Jerry dashed headlong down the steps and across the platform. He was saved from falling onto the tracks, or stepping into the carriage, by doors which snapped shut at the last second.

A moment later, he was alone on the platform. At the height of rush hour. A small knot of fear began to form in the pit of his stomach. The platform was not simply empty, it was spectacularly so: there was no movement, no sound, no odor. The hair on his neck bristled.

A hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back from the edge of a suddenly crowded platform. He blinked. An express train roared past. The crush of morning commuters drove away his odd, momentary experience.

Jerry turned to thank his savior. The man was tall and thin, immaculately dressed in a bespoke suit. He smiled like morning sunshine. He was awesomely handsome.

The knot returned and crampled tightly. In his peripheral vision, Jerry could see that between the bustling commuters he was still totally alone.

“Careful, Jerry,” it said, in deep, rich tones.