Late-night revellers were already spilling out onto the streets when Samantha left the office. Locally it was known as Builder’s Friday, which was as good a euphemism as any for hordes of working people hitting the booze on the last Friday before Christmas.

 

Samantha smoothly side-stepped a drunken woman who was apparently having to re-learn how to walk in heels and pulled her collar up high against the chill. It took her a good ten minutes to negotiate the leering boys and drunken girls littering her usual route to the station, but she made it unscathed and sat down on an icy cold bench while she waited for the train.

 

“I wouldn’t sit there if I were you,” said a male voice.

 

“Look,” she said with a sigh, “I just want to get home without being chatted up or molested by random men. There’s a security guard over there, cameras everywhere, and I am not afraid to turn these heels into a human hole punch. Just leave me be.”

 

The voice whistled, evidently impressed. “I like a woman who's prepared. But really, I wouldn’t sit in that particular spot at this particular moment.”

 

Something in the voice struck a chord in Samantha’s brain. She stood up, but she was damned if she was going to let this person think it was because he’d told her to.

 

“Listen—” she said.

 

And then the lights went out.

 

* * *

 

Samantha opened her eyes slowly, wished she hadn’t, and brought her hand up to the throbbing pain in her skull. She looked around at the bench she’d been sitting on and saw only splintered wood and rubble. All of the lights in the station were out, and she was surrounded by darkness and shadows.

 

“Oh you’re back,” said the voice, but he sounded strained and a little manic this time, “if you could just stay out of the way for a bit that would be splendid.”

 

“What’s going on?” Samantha groaned, getting to her feet slowly and unsteadily. “And can I hear sleigh bells?”

 

“It’s the resonance,” the man shouted, “it just sounds like sleigh bells. Duck!”

 

Samantha’s legs, acting on some kind of latent survival instinct she didn’t know she had, took brief control and she crumpled to the ground as something large and hairy flew through the space her head had just been in.

 

“What the hell was that?” she yelled.

 

“It’s a… uhm, werewolf,” said the man’s voice from somewhere in the darkness.

 

“There’s no such thing as werewolves,” Samantha snapped.

 

“Alien, then. It’s an alien.”

 

“You expect me to believe aliens are invading Leeds train station?!” Samantha said, getting back to her feet and staring into the darkness.

 

“Well,” said the voice layered with exasperation, “how about you come up with something you will believe and we’ll call it that!”

 

“Don’t get snippy with me you, you, disembodied pillock,” Samantha said.

 

There was a sound in the darkness like a steak being dropped on the floor, and a figure came hurtling towards her. Samantha dove out of the way as the man skidded across the floor, slammed into a pillar, and popped up with remarkable speed.

 

He looked at Samantha.

 

He smiled.

 

“Run?” he suggested.

 

At that moment something landed on the tiles in front of them. It was about the size of a horse, but more muscular and with thicker fur. It had enormous jagged horns and a bright, red—

 

“Rudolph?!” Samantha said.

 

“No, really,” said the man, run!”