terror slowly crept up Alex's back, spreading throughout his body - a sickly sweet treacle passively oozing along his arms, to the end of his legs, up his neck and then invading his head. His body felt like it was sinking into his bed; he was heavy and immobile, gripped by paralysis. The man at the end of the bed raised his left hand. In the gnarled and bony fist he held a long, gleaming pair of scissors. Alex's paralysis was broken, but only by an uncontrollable shaking, that ran up and down his body. His breath rasped and jarred, stopped and then forced itself out again. The man knelt down on the end of the bed, and then, on his knees, he moved up the duvet, eventually straddling the shaking body of Alex. Attempting to exert some control, Alex shut his eyes, tight. He felt the weight of the thing on top of him, and then the warmth of the duvet suddenly disappeared and he felt the cold air of the room against his perspiring skin. As Alex opened his eyes he saw the man above him, raising the scissors over his head. It seemed to Alex that the steel blades fell in slow motion. As their tip punctured his wet stomach he was almost calm, watching as a spectator. The blade sunk down, deep into him, releasing a thick red flow of blood. It was an intense coldness, penetrating right into his insides, scraping the edge of his