The little old lady at number 237 opened her green door to the wiry door to door salesmen.

His wide smile laid on as thick as his cheap cologne.

“Oh why hello dear.” The old lady cooed, her chunky glasses made her eyes bulge on her petite face.

“Good day ma’am, I’m Bucky Dutton with Spurious investments, I was hoping I might have a few minutes of your day.” His voice was high and energetic, yet bags rested under his eyes.

“Oh course dear, come in.” She motioned him in. Her house was a concoction of muted pinks and blues, dyed carpets and nicknacks filling every free spot. A little rabbit ear tv stood in her living room, tuned to reruns of M.A.S.H.

A odd musty smell drifted around, a mix of sweet and bitter. It clung to the back of his throat, like cat hair.

He sat on one of her flora patterned couches, it groaned at his weight. Cat hair instantly stuck to his cheap suit.

“Would you like a glass of water?” She asked.

“Oh yes please.” He replied swiftly, his charming grin stuck on his face like glue.

She walked off into the carpeted kitchen.

He shuttered at the sight as he finally lost his debonair expression, relaxing his face muscles.

He looked around the room, his brow cocked at the assemblage of old people things scattered about. As his eyes scanned about he glanced upon something peculiar, a dark shadow under the opposing couch. It was much darker then the normal shadow should of been, in fact it appeared almost like a pit.

It swallowed the light, and the more he squinted at it, the more his head began to throb.

And then its eyes open. Like stars in space they peeled open, little pinpoints of light. A shiver rang across its absence of skin.

It stared up at him, seemingly thousands of teeming eyes.

His teeth rattled in his head, cold sweat pleated down his face. A whimper of a word caught in his throat.

“**Begone**.” Its voice strident, a threat posed between its unseen teeth.

He didn’t have to be told twice. He tore from the couch and threw open the door. Screeching away in his car at record speed.

The old lady trodded out of the kitchen, a cup of water in her hand “Hello? Young man?” She asked to the almost empty room. “Oh bugger, young people theses days, always in a rush.”

The thing rubbed against her leg.

“Aw well, it’s just you and me, Mustard.” She cooed, bending down to scratch its back.

The other worldly thing sat and purred.