Isaac tore out the charcoal drawing and placed it on the replacement dining table. He pushed away from the table and walked over to the living room. After rummaging through a cabinet, he came back with Emily’s sketch book and a pencil. He closed his eyes and thought about that night as a child, when the Wretched Man latched onto him. He opened his eyes and began drawing the nightmarish face.
He started with the eyes, or what could be considered eyes, those hollow, mangled, sockets. The air chilled as Isaac sketched the face of the devil. He drew the mouth, a gaping maw. Then he drew the leathery skin that was torn by time.
Rot and stench seemed to permeate off the paper and the air began to reek of sulfur. The monster came alive on the paper and Isaac sketched furiously, unable to stop. His shoulders tightened as his hand took on a twisted life of its own. A piercing scream filled Isaac’s ears and his vision narrowed.
“Stop!” he gasped. He flung the pencil away and took a deep breath. Isaac wiped the sweat from his eyes and stared at the paper in terror. His heart skipped a beat and he exhaled.
“Thank God. I didn’t finish it,” he choked. The sketch was only half complete, only the eyes and mouth had been drawn. Isaac backed away from the sketch, trying to escape the hateful aura that was pouring out from that face. He ran to the kitchen and grabbed a lighter. He clutched the sketch over the sink and held it to the flame. Nothing happened. Isaac stared incredulously at the unmarred sketch. The Wretched Man stared back.
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