That Which is Unseen

Stocke held Caria Laire close to him and gripped his knife close to his leg. The darkness pounded at them, and all details of the room were lost. A white fear had swept over Caria Laire, and Stocke, despite his own fear, knew that he could not falter.

There was a scraping sound on the tree branch behind them, and when he turned, he saw a haunting figure drag itself towards them. It was the pale faced man with the knife, pulling himself with his stomach flat against the branch. His eyes were wide open, and his pupils horrifically small, and age-old cuts ravaged his face.

‘There are wicked men …’ his voice sent chills through their body. It was like a ghoulish husk, whispering words not from his mouth, but through the wind that blew in from the window. The words stabbed at them and clutched to their minds, digging their icy claws into them. ‘… Hiding in the walls. Scratching from below the floorboards. Up, in the crawlspace above the roof. They come for you! They come for you!’

The man
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