I crossed it. Empty.

People went there to find trouble, or to pay others to cause it. Ayla’s heart thudded against her ribs as she made her way through the dimly lit streets. She kept her head down, her footsteps quick but steady. The streetlights flickered, casting distorted shadows on the cracked pavement. She passed rundown buildings, their walls covered in graffiti, and alleys that reeked of things she didn’t want to think about. By the time she reached the entrance of Death Den, her palms were slick with sweat inside her gloves. The place was hidden behind an old, rusted metal door with no sign, but the faint thumping of bass from inside told her she was in the right place.

THIRD PERSON POV “Drop the money at the end of the Firetrail Alley. Red tent. No games. Drop it on the table and leave.” William leaned in. “We need proof that she is alive.” “You will get that once we verify the drop is complete,” the voice replied. “We count, and you wait. When I know the money is complete, I will call again.” The line went dead. Jasmine lowered the phone slowly. Haley was already opening the map on her phone. “Firetrail Alley runs behind the east end. Close to the freak show tents. It’s away from the rides..”

I hesitate at the door, then slip out of my jacket to strap on the shoulder holster with the Colt 1911 before slipping back into itand heading out. *** They call Doyers Street Murder Alley. It’s the perfect place for any killing you would want to commit under the cover of gang violence. One block long with a sharp ninety-degree angle in the middle, it runs from Pell Street to the Bowery at Chatham Square and is—according to the cops—the bloodiest intersection in America. There are probably two reasons for this. One is the sharp bend in the street whence comes the nickname, “The Bloody Angle,” a feature that lends itself well to gang ambushes. The other is a pedestrian tunnel that runs under

The taxi stopped at the entrance of the dilapidated Old District. The alley was too narrow for cars. Harper paid the driver, her hands shaking so hard she dropped the coins. "Keep the change!" She slammed the door and sprinted into the alley. In the distance, she saw the sign: "Song Family Noodles." Usually, at this hour, it would be bustling with neighbors, filled with steam and laughter. Now, the metal roller shutter was pulled halfway down. The shop was dark. The red lantern that usually hung by the door was on the ground, crushed.