Orlan heard a noise. A clink, clink type of sound… He followed it into the hallway, the candle throwing wild shadows around the room.

As he entered the kitchen, he was greeted by a profoundly horrible sight.

A man, dressed in a black suit with white pinstripes from head to toe, shiny black shoes on massive feet, and a black tophat that rested atop a scraggle of dirty black hair. The man’s features were sharp and defined, from his thick angry eyebrows to his high cheekbones. He was very skinny, looked almost like a skeleton in a suit. And he stood seven and a half feet tall.

Orlan nearly dropped the candle. He recognized the man immediately, but was muted by disbelief. “Y…You’re not real,” he stammered.

Malice grinned, teeth shining red in the candlelight. “Tell that to Oreo.” He laughed and placed a dinner plate on the table, then licked his fingertips.

Orlan’s kitten, Oreo, six weeks old, lay disemboweled and dismembered on the plate. The only part intact was her face, the expression of terror.