The night wasn't particularly dark - the moon was full, and the sky was clear - but it was deathly cold. Jenny huddled close to Chris as they walked home, trying to stay warm. It didn't really work, but that was hardly the point.

The homeless man just seemed to appear out of nowhere. Later, they would say he jumped out of the shadows, but they were never really sure. He was of some indeterminate stage of old, with a straggly beard and wild hair that made him seem, particularly in the dim moonlight, something less than human.

As he moved, a wall of stench preceded him. The smell of booze and piss and puke.

Jenny made a sound, somewhere between gagging and screaming. Chris took a step back, then, after a moments thought, a step forward, pushing Jenny behind him.

"Can you spare a cigarette," asked the old man.

"Fuck off! Just fuck the hell off! Leave us alone!" Jenny was almost hysterical, pushing Chris quickly past the old man. Chris didn't resist. His body was wax-like, outside of his control.

"I just asked for a fag," called the old man as they hurried past.

Their house wasn't much further away, and they covered the distance quickly in their bizarre four-legged shuffle-run. All the way, Jenny kept looking back, then urging Chris to hurry, though she didn't see the old man.

Chris fumbled with his keys, trying to get them into the door lock, but his hands shook too much. Jenny pushed him aside and unlocked the door. They hurried inside.

The house was old, and normally as cold as it was outside, often worse. Tonight it wasn't, though. Tonight it was warm inside.Chris's hand brushed against the wall until it hit the light switch.

Somehow they knew, even before their eyes had adjusted to the sudden light.

The old man. He was sitting in the chair next to the heater in their living room in their home. He sat there, staring at his hands as he warmed them by the heater. His rancid smell filled their house. Maybe that was how they knew. They couldn't be sure.

He turned slowly to face them. What seemed to be a smile was almost hidden by the mess of his beard.

"I only asked for a cigarette," he said, his voice calm and deep.

"Who the fuck are you, and what the hell are you doing in my house," asked Chris. His own voice seemed squeaky to him, despite the fact that he'd aimed for menacing.

The old man shrugged. "Just a harmless old man here to help a young couple with the monster in their cellar."

"What?" Chris shook his head, his fear suddenly replaced by confusion. "What are you on about? What bloody monster in our cellar?"

"Just get out," shrieked Jenny.

The old man stood, and walked over to the small cellar door set in the wall. He pulled the door open. A burst of flame shot from the door, scorching the wall opposite. The fire was followed by the smell of brimstone, overwhelming even that of the old man.

"That monster. Honestly, your type are just so forgetful."

The old man struggled to push the door shut, fighting against the bizarrely coloured tentacles trying to force their way out.

"What," said Chris.

"But," said Jenny.

"How," said Chris.

"It's," said Jenny.

"Fuck," said Chris.

"Sentences, people! This is no time to go to pieces."

"What have you done," asked Jenny. "How did you do that?"

"I just opened the door." The old man quickly opened the door again. Another ball of flame shot out, and he quickly slammed the door again. A tentacle got caught, and a strange squeeling noise came from the cellar. The tentacle quickly withdrew. "See?"

"But," said Chris. The old man glared at him.

"What's going on," Jenny asked.

The old man scratched his beard. "Look, don't you remember? Your dinner party? What happened to your friend Ryan?"

"Ryan?" Chris collapsed into a chair. "He emigrated to Australia."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Now does that really sound likely? I mean, Australia's full of poisonous snakes and deadly spiders. Not to mention Australians. Why on earth would anyone want to go to Australia? Don't you think it's far more likely that he got eaten by the monster in your cellar?"

"No," said Jenny, suddenly regaining her composure through the strength of overwhelming denial. "Actually, that's completely fucking ridiculous."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Then why, pray tell, is his skull still lying under the coffee table?"

Jenny and Chris looked under the table. Sure enough, lying under the table, was a skull. They both screamed. The old man covered his ears.

The memory came flooding back, overwhelming them. The dinner party. They'd been having a fascinating discussion on the political situation in Israel. Ryan had gone to get another bottle of wine. From the cellar. As he opened the door, there'd been a burst of flame, and tentacles reached out, grabbing Ryan and pulling him into the cellar. There'd been a terrible roaring sound, like a burp, only louder. Ryan's skull had bounced out of the cellar, and rolled under the table before the door slammed shut.

"Oh," said Jenny.

"My God," said Chris.

"Remember now?" The old man shuffled over to the chair and sat back down.

"How... how... how could I forget that," stuttered Jenny.

"Think about it. You'd hardly have invited Ryan over if you'd remembered what happened at the Halloween party, now would you?"

Once again the memories forced themselves back into Chris and Jenny's minds. The Halloween party, just after they'd moved into the house. Ruth finding that dusty old book in the cellar. The drunken giggling as she read out that strange poem.

And then the flash of light. Running from the cellar. But Ruth wan't with them. She was enveloped by the undulating mass of brightly coloured tentacles behind them . She never emerged. Only a bone. A femur. The same femur that was still lying behind the couch now.

Jenny screamed.

"I mean," continued the old man," if it had let you remember, then there would have been just that one meal, and that would have been it. And I can't imagine that your friend Ruth constituted much more than a light snack. There wasn't much meat on her. No, this way works out much better. For the monster, obviously. Not so much for Ryan." The old man nodded towards the skull.

"But...but...but..." said Chris.

"Quite," said the old man, standing up. "Right, well we'd better sort this all out, hadn't we? Now, who's coming with me?"

"Down there," asked Chris.

"Obviously. If we could sort it out from the nearest pub, don't you think I'd be there already?"

The old man looked from Chris to Jenny and back again. "Right, well I guess I'll be doing this myself, then. He stood up and walked over to the door, then opened it again. He stood back as another ball of flame shot out, then dived forward with a sudden burst of unexpected speed before the tentacles began to emerge.

Jenny and Chris edged back, as the tentacles reached further and further from the doorway, probing the room, trying to find them. They quickly found themselves backed into a corner. From the cellar, they heard the sound of banging and crashing. And the old man's voice.

At first he was just swearing, mostly about banging his knee on the washing machine in the dark. But then he began chanting slowly and solemnly in what seemed to be pig latin.

His voice grew louder and louder, before climaxing with a final cry of, "Egonebay Oulfay Eastbay!" A final gout of flame shot from the cellar, shortly followed by the slightly singed form of the old man.

"Well, that seems to have cleared that up," he said. "Now, I think I've earned that cigarette, don't you?"