The seedy twin

15 Minute Write

Manchester is a city of backstreets, alleyways, rat runs, cut-throughs and service passages. Any stunning Victorian thoroughfare here is sure to be backed with a diminutive seedy twin. Being new to the city, he liked to explore and would often choose a random street or direction to help him expand his knowledge and get his bearings, and it was no different on this wet March day.

The narrow path he took stood between imposing Victorian red brick buildings - but the exit was clear, and the only company were the ubiquitous multicoloured industrial bins and the continual rain. There was always trepidation somewhere he didn’t know, but here in Manchester, a place he was both unfamiliar with and where he felt himself an imposter, the feeling was heightened.

Halfway down - he remembered a feeling like a snapping to a point in space, a guideline in a piece of design software - he heard a noise behind him and a voice, in a broad Mancunian accent, accused:

“ You can’t come down here mate “

He instinctively turned to see a guy in his early twenties in chef’s whites (he didn’t look like a chef, perhaps a butcher’s assistant or food factory line worker?) and a blue disposable hair net, cigarette glued to his lower lip

“ Uh? “ Was his erudite reply, more out of shock

“ I said, you can’t come down here mate, you’re not supposed to be here, this isn’t for public like you “

This made him wonder what ‘type’ of public he was and what it would take to change to the sort who could come down this dank, stinking passage.

It was clear he was taking too much time answering and clearly his face was vocalising what he was going through in his head

“Just fuck off. Get out of here - go back the way you came and don’t come back - I’m not going to warn you again you prick“

He noticed there was an ‘l’ replacing the ‘r’ in that last word the guy spoke and there was a fraction of a second where he wanted to laugh at this, but then something like a chill flashed through his body ending up in his stomach - that old anxiety feeling you wake with after a night on the lash.

He decided, perhaps it was best to follow the instructions. Without even looking at this guy, he turned on his heels and made his way back. As he was approaching the exit onto the main street, a plastic water bottle came skidding down the wet tarmac next to him … he didn’t want to look back at where it had come from.

The episode shook him up. Spoilt his day. Spoilt a few days. Perhaps the fact he had been so ‘up’ and thrilled by his time so far, this random act of nastiness was made to appear so much worse. Yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Rather than the event, though, all he could think was: why? Why would anyone do that? Was this guy just having a laugh, winding him up for kicks? Or was there something about that street?

Curiosity got the better of him. Probably stupidly, he went back. Definitely, stupidly, he went back at night. This time the passageway really was sinister. Barely lit and still wet from the constant rain over the last week, the place now felt like somewhere he could get murdered, and his body lay unfound for days, weeks. However, moving to a city on your own where you knew no one and didn’t even have a job, yet, had helped to grow his confidence and made him ready to push through these fears.

As he got to the midway point, again, that feeling of ‘snapping’ a haptic ‘tick’ made him stop. Looking to his right he saw a shuttered doorway, judging by the grime, green mould and rust it had been shut like this for quite some time. He looked to his left, and there was a shock. Another passageway, this one no wider than the small widescreen TV he sat in front of most nights since getting here and which he wished he had never left tonight.

This alley was dark, so dark he couldn’t see the end. What on earth was down here? He couldn’t help himself - even with every corporeal inch of his self physically telling him not to, he started his way down into the dark.

And then another snap, another halfway ‘marker’. He turned his head left and there was a light, a bright light that somehow did not shine out into this passage. The bright light was a courtyard, he could see plants and rich flagstones, bright, cleaned red brickwork and a figure, back turned to him, in a very expensive-looking suit. He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or collapse with a fear, the likes of which he had never before experienced.

---

Manchester, UK. March 2024. Nikon d750

---