A dark figure swayed over him, silhouetted against a rectangle of pin-pricked night sky. A red glow hovered where the figure’s eyes should have been.

“You and I need to have a little talk,” said a guttural voice.

The rectangle of night sky narrowed to a slit, then vanished. The red eye pulsed again.

Craig slithered backwards and cringed against the far wall between two cold hunks of steel. A match flared and levitated towards a hurricane lamp on a shelf. The flame pounced on the wick and writhed like a spider on a moth before a tall glass descended, sending the flame upward in a pyre that splashed light across the ceiling and a wide-brimmed hat.

Lappies twisted a coin-shaped dial and reined the flame back to a warm glow. He turned towards Craig. A clear bottle wrapped in a net of straw dangled from his left hand. Dark blood sloshed inside. Craig was shivering uncontrollably now, his lips pulled back over his teeth. Lappies slid a metal chair in front of the door and plonked himself into it. He took a swig from the bottle…