As you hold the Death Note journal in your hands, you can’t help but feel as if you are not alone.

You breathe heavily, each breath laboured and difficult to exhale, and as he steps out of the shadows, all of the hair covering your skin stand on end.

“Well, well, well…” he says. Even though your back is to him, you can hear the smirk in his voice. “And who might you be?” he asks.