Henry’s life had been spiralling out of control. His wife had left him, he’d lost his job, and he was just days away from eviction. He walked down the empty street in a daze. It was late, and the winter chill stung his ears as the sun disappeared behind his apartment building.

The horrid smell of cigarette smoke assaulted his nostrils. The walls of the alley were painted with various fluids, the origins of which he dreaded to think, and various bits and pieces here and there littered the floor.

He approached it wearily. Entering, he stumbled up the stairs to the fourth floor. He rolled his eyes when he saw a squat, elderly woman hobbling her way toward him. Mrs. Folwin. Henry liked her well enough, but he wasn’t in the mood for another ‘grandson’ story at the moment.

Her a curt nod, before jamming his key into the lock and hurrying into his dark, cold apartment. He would apologise to her tomorrow.

He let out a drawn-out sigh as he gazed out upon the empty apartment. The meagre amount of food he could afford was spread out over the kitchen counter, noodles with nothing to flavour them, a tin of baked beans, and a couple of chocolate bars.

“This won’t even last the evening.”

He picked up a bar of chocolate and began lazily chewing on it. He strode over to a lone chair in the middle of the room and dropped down with some considerable force. He didn’t even bother trying to turn on the TV, the power had been cut days ago. He picked up a book and, lighting a small candle beside him, tried to read.

However, he could not concentrate, his mind would wander. Could he have done better, BEEN better. Was his current situation his own doing, he was believing that more and more every day. It had been so much easier to blame everyone else, but deep down he knew the truth. All of this was the result of his own bad habits.

“Maybe the world would be better off without me.”

Not a moment after the last word left his mouth, his television lit up, flooding the room with light. Far more light than that tiny box should have been capable of producing. Henry shielded his eyes, dropping his chocolate bar. His eyes struggled to adapt to the light, but steadily he regained his bearings. As he did, he heard a low monotonous voice.

“Is that your answer?”

The voice seemed to be emanating from the Television set. In a state of shock, he couldn’t answer. After a few seconds of silence, the voice spoke again.

“Is that your answer?”

Henry’s mind was running a mile a minute, he knew there was only one thing the voice could be talking about. He hesitated but eventually found his voice again. “Yes.”

“Then come.”

The light intensified and, from the screen an arm emerged, seemingly composed of static, holding out a hand for him to take. He hesitated. He did not know who the voice belonged to, or what they might want. He didn’t know what he wanted.

What he DID know, was that there was nothing left for him here. Soon he would be homeless, he would never survive out there. He was utterly and completely at the end of his rope. Weighing his options, he decided to chance it.

Reaching out a hand, he grasped it gently. Instantly, he felt a vice-like grip, it yanked him so hard, it felt like his arm would be ripped off. He screamed, he felt like his body was being ripped limb from limb. The pain burned his mind, and eventually, even his scream was silenced. He vaguely heard the sound of an elderly woman’s scream, before his consciousness faded into nothing…

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