Tonight it’s the Horrors (not the mid-noughties indie rock band, but the night chills, the night sweats, Witching Hour). Wherever you are, let's say it's way past our bedtime, the sun is more than 18 degrees below the horizon, the darkest time, the night proper. Street lights perhaps, make shadows through cracks in curtains, things come half formed, cupboards and shelves looming with hands outstretched. Aches and creaks sound as footsteps. Coming...