They seem to vanish in the early hours.

Even when I set an alarm every hour or stay awake via coffee - the damn shoelaces disappear!

I may sound a little mad for being so obsessed, but try waking up and realising that you can’t wear your shoes, that even the spare laces under the bed have gone too…

I only have a squeaky pair of wellies that pinch my toes, and even when I fashion string into laces they are gone the next night as well.

I’ve tried gluing and sewing them to the shoe, but every morning the stitches are picked and the glue is peeled away…

The police just laugh, my friends think I’m mad, but I think I have a lead.

I spent a whole paycheque on a tiny tracker that I hid in the lace. My hands were shaking the whole time, especially when I awoke and found my shoe holes vacant.

A few clicks and I was headed to the location of my missing shoelace - fifteen miles away!

It took me a while to get the courage to go inside the mansion, but the gates were open and my wellies make my toes throb.

The front door opened easily as I approached.

“Hello?” I called.

There, on the floor was a shoelace. I could see the blue stitches on it that I had put on it on the past and bent to pick it up.

The door slammed suddenly and I was regretting my decision. My shoes squeaked. “Hey! I’m - I’m calling the police!”

A bluff as the phone reception was long gone since I entered the grounds.

A childlike laugh made every hair on my neck stand on end. “Want your bootlaces back?”

The door was cold against my back as my eyes searched the darkness.

“Come to the game room, if you please.”

Every horror movie instinct told me to run but the curiosity about who would steal shoelaces won over and I followed a candle that had suddenly come to life in the next room.

The ‘game room’ had tiny hooks all over the walls and every one that flickered in candlelight held a black shoelace.

A tiny child grinned at me from the corner, “Pick just one and all your bootlaces will be yours again. You have two chances.”

I don’t move from the doorway, still clutching the first lace I found.

“However, pick incorrectly and I shall eat you.” Two teeth flashed in the half-dark.

“Two chances, huh?” I ask, “If I refuse?”

The vampire laughs delightedly.

“No-one has yet, but I will forever find every last bootlace you own and add it to my collection.”

“Okay…”

I get closer to the wall, toward the indistinguishable rows of black laces.

My hand finds a lace at random, and it lays limply in my palm. “This one.”

“Incorrect.” The creature grins.

I put it back and continue looking.

Some are different lengths, others are stiff and new.

I pick up one after another, looking for some familiarity.

Then I remember that I’d used glue once, and suddenly the little shiny part on the shoelace makes sense. It was dried glue.

“This one is mine.” I sound more confident than I feel.

The vampire’s face falls as they produce a clear bag filled with neatly tied laces. I can feel myself breathe again.

“You have won this wager. No matter. There will be others…” like a child, the vampire thrusts the bag at me and stalks away.

I leave as quickly as I can, and as I open the front door, I think I can hear the heavy slam of a coffin lid somewhere beyond the game room.