This novella was a Hugo and Nebula nominee twenty years ago. I lost both to Charles Sheffield -- whom I married five years later. Life sometimes really is just as strange as fiction.
"The night is totally black, now, except for the guardian light of the street lamps. No one is out besides me. I fold my arms, missing my army jacket's warmth, and head home quickly. It's dangerous to be out at night. But I don't run. If you run in Rimwick, something chases you." There are two rules in the small town...