Holding her jacket against her chest, Beth quickened her stride, feeling as her muscles burnt from the exhaustion. Before her, her breath formed a patch of vapour. The cold drew an ache to her lungs as she inhaled, piercing as she filled her chest with oxygen.

“Fuck,” she cursed, catching herself and glancing around her to see if anyone had seen her, only to find herself alone. Above her head, the streetlight flickered, dimming slightly and flaring back to life, tauntingly almost.

Scoffing, she continued walking, clenching her jaw to keep herself from shivering. The wind picked up, blowing her hair into her face, carrying a mocking chuckle. Turning again, she scanned the abandoned street for signs of life, hoping to place the chuckle. Seeing nothing, she sighed. She really was tired. The lights flickered again, longer this time.

“You better not try me, stupid light, I swear—” darkness plunged around her mid-sentence, and she gaped.

Probably should not have cussed the light, she thought.

Outraged at the traitorous street lamp, Beth spun around, only then noticing the rest of the darkened street.

“The whole street? Damn council and their damn lights. Think they can switch off shit…” she continued to mumble, filling the silence with the sound of her voice.

From behind her, a disturbing shuffle echoed, quite similar to heavy feet dragging along lazily, scraping the tar beneath.

“Oh, not you too. Damn dogs.”

Contrary to her annoyed tone, her heart sped inside her chest, as if warning her of approaching danger. The deafening sound of blood rushing felt as if it were loud enough to burst her eardrums, though she knew she had nothing to fear.

The air around her somehow shifted, and she held her breath, feeling colder than she had before.

To her utter terror, something touched her shoulder. It was a feather-light caress, nothing that should have been alarming, yet Beth could not withhold the sound of protest that escaped her. It grew heavier, perhaps in her mind, growing cold against her skin. Willing herself not to turn around, and telling herself at the same time that she was simply overreacting, Beth stood completely stiff, tensing her muscles to the point of pain, fighting off the horrid smell of decay that stained the atmosphere around her, seeping fear into her veins.

She sensed rather than felt the abrasive scrape along the column of her neck. She refused to acknowledge that it was anything other than her imagination. Sharp claws ran down her throat, adding pressure as they went. The trickle of blood was not hers, she told herself, even as it burnt her cold skin. The scent of blood mingled with that of death, and claws pierced her esophagus, making her gag.

Her heartbeat slowed as the life inside her drained. She began to choke on her own blood, and the last of her soul was simply an ebbing essence.

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