He could hear the monsters, loud and clear.

Every night they whispered stories into his ear.

Christopher was a strange child, shunned by many. His scraggly white hair was swept back and held in place by a red hairband. The meatless limbs of his were connected by bony joints, and his eyeballs seemed to levitate within empty caverns. He would stumble about at an uneven pace, hunched over, seemingly in fear of sunlight. Words never emerged from his mouth, at least not in the presence of others. What others feared most about Christopher was his piercing stare, for when lifeless eyes met those that were not, peculiar things happen.

The first time John met Christopher, he dared not approach him. Christopher was facing a blank wall, muttering words under his breath. In is hand was a pencil, which, under his control, drew circles over the grey concrete. The dull screech of graphite against the wall seemed to go on forever, up till it ended with an abrupt snap. John instinctively flinched, his shoulders rising and falling in a quick motion.

“Sit with me”, Christpher suddenly bellowed, his firm, resonating voice a stark contrast to his feeble appearance.

John started to inch backwards, trying desperately not to agitate his compatriot. He could see the muscles in Christopher’s neck start to bulge as Christopher prepared to turn around. Holding his hands up to his face, John prepared to see eyes filled with anger and hatred. But they did not come, for the look in Christopher’s eyes were not threathening, but harmless, a harmless gaze of compassion that warmed him to the core. His guard dropped, John shuffuled forward to sit.

“I’m glad you came, now, let me show you my friends, they know things you don’t.”