"Things change here around midnight." he told me, puffing smoke from his cigarette into the cold air.
I wrapped my thin jacket thighter around my shivering body. "How?" I asked him.
"There are stories, as old as time. You see that forest, on the end of the road?" he pointed with the glimming end of his cigarette towards the dark mass of trees.
"They say when the clocks strike midnight, they come from there. Born from the darkness. Coming here to hunt. Dragging careless people into the shadows."
"What do they do to them?" I leaned towards him, smelling the leather of his jacket and the smoke.
"No one really knows," he shrugged, "But it's awful. Mostly the person stays missing. Sometimes they come back, but they're not themselves anymore." He looked around, a hint of fear in his eyes.
"We need to go. Quick." he said, turning away from me.
I didn't know what he meant. "What?"
"That's not the wind howling."