It was Sunday, already about 11 p.m. and you were walking home from work. The shop signs were diligently shining, trying to entice and persuade you to spend your hard-earned money. Music was playing here and there and the noisy voices of teenagers could be heard.

Following your usual route, you turned into a more deserted alley, lit by the dim light of street lamps that they still can't fix. Lost in thought, you passed the window of a music store from which quiet music was coming, hard rock. Argh, the best choice at such a time, right? But after walking about a couple of meters, you slowed down, stopped and slowly looked back, trying to comprehend what you had just seen with your peripheral vision.

There was a man standing in front of the display case, listening to music and looking down through the glass at the spinning vinyl record on an old gramophone. There would be nothing strange about it, but he was over two meters tall, and in his hand, a large, unnaturally black clawed hand, he held a bloody sword with a wide blade.

Gulping, you were about to leave and pretend that you hadn't noticed anything, but at that moment the man slowly raised his head and turned his face in your direction. In the darkness under his hood, you couldn't make out anything except two brightly glowing red eyes looking straight at you.