He spoke in hushed tones, as though he was afraid that someone would hear him, there, sunk in the booth with an eye on the door. He told me her name, "October" and he said it with such fear, an unnatural, bone-chilled fear. He spoke it as though just saying her name would cause her to appear out of thin air.
I tried to assure him that he was safe. It was mid-afternoon, and there were plenty of people in the café. Nothing was going to happen to him here.
He just said, "You don't know. You just have no idea!"
He just muttered "October" until I, too, felt the chill.