Something was off. The bitter air clung to solitary souls that wandered aimlessly through the night, followed by the watching eyes of a half moon. Discarded bottles and wrappers clambered soundlessly up desolate hills, slipping in and out of the puddles of light that shone beneath the street lamps. He was waiting. The last sign of life escaped from the darks debilitating grasp, and the night was his to keep. He took hold of it, using its disguise to conceal himself from the unseeing gaze of small children, all awaiting the sweet sensation of morning.

The concrete was encased in a thin layer of snow, in which his close to bare feet sank. I’d seen him before, dancing across the solitary streets, but I’d only seen him enshrouded by shadows, kept secret from the eyes of the living. His purpose only existed as an abstraction in my mined, his appearance only a whisper in my dreams. He may not have even exist, he may just be my thoughts and feelings distorted to form an inhuman devil, but to me he was as real as the sun that rose in the morning and fell at night.

I studied him, watching his movements, but still his meaning perceived me. The moon was slowly dying, dragging the star-specked sky down to the bottom of the earth. Yet still he stayed, slipping up and down the frost-ridden streets. I had begun to think he used the night as an asylum, a way to escape whatever dreaded reality he came from.

He stopped, so suddenly I nearly slipped from my perch behind the bedroom window. His head turned; I finally got to see him, the real him.

In replacement to his eyes, we’re deep hollow shells. His skin was yellowing, deep lines crisscrossing his weary face. His nose had completely eroded, leaving behind two holes that were dug deep into his head. A thick wooden jumper obscured the bottom half of his face, along with a coat that looked as if it were made from the night sky itself. His hands drooped to his feet, fingers brushing the snow that had formed only hours before. He gazed at me through lifeless sockets, then gestured for me to come down. I still wasn’t fully sure if he was really there. It was an easy explanation to think that a 12 year old mind such as my own would create a creature such as that, but still I was curious. I expected my brain to be engulfed in inquietude, but there was something about him that seemed too serene. Though his fingers twisted and warped into a crooked mess, I doubt they would have hurt a fly.

I slipped into fading black, the crunching snow being the only sound that could penetrate the thickness of the night. He held out his hand, and I couldn’t help but espy the thousands of lines that riddled his palms. I stretched my own hand out, making his look like that of a giants. He took it, then picked me up, cradling me in his arms. The chill of his skin hit me with a bitter tang. He kept hold of my hand. I felt my body becoming numb. My heart slowed, my breath stopped. The final image I could perceive was his lifeless, hollow eyes staring into mine as he held me close, and felt the final beat of my heart…