THE DAY I MOVED into my Surry Hills apartment was applauded by the loudest claps of thunder I’ve ever heard. Rain and hail pelted my umbrella as if scorpions were falling from the sky. I took slow, calculated steps towards the entrance of my new abode. Small rivers of water soaked my shoes and slowed my pace until I finally reached the door. I fumbled for the key in my pocket, but the door was ajar. It creaked open like the hinges on a rusty crypt and I peered inside. One of the lights above the bar was illuminated, lighting the empty apartment. How strange. I gulped and closed my umbrella, shaking off the rain as I stepped inside.
“Hello?” I whimpered like Adele. I heard the steady rhythm of footsteps increase in volume before they stopped, although I couldn’t see anyone. Then a shadow of a figure eclipsed the wall as it passed. I looked to my right and saw a form shrouded in a black hooded coat, soaking wet. My heart pounded and invisible violins shrieked in torment as two hands raised and slowly drew back the hood.