I walked into the station 15 minutes earlier than usually. The youngsters were at it again, with their boomboxes blastin’ and their feet stompin’. 

Not even my sexy neighbour was around that evening; she must’ve been away at her famous grandson’s birthday party that I overheard from her balcony. Not that I actively listened to her conversations; it’s not my fault the building contractors make 1-inch thick walls and doors between apartments.

I crossed my day-shift colleague Ali as he picked up his coat while I hung mine. A Moroccan Muslim who ended up by luck in our New York climate, he had taken up the habit of wearing a surgical mask ever since he lived here, as if our friggin’ weather would get him sick on a second-to-second basis. Get over it, man. You get sick once for about a week, then you’re good to go for the rest of the year.

“Good night, Ali,” I grumpily told him, before taking a sip from my huge water bottle. 

Ali eyed my bottle suspiciously. I glared back. What did he want with my bottle? I liked staying hydrated, and the damn water dispenser tastes like shit.

“Are you sure it’s water, Bob? The boss told me you had some unbefitting habits for our profession, and any more of that, and I’d have the permission to send you back home and call in the volunteer.”

Dude. My habits are exactly befitting of our profession. You don’t get through the day without them.

“Wanna try it?” I dared him, presenting my bottle.

He jumped back, as if my bottle had suddenly developed monstrous snapping jaws.

“I’m Muslim, I can’t drink that!”

“You can’t drink water? That’s a shitty taboo, no wonder you’re prone to gettin’ sick.”

“If that’s really water, you could drink a whole 8oz cup of it right in front of me.” Ali paused, then he straightened up as clearly an idea crossed his mind. I couldn’t see his damn smug smile because of his damn mask, but I knew he was likin’ his idea. “Tell you what. I know what people do when they drink alcohol. You drink a whole cup right here and now, and I don’t want to see any reaction from you. If you refuse, I send you home straight away.”

I lifted my eyebrow at him. Seriously? I must’ve really pissed him and the boss for some reasons. But okay. Sure. I’ll even up his dare. My bottle was after all huge for a reason.

I picked up a nearby 12oz foam cup, filled it, and drank it in big gulps. I wiped my lips and chin as some drips made their way there, and stared back challengingly at Ali.

“Can I do my job, now?”

Ali sighed deeply, disappointed at the result of his grand scheme, and left without a word, banging the door behind him.

I sighed of relief, feeling my throat and lungs burn a bit more than usual. Thank goodness that Ali wore his damn mask and couldn’t smell my breath. In fact, I’ll stop this evening, here and there, to hate his mask. Who cared I couldn’t see his absent smile and his constant look of contempt; at least I could keep on thwarting him and his good ideas.

I slumped in my chair, putting up my feet on the desk. That was the perfect spot, my lower back was getting stretched to the right tension. 

I picked up my binoculars, and began my daily, or rather, nightly, scan of the main street. We had a nice big long set of windows stretching across the whole length of the station, and adding to the fact that at night, the station had minimum lighting, it made night viewing that much more fun.

A lot of colleagues wondered why I liked doing night-shifts.

Well..

A: I’m paid double; that’s an honest law in those workers syndicate rights.

B: Nothing happens at night; and my old wrecked body thanks me for the resulting lack of excessive strains on it. Let the youngs’ run after the robbers or the loose rottweiler dog.

C: I can sleep during the day when those damn punks are forced to go to high-school, college, university, I don’t know what they do anymore… Because don’t even try sleepin’ at night with them around. They think it’s cool partyin’ up until 1 in the mornin’… well guess what, kids, old geezers like me need to sleep sometimes, and we don’t run on those Monsters or Gurus or Yogas, or whatever those heart-stompin’ drinks are.

D: People at night tend to get be more carefree, and there are a lot of people my age with insomnia, where taking a walk helps them relax. That means my chances of seeing those beautiful grandmas in a more revealing manner augments at night. Who knows… maybe a drunk cyclist will risk hitting them, and I’ll be able to rush in, swoop the gal and become her hero… That’d be nice. Not that it happened yet in my 15 years of service, but hey, a guy can dream, right?

So that’s why I’m here, with my binoculars. I know that can be confused with being a peeping tom, but I ain’t a teenager, allright? I’m doin’ serious business here.

After some time, I started playing with the ever-famous game of how-well-can-one-throw-papers-balls-in-the-gabage-bin. In case you’re internally askin’, no, I don’t have a fancy intelligent-what-not phone. Mine’s a flip-flop. I have that game of that bird having to fly through obstacles, with those air currents where the bird can either fall or rise. Heck, almost no kid I talked to these days even remember that game; it’s not that old though; it’s been barely fifteen-twenty years since flips-flops were replaced by those overly-techie smartphones. How can anyone forget that flip-flops had that bird game, with the bowling game and the poker/blackjack game?

