The Street Man

It had become a late night obsession, searching the internet, but Richard couldn’t sleep lately. The monitor of his computer glowed softly, casting the only light in the room. Midnight had come and gone without incident, not that he noticed. Occasionally his eye went to the time, telling himself only another half an hour, which came and went as midnight had. 

He was on the trail of a phantom, travelling the virtual streets of towns in Britain he’d never visited. The desk was covered in empty energy drink cans, and he downed another, belching loudly. There’d been five sightings so far of the mysterious figure of a ghoulish old man in a tattered black suit standing on random streets, staring up at the viewer from the past when the van had photographed the street as it drove by. Tall, stooped over with arthritic pain, withered face with the blueish colour of death, the Street Man was a creepy enigma. Had the internet company inserted him in, or was it a random member of the public pranking people, learning in advance when the camera van was coming? Naturally, Google denied it, and no one had come forward as the person in the photo. 

He minimised the street scene, checking the Street Man forum for new updates, worried someone else would find the next one before he did. It had become a competition to find a new location, an Easter Egg hunt, people likened it to. There was no prize beyond the honour of recognition, fame within a growing community. A loner, most calling him a loser, it was the one way he’d get respect, even if it was only from the online community.

A new post was added to the forum. 

Searched every street in the Medway area in Kent, and no Street Man. I don’t think he wants to be found.

Richard typed his response. 

You’re not looking hard enough. Are you sure you checked every street?

He’d finished checking roads in that area months ago, but he wisely kept it to himself, convincing people they must’ve missed a street. Those serious about the hunt didn’t advertise their efforts, and he only kept an eye on forums to see areas that had too many hunters. He brought up a map of the UK with highlighted areas of all five sightings so far, still convinced there was a link to each location. It appeared random, but there had to be a pattern behind it. The last one was found by some random girl who wasn’t even looking, had stumbled across it by chance as she had a look around the neighbourhood she’d grown up in. A nostalgia trip had brought her a moment of fame, but she didn’t deserve the recognition, not for a chance sighting. He searched for her name in Facebook, interested to see if she was still boasting on her profile about her discovery. 

Emily’s profile picture was of a girl, in her late teens, blonde hair with startling blue eyes. She looked at the camera with a moody expression, lips slightly pouting. His attention lingered on her, knowing he’d never get a girl as good looking as her. With a sigh, he cast his eyes over the recent comments, was shocked to see numerous posts conveying sadness she’d passed away. Some said how tragic it was to lose her so young, others regretting not realising she was crying for help. 

Why did you have to leave us, my beautiful daughter? You had too much to live for. Mum xxxx

Richard’s skin prickled, and a cold spread through him. There was a mounting sense of dread within, a paranoia someone was in the room with him, watching silently from the corner. No one was there. Ignoring his fears, he typed Emily’s name into Google, along with her home town to narrow the results. A few articles popped up, detailing how Emily had taken her own life. A model student, popular and from a loving family, with no reason to end her life. Her parents stated they’d seen her withdraw to her room more and more, spending all her time online. The articles blamed it on internet influencers, of a new trend spreading among the young. The internet was a dangerous place, the reporter concluded, and parents should be wary of what their children are looking at. No article mentioned what she’d been looking at, but Richard knew. It had to be a coincidence, he mused. But he remembered reading how the first person to find a Street Man had also died… Suicide, he remembered, searching for the name, bringing up an article. Scott, a troubled youth, found dead in his bedroom. He’d found two Street Men, and people had suspected he’d been planting them, or was very lucky. But more had turned up after he’d died, so he was never able to claim the credit. Two people dead who had found a Street Man. But there were three others, and as far as he was concerned, nothing had happened to them. Or had it? He scanned through the popular Street Man forums, found they’d posted recently. 

It was a stupid idea, Richard thought, that a viral internet image had caused people to kill themselves. If he found a Street Man, he certainly wouldn’t do it. He’d have something to boast about, could perhaps gain more followers on his Youtube channel that lingered on two subscribers with barely any views. That was the goal: gain attention, boost his channel and start making serious money. He went back to Emily’s profile and read over the posts, scrolling through the numerous friends and family paying their respect, wondering if Emily could still read Facebook from beyond the grave. Finally, he came to posts from Emily herself, posted just before she died. Her last caught his attention. 

People are impressed I found the Street Man, but it’s like he found me.

What had she seen that had spooked her, driven her to her death? 

Compelled to look again, despite the late hour, Richard brought up the streets again, scrolling through the town he’d spent the entire day on, ticking off all the streets listed for the area. He drifted up one side of a street, turned around and went back, catching both sides. No Street Man. Perhaps that poster was right, that he didn’t want to be found anymore. 

Clicking around the corner, Richard floated down another street, desperate to see the old man staring back at him. He suddenly had a feeling he’d find him, inspired by Emily. All he had to do was keep going at it, ticking off roads in each town, one by one, searching the entire country. His eyes strained as he struggled to keep his attention on the screen. Soon, it all became a blur whizzing before his tired eyes. For a second, he’d fallen asleep, jolting awake as he travelled virtual highways. 

He doesn’t want to be found, he thought. Unless it’s him looking for us, for victims…

As a row of houses went by, he caught site of something black on the pavement. With a shaking hand, he clicked the mouse button to take him back to the spot, his excitement growing. There, standing on the pavement looking out at him was an old man with thin white hair, a hooked nose, sharp yellow teeth and long, withered hands. His hand reached up, a finger pointing at the screen with a long, sharp nail. It was like a claw swiping out to scratch at the glass, to crack it and get to him. His eyes seemed to look directly at Richard with quiet menace, pupils burning with the fires of hell. 

Richard had found a Street Man. As he stared at the phantom, it seemed to move slightly. A trick of the mind Richard thought, as he took a screen shot. As he went to post his discovery on the forum, he paused, thinking on Emily’s last post before she’d died. 

People are impressed I found the Street Man, but it’s like he really found me.

He laughed it off, pushing his doubts from his mind as he posted on the forum the location of a Street Man. As he typed, he noticed he looked up, caught his tired, gaunt face reflected in his bedroom mirror. There was someone standing behind him, he realised, as a coldness spread through him. The old man’s reflection broke into a grin. When Richard turned, cowering away, there was no one there, just a lingering sense of dread.