He first spotted it last night, that strange silhouetted figure in the apartment opposite that hadn't had tenants in all he nine years he'd been there. He told the police he'd seen a squatter in the hope that they'd check it out and boot whoever had broken in, putting his mind to rest. Something about that figure was deeply unsettling but he couldn't make out enough of their body to understand why.
A couple of uniforms arrived that morning and he cheerfully waved at them as they knocked on the empty apartment's door and waited in the hallway for a reply. They must have heard something worrying, kicking and shouldering at the door while he saw the silhouetted figure stagger towards the noise.
It all happened so fast - they met in a short but violent shower of blood and the shadowed figure lifted one of them up in a hand that seemed to shift and warp into a dozen other hands, claws and mouths like it couldn't decide which suited it best. It seemed to ask the officer something and she pointed right at him.
He didn't stick around to see her death, too busy grabbing a bag and stuffing a few essentials in before taking the apartment's elevator to the underground car park. There wasn't a single soul in sight and he'd never been more grateful to be alone, barely noticing how his was the only car in the entire place.
As the engine purred into life he heaved a sigh of relief and began to head for the exit, for the street and probably for his cousin's place further in the city. When things get bad, there's no better place to live than with someone who's already paranoid and ready to lash out at a second's notice.
He barely made it past his apartment building before something - someone - crashed into the side of his car and sent him careening into the apartments next door. He woke up smelling and tasting blood, his eyes gradually coming into focus and meeting the lifeless stares of the officers he'd sent to their deaths.
In the corner of his eyes, the shadows moved.
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