Cast iron squealed against asphalt and startles me from my sleep. A cold wind whips through the alleyway and I pull the tattered sleeping bag tightly over my head. It’s been a few weeks since I heard the thing slide the manhole cover open and the dread of what comes next already fills my body.

I wait a few moments and pull the sleeping bag away from one eye and let it adjust to the darkness. The wrinkly stack of dollar bills sits just beside the lip of the manhole. A few of the bills at the top of the banded pile flap in the breeze. Even knowing the likely outcome I still have to suppress the urge to jump from my sleeping bag and try to snatch the money.

I won’t though. I’ve seen this play out enough times to take that risk.

A fetid smell hit the air coming from the open manhole cover. When I first smelled it so many months ago I mistook it for a mixture of sewage and stale air. Over time the subtle undertones of rot and decay became apparent.

The drunken shuffling of feet entering the alley pulled my gaze away from the stack of money. I could see the silhouette of a man stumbling from the safety of the streetlight into the shadows between the buildings. When the face came into view I only recognized him from a few passing words upon his arrival last week.

The homeless community here isn’t a trusting one. Too many friends or too many squatters create a scarcity of resources. We’re all just trying to survive how we can.

For a moment I thought he would stagger unknowingly past the money and on to a safe but cold night of sleep. Then he suddenly stopped and wobbled in place. His eyes drifted down to the money and a goofy smile spread across his face. He looked around at the other men in their sleeping bags. Checking for witnesses I’m sure. No one would want to split a bounty.

Poor bastard didn’t know it wasn’t bounty at all.

The drunk knelt down to grab the money when a pale white hand shot out of the manhole and wrapped around the man’s face muffling the inevitable scream. His body lurched forward, one shoulder slamming against the edge of the dark opening. Feet and hands raked the concrete for purchase until a snap like a tree branch filled the air.

The man’s body fell limp and slid effortlessly into the manhole cover. A few moments later two pink eyes raised over the edge of the manhole cover and winked at me before grabbing the money and pulling the heavy cover back in place.

I hate these nights but you get used to them after a while.

Some make it and some don’t. Who knows? One day I may go for the money myself.