Leaves tremble. Skittering down the sidewalk, they brush the ground like footsteps.
Closer and closer.
Branches clack. Echoing through the trees, they dance like skeletons in the night.
Faster and faster.
Wind nudges your neck. Shivers race down your spine, slipping goosebumps across your skin.
Colder and colder.
Voices whisper. Gliding through the night, they tease and taunt like shadows of ghosts.
Louder and louder.
They fuse. Tightening their grip, they blur into a cyclone of burnt orange and blood red.
Around and around.
A cackle. Emerging from the storm she strides, the red her lips, the orange her hair.