The little gir ran down alleys of the abandondened town, trying to catch snow covering the dilapedated roofs in her mouth. She reached the once bstling chalk board and write her name: Alma, she pulled down her scarf; exposing her button-nose to the elements.

Her face suddenly appeared puzzled, yet scared.

Was there someone watching her- impossible: there was no-one else around!

She heard a whirr; a click. She turned, blincked and for the first time she noticed a gothic-style shop. It appeared to have a face and… fangs? Her eye was suddenly caught by missing posters- she shook of the feeling of gloom; the smell of death and ran closer.

What appeared to be her stood in the mirror. She squinted before rubbing the condensation away.