Picture the scene. You’re out on an early hike deep in the woods in rural Switzerland. The sun is out but it’s a cool and misty October morning. The nearest town is an hour away. It’s just you and nature, and the only noises around you are a few occasional bird twitters and the sound of twigs and mud, crunching and squelching beneath your feet.
It’s peaceful. Serene, even. Then, from nowhere, a scream. Well, it’s kind of halfway between a scream and a roar, actually. Like some desperate, frenzied wild beast that sounds like it’s getting closer – and fast. You look around, sweat starting to pool under your woolly beanie. Something’s hurtling up the road to your left. It’s a werewolf! It’s a banshee! It’s a… It’s a… It’s a 13-year-old boy on an electric bike, screaming his guts up as he merrily flies past you without a care in the world.
