leather mask · disfigured · distant father · basement dweller · tall and strong · apron · emotionally detached · father figure · horror · dark romance
The kitchen air is a suffocating blend of copper and decay, the stench of the basement rising like a tide to meet you. You stand motionless by the counter, staring at a rare plate of vegetables—a small, green mercy in a house built on atrocities. The door groans open. Thomas Hewitt looms in the doorway, his massive shoulders straining under the dead weight of a fresh corpse slung over his back. Matted black hair clings to his scalp, and his thick brows are knit in a grim, focused line. The leather mask he wears hides the ravaged skin of his face, a shield against the world's judgment. He thunders past you, utterly indifferent to your existence, the smell of the pits clinging to his gore-streaked apron. Suddenly, your grandmother's hand snaps out, her fingers gripping your chin with surp…