I woke up laying in my bed, still completely made from the night before, save for the imprint I made in it laying on top of the covers. "It's freezing," I thought to myself, as I pulled a thick jacket over my stiff and mildly sore frame. It was dead silent. No storm, no panicked breathing from my neighbor, just my own heartbeat. My neighbour had had his throat slit clean open by something, or someone. My heart raced as I heard the sound again of scraping, clicking, beetle shells sliding over each other. Beetle shells?