“The street is long, dark and increasingly wet. Within the familiar winter evening, houses huddle in on themselves in two neat rows flanking the road. Occasionally broken lines of silent cars run the length of both kerbs and the drizzle gets just a little bit heavier.

The cold bites from the air and creeps through the rain, seeking to chill everything to its own frigid level. The hallmarks of life abound in the shadows and yet nothing will move, breath or shine. The street is empty, dead, with neither animal nor person just...

wait.

That car there, not the first one you noticed but the third or the fourth, yes that one. Isn't there a shape there? Behind the wheel, a deeper shadow, a figure, a man? The car is as mediocre, as normal, as nondescript as could be imagined. Nothing about it draws even the slightest attention, except for the man at wheel.

The drizzle is collecting evenly across the rear window, occasionally erupting into heavy droplets that plunge gleefully downward. The back seat of the car is clean and clear and, despite it's obvious age, the car's interior smells fresh and new.

There is no movement nor sound in the car, just the constant, subtle drumming of the rain against the roof. The figure in the driver's seat sits motionless but, in time, you realise you can just about hear him breathing. At this point you notice something hanging from rear view mirror, a small object strung on a thread.

To your surprise the object is familiar. While to most people such a thing would be so mundane as to be invisible, for you it has profound significance. A personal secret, an everyday treasure, a talisman of value only to you.

Somehow you find the presence of this object upsetting. Not only has this man stolen the uniqueness of your charm, but he has destroyed its sacred secret nature by advertising its significance for all to see. You follow the thread up and away from your defiled icon towards the...

eyes in the mirror above!

The man alone in his car turns abruptly, running wide eyes over his back seat so clean and clear. He drives his gaze frantically around the empty space in the car, his knuckles whitening on the seats.

"My god," he whispers, "you're here." ”

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