Imagine you're walking home.

It is a late October night and the year is 1939.

The air is biting and heavy with that sharp, salty tang of a coastal autumn and the

unmistakable smell of rotting seaweed.

The wind is howling off the water, whistling through the narrow, unlit alleyways of a sleepy

seaside town.

Underfoot, damp gravel crunches with every step you take.

The street lamps of this era are few and far between, casting feeble, shivering pools of yellow

light on the pavement.

Between those pools lie vast stretches of absolute pitch-black darkness.

You quicken your pace.

Your breath blooms and faint ghostly clouds right in front of you.

You tell yourself that the cold is the only reason your heart is hammering against your

ribs, but then you hear it.

A soft rustling sound.

It's coming from a dense, overgrown hedge just past the towering brick walls of the

town hall.

You freeze.

The wind suddenly drops, leaving an oppressive, suffocating silence.

You turn your head, squinting into the deep shadows of the shrubbery.

And that is when the darkness itself seems to detach from the earth. Out of the hedge leaps a humanoid figure, but this is no ordinary man.

This entity is towering, easily seven, maybe even eight feet tall.

...