Silent In The Snow

It was an animal instinct that woke Nigel. Something ancient, from long ago that warned furry ancestors that something was eyeing them up for food.

He snorted awake, and cracked open his crusted eyes. Behind him the fans sounded like the muffled roar of a jet engine in the distance. In front of him he watched a rake thin woman in a gothic black Victorian funeral dress come round the corner. The dress made her skin the same colour as the deep snow that was gathering now.

Then he noticed the weird thing, as she approached. There were no footprints.