It is night-time. You are unsure of the exact hour as your watch has been broken for years. You still wear it. It comforts you to see the numbers placed neatly around every twelfth of the face, knowing they will never again be brushed by the spindly hands which now permanently read twenty to eleven. Looking lazily both ways before crossing the deserted road you think you see a shape in the distance. A figure of some sort. But it is late and you are cold.
You skip the pub, you skip running into the newsagent for a packet of cigarettes, instead you continue walking, you're going home.
You were supposed to be going home.
You stride down the pavement, conscious you are being watched but figuring anyone out this late isn't going to be anyone you can't handle. After all it can only be around nine. Half nine at the latest. A flake of snow lands on your nose. It dissolves immediately.
The houses in this street have always made you laugh. You laughed at them secretly because they unnerved you. They cannot be more than ten metres wide but they are tall. Like the lanky kids in the year above at school that used to steal people's lunch money. You quicken your pace. Your follower is gaining on you.
Reaching the corner you catch a glimpse of your stalker as you turn. He is not tall. He is wearing a dark winter coat and you see the reflection of the street light in his glasses. You are nowhere near home. You have actually taken the wrong turning. You should have gone left but you daren't turn around now. You are hesitant to check if the man is still following you. What if he has a gun?
You're getting ahead of yourself, he's probably just a bloke that had to run out for a pack of fags. Yes that's it he' smoking. You can smell the familiar smell of tobacco in the air, he must still be behind you. You cannot stand the suspense any more, you turn, thinking you could ask him for a cigarette. He would be harmless.
The air smells strange now. At first you were sure it was tobacco it was. But now it smelt different, unfamiliar. Like tobacco mixed with... something else. What was it? You could smell damp, like the smell of washing you'd left on the line only to find out it had rained all day and you had to bring it in. A musky smell too, it reminded you of something, a drink you tried once at a bar.
The man behind you is gone. If not gone, he is at least not behind you any more. But where did he go?
"Hello," a voice says from directly in front of you. You spin round to find yourself practically nose to nose with a man. A man wearing glasses and a winter coat. This was the man who had been following you. Now you could see his eyes. Incredible eyes. You were in no doubt this man was not a friend. This man reeked quite literally of evil. But those eyes, they suggested something else. A sadness. A mystery. You see him shoot a concerned look behind you, was there someone else there? The man returns his gaze to you and you think you see him smile through blurry eyes as you feel yourself fall unconscious. Your knees can no longer withhold you and you collapse upon yourself.
You do not remember hitting the floor.