The old man steeled himself before opening the door. He had heard a noise, and in the night, that night, any noise seemed ominous. He clutched his walking stick and swung the door open.

The night was still. A light mist was blowing across the pool of streetlight across the alley from where he stood, but otherwise there was no movement, no sound.

“Must be hearing things,” he muttered, and closed his door again, locking it this time.

Inside his apartment, all of the bodies remained safe.