Kat was sitting in the living room of her one bedroom apartment. Her eyes where fixed on the television, her ears intent on it’s every word.

“This looks like it could be the worst thunderstorm in recent history. Those of us at channel seven suggest that everyone remain indoors for your own safety.”

The words rang in her ears, “worst thunderstorm in years”; perhaps the weatherman had made a mistake. They had been known to do so in the past. The sky began to darken and clouds loitered in fierce gangs. The storm was coming, and Kat knew it. She knew he was coming.

The wind began to howl, throwing debris against the window. The black clouds took turns hurling lighting bolts at the earth. She swore she heard him clawing at the window. He would be here soon. It was only a matter of time.

It was always the same. He came with the storms. He came at night. He had no understanding of locks, so they failed to keep him out. He wasn’t alive so he didn’t value life. As far as his appearance, it never changed. He was tall, about six feet. He dressed in shadow raiment; black coat, black slacks, grey vest.

Kat raced around the apartment, turning on every light. She lit candles, incase he cut the power. He had done that in the past. Her breathe came reluctantly, she seated herself on the couch and began to wait.

A clap of thunder shook the building. The lights flickered and went out. Kat shrieked, luckily she still had the candles. She thought about going into the kitchen and finding more but knew she wouldn’t be able to move. For several minutes she couldn’t breath, only sit quietly. In the silence, she heard the kitchen window open. Heard him climb in, and then shut the window behind him.

Kat scanned the room, but he was nowhere to be seen. She knew he was there, in the shadows, just outside the candle’s glow. Then she heard him, pacing, the soles of his boots making loud claps on the hardwood floor. His hand emerged from the shadows and waved toward the window, forcing open. The rain and wind barged in, chasing the candles away.

He appeared from the darkness, placing his face a mere inch away from Kats. Pale skin pulled taunt across a bony frame. Purple pinpoint eyes and a crooked smile completed the nightmare. He grinned, showing broken yellow teeth.

He took several steps back and surveyed the room stopping to examine a small glass figure of a girl kneeling next to a lamb. He stared at the trinket for nearly a minute before letting it explode on the pine floor.

Kat sat paralyzed, in twenty years and countless visits she could never get used to sight of the dark stranger. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to remember the breathing techniques Dr. Glen had taught her. He was convinced the man who came with the storms, was a figment of her subconscious. Well where was Doctor Glen now?

The stranger moved close and began to imamate Kat. The puzzled look on his face twisted into a smile. He mimicked her locomotion breathing. The grin faded as the corners of his mouth curled into a disgusted grimace.

She fumbled in her pocket and brought out her pills. She knew if she could take just one of the pills, he would have to leave. He slapped them from her hand before she could open them. The medicine held some power over him, and he hated it.

He hit her then, hard across the face. Kat fell sideways off the couch, shocked. In their more than hundred encounters, he had never touched her. Tonight was different. The realization of her own inevitable end stung worse than the redness spreading across her jaw.

Rough hands on her back snapped Kat’s momentary lapse of attention. The shadow rolled her over and knelt on her chest, pinning her arms with his knees. Leaning down he forced his mouth over hers. Kat struggled in vain and felt her lungs began to burn. In one long, greedy draught the dark stranger drank the young woman’s air.

The detective surveyed the apartment. He had to admit he was stumped. He turned to face the rookie. “What do think Rodriguez?”

The young man ran a hand through his dark hair. “No signs of forced entry. No signs of a struggle, except that broken figurine and I assume she dropped that herself.”

“What about prints, the detective asked?”

“None. Except her own of course,” he said.

“Well, the Detective said, removing his latex gloves. Natural causes, till the lab says different.”

He gave one last look at the girl, her face forever frozen in a look of terror.