A biting October wind rakes icy, skeletal fingers across your back as you hurry homeward. Dead leaves dance tauntingly past, leaving you behind as they scurry on to their enigmatic destination. You hurry because it will be dark much too soon, and you also know that things are no longer what they used to be. From somewhere behind you there is the sound of a steady rhythmic thumping. It bears the cadence of footsteps but carries with it stealth and patience...





The footfalls, if in fact they are footfalls, now seem a little closer and more... determined. Four hours ago, in the fullness of daylight, you would have simply looked over your shoulder to snatch a glimpse of the stranger. Now, however, the very thought of it only chills you further. Drawing your coat more tightly around your neck doesn't help much. You quicken your pace, in spite of your mind's reasoning that the... person... behind you is merely trying to reach home before nightfall, as you are. Still, you don't look...





You are but a few houses away from your own front door. There is no question now that whoever is behind you is advancing rapidly. The only choice, you tell yourself, is to run. Run as quickly as you can to the sanctuary of home. In your panic, the front door seems to retreat from you as if you were a menace. Finally, you reach the door, rifle through the pockets of your coat for the key, and insert it. Hurriedly you throw the bolt and open the door. You step in and turn to quickly shut it. And in the rapidly diminishing space between the door and the jamb you see... nothing. Cautiously you open the door and scan the porch. Again, nothing. You close and lock the door. Elsewhere in the house a window shatters...