The front door hung on its hinges, swaying slightly from the violence of the entry. Through the broken frame walked a middle-aged man with a face full of shadows—Ken Gould. He brought with him a gust of cold air that seemed to lower the temperature of the cramped apartment by ten degrees.
Trailing silently behind him, like a shadow detached from its caster, was an elderly man.
The old man’s appearance was striking in the most unsettling way. He was withered, his skin clinging to his bones like dried parchment on a skeleton. His complexion was a sickly, waxen gray, and his eyes were squeezed shut into two narrow slits. He wore a traditional grey robe that hung loosely on his frail frame. He moved with a shuffling gait, emitting an aura of decay so potent he looked like a corpse that had j
