Here is my effort, using all of the words provided.
Briskly striding forth, bracing
against cold wind as fading
light glints off frosted sidewalks,
she sees him, collar turned up,
smoke curling from corner of mouth
around his head. Staring.
A lubricious fellow, she thinks,
quickening her pace, feeling as if
she now walks on eggshells.
Her ear sharpens, waiting
to hear footsteps behind.
As day decays, her mind runs wild.
She tries to force the images
out of her panic-prone mind:
a patter of hacksaw, crown of nails,
red blood flowing as in a botched
dissection of a frog...
Arriving at her gate, a glance behind
confirms her mind’s fiction.