The handsome man walks home. It is night time - and he is scared. The streetlights flicker, the streets are deserted - the price of living in a small city. No one makes a noise, no one is there to make a noise, and the man can hear but his own heartbeat...

I lie, he can hear more than that. Would the streets not be in complete silence, was there as much as a living being to keep him company, he wouldn't be this scared. Because only in complete silence and solitude did he hear that faint sound. It is... a song? Yes, it is a song.

The man looks around; what does he see? The same flickering streetlights, an empty street, parked cars, closed shops. He's seen all that a thousand times - it's not like he's never walked around town at night. Yet it is different, somehow. The lack of life is suddenly an issue.

Or maybe the real issue is not the lack of life.

Laaa la laa la laa la la

Because non-living things don't sing, do they now?

The man's house is not that far away, mind you. He is just two blocks away from safety. And he starts walking faster. Driven by fear. Yet it seems like this won't save him. The singing becomes louder, a faint buzzing sound, almost inaudible, in the background. It seems to be coming from... behind? The man hesitates for a moment, unsure if he wants to know if he is being chased or not. But the curiousness becomes overwhelming - in his mind, he feels like he needs to prove he is really alone, and that everything he is experiencing is an illusion.

So he freezes, and the singing, that had become deafening, stops. Or seems to stop. Slowly the man takes a deep breath, and looks over his shoulder. His eyes become glazed for a moment.

Laaa la laa la laa la la

Laaa la laa la laa la la

Laaa la laa la laa la la...

It is a tall, wiry figure. It walks calmly, slowly, towards the man. The lighting flickers again - the figure carries a suitcase and is grinning. Clearly amused.

Laaa la laa la laa la la

The man has had enough. He turns around and dashes. The singing becomes louder once again - why is no one coming to check the source of that noise? - the man is scared, too scared to check if that freaky figure is following. The more he runs, the more he starts to feel like stopping would be death. Irrational, maybe. But fear is seldom rational.

He gets to his house, sweaty fingers search through his pocket for his keys - it feels like ages before he finds and grabs them. Inserting the key in the keyhole is another challenge. Every second feels like an hour, and he has no time to waste. He is being followed.

Laaa la laa la laa la la

Click.

"Yes."

Silence.

The door is opened, then slammed shut behind his back. He is safe... his heart pounding, his breathing heavy, his skin wet and slippery to the touch... yet he is safe. He lets out a sigh, and turns on the lights. The living room is where he heads, the couch is his goal. But what awaits him there makes him stop dead in his tracks.

"Hello, Da Pro."

Laaa la laa la laa la la

"The community has missed you, and so did I, my dear

We have not heard news of you for almost a year!

No blogs, no comments, not a word to your peers...

That was very mean, very rude, very...

...naaaaughty."

Bzzzzzzzt...

The man wakes up on his bed, facing the ceiling. All just a dream? Most certainly. He scratches his scalp - feeling quite light today... wait a minute.

"Where is my hair?"

He looks around in panic, and sees a small letter on his lap. He picks it up. Two words.

Please return to the TGWTG Blogs. Love, Fred.

"Well.", Da Pro thinks aloud. "I better not say no to such a creepy man."

And so he posts his heroic epic. That doubles as a blog about Freaky Fred. Lovely. Too bad he's now bald.

Laaa la laa la laa la la

(And now, my dear friend
As this blog reaches its end
To this index you'll be sent
Where I talk about others who were...
...naaaaaaughty)