But yeah, no, I don’t play with that game. My eyes ain’t too good nowadays to see such a small screen. But I can score my paper balls down that garbage bin well enough, I dare say so myself.

A quick movement outside the window suddenly caught my attention. I immediately grabbed my binoculars, and stared hard at the street. Nothing. Must’ve been a cat. Or that loose rottweiler. Or a raccoon. Or a fox. Heck, must’ve been a lot of things. Nothing to worry about. I was however at the point of making a twenty-score back to back. 

As the paper ball hit the bin, I heard loud and clear a woman’s scream. Took me a sec to register it, as foxes do that kind of screaming too, like a crying woman. But sure enough, a running woman came into sight of the windows. She was dressed as if she went golfing, except, you know, it’s past midnight. She looked behind her back fearfully, and resumed running, her arms flopping as if she was trying to get a flock of black flies off her. Her golf hat fell on the ground, and as she looked around in panic, she spotted me across the windows, and made a run for me.

I realized this was my chance, albeit I know I should’ve done that earlier instead of simply staring at her like a creep.

So I grabbed my holster, and ran as fast as I could to the entrance, and once outside, I pointed my gun at the darkness as the lady ran past me, and immediately used me as a shield, panickingly shouting for help.

“Freeze!! Or I shoot!” I yelled at the empty street.

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I eerily waited for a movement of some sort, and the lady was still trembling and jerkily breathing. I made a few steps in all directions, making sure to make sudden movements to catch off guard the hidden assailants. But to no avail. Only crickets making their annoying sound. And the few flights here and there of the station roof bat resident, happily gobbling up flies and butterflies.

I holstered my gun, and turned to the fearful lady. Okay, that was awkward. But the good news was, I still had to file a report. That meant… I get a chance at impressing her with my gentlemanliness, and possibly get her attention.

“Come, ma’am, we’ll go inside figure out what happened to you. I’ve got coffee and donuts.”

She shakily acquiesced, and followed me inside.

I set a steaming hot coffee mug in front of her, one of the most nicest mug I could find in all the cabinets, and a plate with decent enough fresh honey-glazed donuts. 

“There you go, ma’am, should calm you right up. Nothing like a good sip of coffee.”

She smiled weakly, and tentatively took a sip as per my suggestion. I pulled out a notebook from the drawe, and opened to a virgin page.

“Okay, so I’m goin’ to need your basic information, just for formalities. So name, age, place of residence, and means of contact, phone as much as possible.” Because I don’t use mail. Hate it. I always mix up the ‘Send’ and ‘Delete’ button. And phone’s nicer. You actually hear the person talkin’ to you, not worry that it’s some Nigerian prince on the other side of the message, tryin’ to scam you into a fake wedding even though you’re a dude.

“Sure. My name is May Jasmine, 68, lives in the residential complex across the 9th Avenue, and my phone is...”

I noted it all down, secretly glad to hear she was a year younger than me. That made it not too weird as a potential partner, not way younger that it makes me look like a perv, and not too old that it makes her seem like a cougar. She actually looked really lovely. I swear I wouldn’t have given her that age. The golf attire did help her case, the short skirt and sleeveless shirt showcasing that she took attention to her health and fitness.

I then took out from my breast pocket a second notebook, and copied the information; that one was my own copy for contacting her later on in the month for a kind checkup on her state, and an invitation to coffee. Seeing her puzzled stare, I smiled innocently.

“For backup purposes. We always lose files round here. Don’t worry Mrs. Jasmine, that information is strictly confidential, no else but me and the director can see this.”

She nodded, relaxing, and made a small smile.

“Thanks, officer. And call me May. Mrs Jasmine is my mom.”

Great. We were officially on first name basis. Well, right after she gets to know mine.

“Allright May, I’m Bob. So, any relatives nearby to you tonight that may have seen what happened to you?”

“Not likely. My kids are up in Boston, and my grand-daughter is in a school transfer program in Japan. My brother is enjoying his holiday in Cuba.”

I nodded. No mention of a husband or wife. I know something scared her, but I was secretly glad it did. She was starting to sound like a good match, and if I could resolve her case, maybe I had a shot at stopping being single. And dating a grandma meant countless opportunities of fun days with the grand-kids. I still had some Disneyland passes from my young days.

“Allright, so what happened this night, can you describe what scared you?”

May shivered, and lowered her gaze.

“No, sir, I wish I did. But it made this really growling sound, and then I heard something scratch the side-road metal guard, like nails scratching a blackboard. I turned around, and couldn't see anything, so I kept on going. 

