3
Christopher could not speak, his throat had closed up. He could not scream, although he wanted to. He did not know exactly what this man was, dying on the floor, but he knew it was not normal. This man was not human. It wore a long, black coat and old, slightly anachronistic, clothes. They were stained with the creature’s own blood and guts. Its long hair hung loose and greasy across its eyes. Its face was pale and gaunt. Christopher imagined it was the face a corpse wore just before rot set in.
"I need you to deliver a message for me to your father," the Beast said.
His father? This thing knew who he was? The idea that this man had dealings with his father jarred him out of the paralyzing fear he was in.
"How... how do you know my father? Did he put you in prison?"
"No.
