As you leave work, the shadows seem to move and ebb on their own, as if they were alive. It's always scary walking home alone in the dark, but tonight feels especially... Wrong.

The street lights flicker as you walk past, causing more dread to seep in despite your best efforts to rationalise. There's nothing there, you're completely alone on the street, so there's nothing to fear.

Just then, a prickle of terror runs up your spine. This area isn't the safest for men and women alike, and you've heard so many horror stories of people being snatched off the street. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end as something charges at you. You freeze, fully expecting to die, but it lunges through your chest mostly harmlessly, leaving a cold feeling that spreads outwards until you're pale and freezing cold.

Unbeknownst to you, a shadow begins creeping on your skin, solid but wisping away as you stumble back, disorientated and trying to make it back home.

After two blocks in the wrong direction, you suddenly stop, realising your mistake and whip around to go back, only to almost crash into a man in a trenchcoat, smoking a cigarette.

"Well, 'ello there, Love. You seem a bit... Out of it. Had a few too many pints at the pub?" He has a British accent, and is standing with both hands in his pockets and a grin on his face.

You wobble, shaking your head. You haven't had anything to drink, but the world keeps spinning regardless.

And, the last thing you see before everything goes black and you pass out, is the grin on the man's face slipping away into one of worry as he lunges forward to catch you.