Yo, this went down on one of the coldest nights of 2021 in Chicago. My ride, a faithful ‘07 Eclipse, straight up refused to start. The cold was no joke, man. It was piercing through my bones as I stood there, stranded in the freezing darkness. Lucky for me, my girl offered me a lift to work at a restaurant on East 67th Street.
The night rolled on like usual, with me grinding hard until the joint closed up shop at 10:30. Since I’m the manager, I usually stayed back for an extra thirty minutes to an hour, making sure everything was on point. And this night was no exception, man.
I got so caught up in my responsibilities that I didn’t even check my phone until 11:40. Pissed off, I quickly hit up my girl, letting her know I was ready to be picked up. But damn, minutes turned into forever as I stood there, getting colder by the damn second. It became pretty clear that she must’ve dozed off and straight-up forgot about me.
I was hella irritated, man. The temperature had dropped to some unimaginable depths, and I wasn’t ready for a friggin’ walk. But I wasn’t about to let the freezing night beat me, nah. I improvised and found this stained, ugly brown trench coat in the lost and found at the restaurant. It wasn’t stylish, but it gave me some kind of warmth as I set off on my journey home.
Now, East 67th Street ain’t no joke, bro. It’s got a reputation for being sketchy as hell. You got hookers, gangbangers, and crackheads all up in there. Needless to say, I wasn’t looking to make new friends that night. My senses were on high alert, man. I was scanning my surroundings, on the lookout for anyone who might wanna start some trouble.
The first few minutes went smooth. The freezing cold had cleared the streets, so I was the only fool out there in plain sight. Every now and then, a passing car would break the eerie silence.
About halfway through, I felt a buzz in my pocket. Annoyed as hell, I plopped down on a bench next to what looked like a snow-covered statue of Abe Lincoln. Figured I’d take a breather from the cold and answer the damn call.
Turned out to be my girl, apologizing like crazy for knocking out. Even though I was freezing my butt off, I didn’t wanna make a big fuss about it. I told her I only had about ten minutes left to walk and turned down her offer for a ride. She said she’d wait for me to make it up, and I could hear that playful tone in her voice, man. (we fuckin’)
Motivated, I said bye to her and hung up. I got a lil hype, jumped right up, ready to continue my journey. In a moment of celebration, I playfully slapped the snow-covered statue of Abe Lincoln on his top hat.
But, damn, what happened next shocked the absolute hell outta me. The statue toppled over like a ragdoll, revealing that it wasn’t a statue at all. I stood there, frozen and confused, with a bunch of scenarios running through my head. Slowly, I turned to face the statue, only to see it looking back at me—no longer made of stone, but an actual person, a street performer.
I stumbled over my words, trying to apologize for what I did, man. But he didn’t respond, bro. His eyes didn’t follow me, he didn’t blink. He just stared ahead, not giving a damn about my presence. Instinctively, I picked up his fallen top hat and put a ten-dollar bill in it, forcing a smile as I offered it back to him, promising it wouldn’t happen again. But he didn’t even make a move to take it, his gaze locked in place.
Deciding to play it off, I put the hat back on his head and kept on my way home, trying to shake off the weirdness of that encounter. The freezing cold seemed less intimidating than that strange-ass situation I just went through.
Thoughts were racing through my mind as I wondered why the hell someone would choose a frozen 67th street as a performance spot at night. This street performer was risking frostbite or worse, man. Like, any wannabe criminals out there would see him as an easy target, looking to make a name for themselves.
As I tried to check the time, I reached into my pocket, only to realize it was empty. Panic gripped me, and I muttered, “This can’t be happening.” I rested my head in my hands, knowing damn well I had to retrace my steps and find my phone at the bench. Praying it hadn’t been taken or lost by Honest Abe.
When I turned around, I damn near jumped outta my skin. The street performer was now just three feet away, holding out my phone. My breath caught in my throat, my heart pounding like crazy. But despite the fear, I couldn’t help but feel grateful.
“Yo, thank you so much!” I managed to say, my voice trembling. I traded him my phone for a twenty-dollar bill, all the while keeping my eyes locked on his frozen face. He had this eerie grin on, like he was perpetually laughing. His eyes squinted, hiding any signs of life. It sent shivers down my spine, man.
I thanked him again and kept on my journey, eager to get away from that unsettling presence. The darkness and cold swallowed me as I hurried home, haunted by that freaky encounter and the fear of the unknown that lurked in the freezing night.
As I walked briskly through the freezing-ass night, trying to leave that weird street performer behind, a deep unease settled in my bones, man. Each step felt heavier, his stare lingering on my back like some messed-up burden. Something just wasn’t right, you feel me?
The street was dead quiet, except for the distant sound of my own footsteps crunching against the icy pavement. But then, in the midst of the eerie stillness, I caught this faint shuffling sound. And let me tell you, that sound had no business being there. My heart skipped a beat, and I hesitated, my gut telling me to look over my shoulder.
With a whole lot of fear, I turned my head, and there it was—a sight that sent chills down my spine. In the dim glow of a flickering streetlight, that street performer was still tailing me, defying all logic and reason.
Dread washed over me like a damn tidal wave. How the hell was he following me when I had left him behind? Was he even human, man? Questions were flying in my mind, but the answers were nowhere to be found, lost in the abyss of the unknown.
I picked up my pace, fueled by fear and adrenaline. But no matter how fast I walked, that shuffling sound grew louder and closer with each damn second. Glancing over my shoulder again, my eyes widened in terror—this dude was catching up to me.
Panic surged through my veins as I realized I couldn’t outrun him. Every logical instinct in me was screaming to find help, to seek refuge from this relentless chaser. But there was nowhere to turn, nowhere to hide in the desolate streets of the night.
My mind raced, desperately trying to come up with a plan, but fear had blanketed it all. Desperation took over, and I knew I had to confront this twisted presence head-on, to face whatever messed-up reality had engulfed me.
Summoning all the courage I had left, I abruptly turned around, meeting the street performer’s lifeless gaze. His frozen expression remained unchanged, a sickening grin plastered on his face. There was no humanity in those eyes, just a void of emptiness.
“What the hell do you want from me?” I pleaded, my words shaking on my lips. Silence hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, I thought he might respond. But it was wishful thinking, crushed by his immovable stillness.
But he said nothing. Not a fucking word.
I’d had enough. I stepped in close and shoved him hard. He fell like a tree. I backed up slowly, keeping him in sight. He made no attempt to get up. Once he was nearly out of view, I spun around and sprinted the rest of the way.
Finally reaching home, I closed the door behind me, seeking solace in the safety of my place. But that encounter left an everlasting mark on my soul, a chilling reminder that there are things and people out there who can’t be explained.