The thing stoops as it lumbers through my door. The eyes blink, shades drawn over milky cue balls.
Trudging toward me, it allows both hands--if you could even call the gnarled, wicked mass of flesh at the end of its arms hands--to drag the floor. The knuckles scrape the carpet, shhhhhk, leaving an oily trail. Blood? Something else?
Me: choking on my heart. My hands sweat.
The mouth opens, revealing rows of teeth like broken chalk, only green. It lifts its body onto a desk, hand/claws on the bottom, clacking against wood with yellow nails.
It grumbles. Kind of sounds like "How's my kid doing?"