But then I smelled this really foul breath, like rotten eggs, and I swear, sir, that I could hear this crackling laugh. It was around my shoulder’s height that I felt it.

>>So I began to walk faster. And I heard it follow me. It sounded like when the cats walk with their claws out on ceramic floors. I turned around again to see what it was, but I still saw nothing, just an empty street. Maybe it hid in the tall grass besides the road? I don’t know, but then I began to jog, I wanted to get back quick to my apartment. And it was following me again. And then, just before you came out, I’m 100% certain that it put its… well, I felt it was like long fingers, with claws at the tip, touching my ponytail, trying to grab it. That’s when I screamed and ran to you….

>>But… we both saw it… There’s nothing there! I don't know, officer, what actually happened… Maybe it was just insects flying and landing on me, and the night just distorted things… Maybe I ate too much, and my stomach was playing me tricks...”

I thought deeply, trying to recall what I could have seen erlier the night. There had been one or two walkers, bit no one that matched her description… Maybe a squirrel got interested in her and thought of her as being a tree? 

“Strange… I scanned the spot since this evening, and I haven't seen anything big enough to reach your shoulder...”

“I’m sorry sir...” she apologized profusely, turning tomato red while clasping her mug.

“Hey hey, that does not mean nothing happen,” I reassured her, raising from my chair ans squatting beside her, holding her forearm. God her skin was smooth. Did she used those miraculous creams promoted on TV? Maybe that Elvish queen actress was on to something with her glowing hand and face cream. It sure did seem to work on May. “Think calmly. Did someone else than you got out of the residential complex around the time you did? Do you have a secret admirer?” Beside me…

May shook her head, smiling.

“I don’t think so, But I know some do go down to the basement cinema, or the restaurant, so maybe someone was out at the same tie as me. And I don’t have secret admirers. Not at my age.”

“Don’t be like that, May, you are absolutely marvelous!”

May snickered and waved her hand.

“Oh sir, you are a charmer.”

I tried to make my best seductive smile; I was really happy I bothered taking my partials with me this evening; sometimes I skip them since I’m usually alone in the station. May giggled and I smiled like a giddy boy. Boy am I glad to do those boring night-shifts. Where nothing happens, only some miraculous encounters with a gorgeous, elvish cream-treated skin, revealingly attired grandma. I smile beatifically and looked toward my desktop where I had left the coffee carafe, making sure I had made enough for another glass.

And then, I saw it. May turned to where I was suddenly staring, my mouth still opened, and she immediately jumped off the chair, screaming like a doomed heroine from a horror movie. It was looking at us with beady yellow eyes, its long warty nose leading to a grinning wide mouth with rotting long sharp teeth. Its long-fingered hands were pressed against the window, so was his unusual beer-belly considering his otherwise bony chest; and he barely stood four feet tall because of his crooked skinny legs, legs which ended with long clawed toes. 

It was just there, grinning at us with some saliva dripping, wobbling lightly left to right, pressed against the windows.

I gulped. I didn’t know what to do. I mean, what the heck am I supposed to do? So I rose, and went to the table, its beady eyes following me. I sat down and noticed from the corner of my eye that May had followed me and was making herself small as much as possible behind me and my chair. I picked up my huge-ass bottle and took a few gulps. I then handed my bottle to May. She was at first hesitant and puzzled, but then, took it, and also took a gulp, albeit a smaller one than me. And then handed me back the bottle without  word. Yep. That was the only thing my numbed mind could presently think of doing. 

I finally realized I could try something, so I looked down at my holster, and groggily unlocked it to access my gun. As swiftly as I could muster, I drew my gun toward the window.

It was gone.

I stopped, my eyes blinking numbingly.

“Should we go where it went?” May shakily asked in a very small voice.

I stirred. That’s right, I should. It’s probably even at the entrance. But I don’t think my legs can get me there. But then, it felt as if an electrical shock had passed through me: May had put her hand on my arm, trying to reassure me, even though she was clearly scared as shit currently. 

What a piss coward I was! Wasn't I supposed to swoop the gal and be her hero? So I rose with way too much strength, sending my chair flying against the room’s wall, and I darted toward the entrance, May following.

I ran outside, my gun up, ready to make a rain of bullets on that monster. But it wasn’t at the front of the station. So, remembering my tactics training, I began making the round of the station, making sure to also scan the street and the lots around us. 

I searched all sides, and came back at the entrance, where May was awaiting nervously inside. Still nothing. The bastard had vanished.

I came back inside, went to the room, and took another gulp from my bottle. And finally, it came out. The one thing I wanted to say since then, now freed from its shackles by the overdose of alcohol running through my rain:

“WHAT THE FUCK IS A GOBLIN DOIN’ IN MY TOWN???!!!”