You just exited a coffee shop on a cold night in autumn, when you feel a thin hand latch onto your wrist, you gasp, looking up.

A man, garbed in a cotton button up and overalls looks at you, eyes flashing with blood lust, “I’m starving,” he says, “and your blood smells tempting right now, honey.” he jerks you forward, into the wall.

“What?” you exclaim, scrambling away.

You’re backed into the entryway, “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.” And he latches down onto your neck.