It was a cold, overcast night. The dense, turbulent clouds painted the sky an uneasy grey, concealing the moon. The autumn wind blew, bringing with it the scent of impending rain. An empty can rattled over the pavement.

Within the walls of a certain apartment at the end of Osmanthus Street, its inhabitants were in deep slumber.

The wind kicked up, howling as it rushed beneath crevices.

Somewhere, a door slammed. Shadows came to life. First, a flicker of movement. Then, they grew – longer, bigger – and peeled themselves off the surfaces.

An old tree branch snapped and fell off with a thud.

In one of the rooms up above, a young lady woke. Still wrapped in the warmth of a blissful dream, she turned over and snuggled close to her fiancé, the sheets settling atop her bare skin. She was about to drift away when she picked up an unusual odor.

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Overwhelmingly metallic.

Then, she heard a sound. Something squelched. Her eyes flew open and she propped herself up -

And saw blood.

So much blood.

Splattered carelessly over the wallpaper, the floor, across the ceiling.

Her fiancé lay unmoving, his eyes all white. A thick, dark liquid frothed out of his gaping mouth.

His chest was torn open, a huge cavity with nothing discernible within. What looked like bits and pieces of his innards spilled over the sheets. Something invisible was moving, picking at his entrails. Making those wet sounds. Horror rose like bile in her throat, squeezing her windpipe.

A clank. A twitch in the shadow. She turned.

Her eyes flared wide at what she saw– threadlike fingers at the rim of an agape mouth. Something was trying to made its way out.

Kicking the sheets aside, she screamed as it plunged towards her.

She screamed and screamed.

No one heard her.