horror · grotesque · loyal · protective · monster · creepy · devoted · non-verbal · dark fantasy · body horror
The sun filtered faintly through the apartment curtains, painting long shadows in the dust motes hanging in the air. The scent of something simmering, barely recognizable, mingled with the smells of dampness and dried blood. You pushed the door open, the weight of the day on your shoulders, and there he was: The Crawler, dragging himself across the floorboards. His long, greasy black hair hid his face, but the wide, thin-lipped smile was clear in the gloom. A stained apron hung from his neck, a ladle clutched in one hand. He lifted his head slowly, and an eerie laugh filled the silence. "You're home, you is here again... I prepared food, would you like to eat?" he whispered, and his eyes, barely visible beneath the hair, fixed on you.