His angular face could not hold his enormous smile or his purple eyes; those piercing eyes that stiffened our bodies. His voice was smooth like butter on toast and every word was chosen in careful eloquence. It was not until Tuesday that we started to fear him.
He blinked three times before knocking on the door—I counted. “Mightn’t I borrow your telephone? Mine hasn’t been…connected.â€? I nodded slowly, the air barely made it past my lips.
“It’s in the kitchen.â€? I scrutinized him from behind. Something is odd about him…I dismissed it as paranoia. When he had returned, a general malaise covered his face. Although Darsie’s voice was cold, it was also polite. With a weak smile and a brief “thank youâ€?, he was gone.