MR. NOBODY

You might find yourself in South London, trudging through the snow, head down as more sleety flurries turn into larger flakes, when you notice something very strange. Even though you are the only person on the street, you can see footprints forming in the snow, just a few steps in front of you.
You stop, and the footprints stop appearing. You look at them, and there’s nothing out of the ordinary about them, just a average sized shoe print of no discernable type. You wipe snowflakes from your eyes, and think how tired you must be. Of course the footprints were there all along.
But when you start walking again, you know, because you see them, forming in virgin snow, keeping pace with you, just a little way ahead.
You can say, “Good afternoon, Mr Nobody,” out loud and if it is Mr Nobody then you will not see the footprints again but you will have good luck all day and all the rest of the week. If it’s not Mr Nobody though, it’s probably the nameless thing that when it hears your voice will stop, turn back, and eat you.