Dedicated to the wonderful memory and life of my mother

--

London, 1887

Chrissie was out alone in the yellow fog, walking through the grey, damp mews when she understood that someone was walking behind her. She was in the lonely alley, and the steps were loud and near.

She resisted a desire to watch over her shoulder, but she started to walk quickier, knowing that she was near home.

Then she heard a nasty laugh and young male voice calling out "Hello redhead!" in the midst of obscenities . Now Chrissie was almost half-running, she was walking so quickly than she could, pretending that she was not heard anything.

Then the steps abruptly ceased, she heard something which sounded like fighting, and then was nothing.

Chrissie stopped her escape, breathing deeply for air and watching to the rolling fog. She saw something moving and almost screamed.

An old woman stepped from the fog and almost laughed. "Violeta!"

An old Roumanian woman, Chrissie´s neighbour, smiled . She was sweet-looking and most beautiful old lady had ever seen, with still chestnut hair and eyes like amber, and a pretty shawl, patterned with lovely red roses, around her shoulders.

"Dear child, you should not be out this late!" she said.

"Apparently not, " Chrissie said. "I thought someone was following me."

"Oh, you probably heard my steps," Violeta said. ""Come, let´s go home together. My warm cat who insists to sleep in my bed is much better to my old bones than this damp autumn weather."

Chrissie laughed a bit. "Yes, let´s go home."

When they walked away, did not noticed how the wind opened the wall of fog, showing the body of her stalker. A young boy, perhaps fourteen-yers old, was reclining against the wall like a drunk, but his throat was covered by blood.