"...A short, tightly-written novel...a lot of fun to read...better than the average horror novel you pick up these days."—Cemetery Dance

...Naked, Jenny knelt on the bedroom floor, leaning on the side of the mattress. Her head still spun. Her throat burned.

It had started, as usual, with a headlong run through a misty forest. Her chest labored in rhythm with the pumping of her leg muscles.

When her house loomed up in front of her, the nightmare changed. The fog cleared. Instead of a vague dream-landscape, she saw the sharp angles of the duplex against a backdrop of trodden snow, as clearly as in broad daylight. But it wasn't day. It was night, dark and moonless. So how could she see so clearly, although in washed-out pastels?

She hesitated under the tree in the Perlmans' half of the front yard to sniff the air. She smelled snow, automobile exhaust, pine needles, human traces, and the blood-heat of some small animal's coppery, furry scent. Her tail lashed indecisively.

Tail?

She trotted around to her side of the house, automatically scanning the yard. The animal scent grew stronger. She froze, ears perked. A rustle under the porch steps drew her attention.

She padded closer. Glowing eyes met hers. Her lips twitched in a silent snarl. The creature under the steps hissed. An instant later, a small streak of orange and black shot past her. She sprang into action. Wind rushed at her face as she loped after the fleeing animal.

She tasted its fear on the breeze.

And then Jenny woke up on the bedroom floor.

Naked.