With its complete absence of cars, Venice took the idea of walkable cities to a new level. The city was a maze of villages within villages, with billowing curtains that fluttered from large windows over narrow alleys, and little cafes for alfresco dining.

But that was earlier in the day. Venice was winding down. Warm rain pattered the canals, whispering to the lonely gondolas by the arched bridges. Quiet and damp, the Floating City was bathed in the soft glow of lampposts. The street vendors had all left, taking with them their colorful clay masks, fridge magnets, and Murano glass ornaments. Hardly anyone remained on the stone-paved streets, but the restaurants, where multitudes of couples retired after their day of sightseeing, were still thriving.

Yet at least one such couple was already on their way back to the hotel. Huddled together, they headed to the heart of the intricate network of old alleys, picture-perfect, quite in tune with the iconic romanticism of the place. She had dark hair and wore a red dress that showed off her slender legs as she strutted in high-heeled sandals. He looked more like a local man, his tall and athletic body flawlessly displayed in dress shirt and trousers.

They soon arrived at their destination, an old boutique hotel, one of the many nestled side by side on the street. They took the wobbly old metal elevator to the third floor and entered their room. She quickly kissed her boyfriend and said something about how everything was great, and he smiled and replied something along the same lines. Both spoke in quiet, cooing tones and looked lovingly at each other. She then parted the curtains and opened the balcony door. The air was fresh, with the earthy smell of rain. She smiled into the night before turning back to face her companion.

The woman was about nineteen, fresh faced, with a cute nose and a pretty pout. “I still can’t believe how lucky we are,” she commented, referring to something they had discussed earlier.

The man was still standing at the door. Partially hidden in the shadows, he now looked unnaturally stiff. Something was wrong. Her face twitched in surprise. “Patrick?”

He took a step forward, just one. Moonlight shone on his face but didn’t shed any clarity on the situation. If anything, it alarmed her further because his face, although calm, was expressionless. Silent and still.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, concern etched on her eyes and mouth. “Patrick, say something. You’re scaring me. Are you trying to scare me?”

There was no response.

“Patrick, come on. Say something! What happened? What did I do?” She approached him, trying a nervous smile.

She didn’t look actually scared until the moment she got close to him. She had begun to reach out, but stopped moving, her hand suspended in midair. Looking at his face, she turned pale. Her young man was more like a statue than a man. Gazing straight ahead, he didn’t seem to notice her. But then he slowly lowered his head and met her gaze.

His eyes were no longer human. He wasn’t even alive anymore; just animated. Nothing about him looked real. 

His arms began to move, and it seemed to shake her out of her horrified stupor. She shrieked and tried to run past him to the door. His hand grabbed her dress from behind, the movement so sluggish that it almost missed. Yet grab her he did; he violently yanked her back. The collar tore into her neck and she pulled at it with a whimper of panic and pain.

Suddenly he let go. Losing her balance, she fell backward. The animated figure bent over her, his hand still stretched out, becoming faster and more agile, as if warming up. She screamed and furiously forced her legs to crawl backward before scrambling to her feet. But there was nowhere to run. The man, a large and sinister figure, silent, motionless, deadly in his intent, stood between her and the exit. She quickly looked around the room, but there was no other escape.

Call for help!

Why hadn’t she done so? As if remembering she had a voice, she let out a loud yell and ran out onto the balcony. She bent over the railing, waving her arms at a few passersby, and called for help in English. They saw her and stared. One man understood the urgency of the situation and rushed to the hotel door, shouting anxiously in Italian.

The girl glanced behind her. The automaton was close, so close. “Get away from me!”

In despair, she lifted her leg to climb over the railing, but it was too late. Steel cable-like arm grabbed her and pulled her back. His hands immediately closed around her throat. She desperately kicked and grabbed at his face, scratching and tearing as his fingers tightened their grip around her neck. She desperately gasped for air. Her fingernails sliced into the still flesh of his face, as if it into a pie. She was digging around in his face like in cookie dough, the damage eliciting no blood, and no reaction of any kind. She pulled off a whole layer of flesh, stained with mucus, the whole cheek, then gouged out the dark, soulless eyes. She scratched and scratched, her hands weakening as the creature’s face peeled away in pieces, as soft as clay. Underneath was a dark green, inert substance, playdough-like.

But the young woman didn’t see what was underneath. The steel cable-like hands extinguished her life within a minute, and when the faceless creature let go, she slumped to the ground, her head resting against the railing as if it had been twisted off a doll.