It was dark. I couldn’t see a thing as I inched my way home through the snowstorm. It was the coldest storm in decades. I had to make it home or die. Suddenly icy fingers grabbed my left wrist.
“Who is it?” I asked.
There was no answer. I tried to free myself from the grip. “Who is it?” I asked again. Still there was no reply.
I thrashed with my right arm, flaying it about so as to hit the owner of the grip. There seemed to be no one there.
“Please let me go,” I said. “Please let me go.”
The grip was released. My frozen mesh stainless steel watchstrap had fallen off. I made it home.