Mary woke up, and after a few blissful seconds the hangover kicked in. It was like a punch to the head. She felt sick, sicker than she could remember being. Every joint ached, her body felt drained. At least heavy curtains blocked the nauseating rays of the sun.

She tried to get up, found her right hand was cuffed to the bed. Last nights events swam uneasily through her mind. Alcohol. Dancing. Guys. Sex. The handcuffs were covered in pink fluff. But still. Mary yanked at the chain. No good.

“Hello?” she called out. “Hello?!” Louder this time. Nothing. Her pulse was up, her nerves excited. She had to do something. She couldn’t wait around all day for… Jim? to get home from work or wherever he’d disappeared to. The situation felt all wrong. This wasn’t like her. She fought down the fear.

With her free hand Mary reached up and slid a hairpin from her messy curls. It worked in the movies and she didn’t have any other ideas. Her hands trembled and her eyes filled with tears of frustration and fear, but after a few snapped pins and what felt like an hour she finally heard a satisfying click.

She found her clothes neatly folded in the wardrobe. Weird. Mary pulled them on and stumbled out into the corridor, every step an effort. That was in darkness too. She held up her phone, found the stairs. No sooner had she reached the bottom when a noise startled her. She span around, saw a man shuffling toward her. Tall, pale and slack jawed, a madness in his eyes. He reached for her, moaning softly. Without thinking Mary struck his chin with the flat of her palm. The man fell backwards and Mary could see his bare body was covered in needle marks. What the hell sort of place had she come to?

Without waiting to see what the man would do Mary ran to the front door. Locked! She looked about frantically, shoving things off the shelf, ripping up the door mat. Finally the key fell from an upended umbrella stand. Mary threw the door open, locked it behind her and ran.

After a short tube ride she reached her flat in a fainting condition. When she woke again she dragged herself to the bathroom to clean up. It was then she noticed how pale she was. And what were those marks at her neck? Needle holes? She swallowed, a thousand terrible thoughts rushing through her mind. But no. Something else. Almost like teeth marks.

The police took some convincing and by the time they stormed the house it was empty. Mary didn’t sleep easy that night, or the next. And sometimes, even after the fear of that morning was a distant memory, alone in the darkness her thoughts drifted to the man, the look in his eyes transformed by understanding from madness to terror, and the tears would come.