Okay, here goes. What could have happened when Thomas got involved in selling stolen goods. I hoped this would happen anyway… I think this is a T rating, I'll try not to slip into an M.

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Thomas Barrow knew no one had seen him going to his shed. He'd made sure of it, and besides, it was night time. He was making a tidy sum trading scarce foodstuffs: the money he'd paid for it had been worth every penny. Tomorrow he must explore other avenues, because word of his business was spreading fast round the village and further.

Shutting the door to the shed, he turned away, looking round at the rows of packets and boxes, but was pushed against the wall face first, arm twisted against his back.

"Think you're so hard, fella?" growled a voice.

Thomas couldn't reply as his mouth was squashed against the crumbling wall. His mind however was full of revengeful thoughts.

"You stop selling, or you die." The heavy accent was unfamiliar.

"Wha-?" Thomas managed, his face ground against the dusty bricks. He didn't dislike being shoved up against a wall by a muscular man, but what he did object to was being threatened with death.

"My boss, he don't like you," continued his assailant. "You undercut him. You have two choices. Sell at higher price or sell goods to him."

Thomas mumbled something with difficulty.

"What?" The man released him a little and turned him round. He was taller than Thomas with very short blond hair, a broken nose and a forbidding expression.

"I said: what price would he give me for all the goods?"

"Twenty, maybe thirty?"

"That's not enough. I could sell them for more." He hoped his voice didn't betray his fear. His heart was pounding and knees shaking but he wouldn't let some gangster see that, even one dressed all in black.

"It is generous offer." He tightened his grip on Thomas's collar. "You prefer death, yes?" He whipped out a knife and pressed it against his victim's throat.

To Thomas's embarrassment, he made a sound like a whimper.

"Not so brave now, eh?" sneered the brute, pushing the blade further. "My boss, he is mean. He is not so kind as me." His hot breath warmed Thomas's ear unbearably.

"Kind?" Thomas shifted position to ease his neck. "That's not the word I'd use."

"So what is your answer?"

"Let me think about it."

"No. No time to think. I need answer now." The knife pressed harder.

"Okay! I'll sell them to him." Thomas didn't have any nerve left. If the man let him go, he'd just fall over.

The pressure on his throat eased.

"I'll come and get stuff tomorrow." But he was still standing close, peering at Thomas's neck in the moonlight streaming through the uncurtained window. Concerned, Thomas gingerly put his hand up to the wound, feeling wetness there. Looking at his fingers, he gasped at the blood.

"You cut me!" he said as fiercely as he could. "So you're just going to kill me anyway?"

"No!" The ruffian frowned.

"You're going to leave me to bleed to death here?"

"It's only scratch, don't be coward. Cure for bleeding is simple."

He bent his head, making Thomas flinch, and ran his tongue slowly along the cut on his neck. Thomas sagged against the wall, but in a moment the hood walked away chuckling.

"Saliva is best for wounds," he said over his shoulder.

Thomas slid down the wall, shaking uncontrollably, only half in fear. The full moon, the dark, the strangeness of his visitor's actions were overwhelming in so many ways. He'd read Mr. Stoker's 'Dracula': had he just been attacked by a vampire?

He sat there on the dusty floor for at least half an hour before pulling himself together and standing up on trembling legs. The man or monster would be back tomorrow, so he'd see what happened then.