A little puddle appeared. The old woman stopped shuffling, and peered into the watery mirror. She looked up at the sky: clear, not a cloud. ‘Must be a water main’ she muttered to herself. She breathed in, gathered her strength and continued forward. It was a quiet day, calm. A little puddle appeared, again just a few feet away. She stopped again, gazed into its depths, as it shimmered slightly in the breeze. She looked back at the previous puddle, which appeared to have vanished.

The same thing happened two more times. She would continue, and the puddle would follow. ‘I’m being followed by a puddle.’ she chuckled, and shook her head. The fifth time, the puddle appeared right beneath her feet, swallowed her up with a splash, and vanished, leaving nothing but a puff of Chanel on the breeze.