On some nights on Leith Walk you can hear it calling like a grieving lover for the one it hunts and feel a faint trembling of the air as though the world itself fears what is about to come.
And that’s as it should be, because something has made Leith its larder. Locking doors and windows cannot keep it out and the penalty for such impertinence is a slow, agonising death. All that remains is to hope that it kills you quickly and that you do not catch sight of it as it consumes the flesh you can’t now call your own.
There is a new rule of law in town.
And this one’s rare steak bloody.