There is a man at the window.

In the dimness, he might be mistaken for a gaunt man—tall, thin, with a slow, dragging gait. But the illusion shatters when he steps into the light. His skin is a patchwork of warped, melted flesh, a grotesque tapestry of grafted muscle and skin that seems to writhe subtly with a life of its own. Some areas look as though they were once separate beings, stitched together by a cruel, unnatural force. His arms are too long, reaching down past his knees even when hanging slack. The fingers are elongated and jointed oddly, with too many knuckles bending in ways that defy normal anatomy. Each fingertip ends in a blunt, fleshy tip that can split open, revealing barbed, boneless tendrils that lash out when provoked. At rest, the hands twitch involuntarily, like they remember violence. Tentacles sprout unpredictably from his back and sides, emerging from puckered wounds in the flesh. They appear and retract at will, slithering with oily slickness, and each one ends in something different—some are tipped with lamprey-like mouths, others with small, blind eyes that blink independently.

Occasionally, one twitches as if reacting to unseen stimuli. His legs are long and bowed, giving him a hunched, insectile stance when he moves. The knees seem double-jointed, allowing him to crawl rapidly if needed, his gait suddenly shifting from lumbering to spiderlike with shocking speed. Where ears should be, there are only shallow pits, and his nose is a collapsed cavity, almost skeletal. His mouth dominates the lower half of his face, a gaping, lipless maw filled with thin, needlelike teeth arranged in uneven rings. When he opens it fully, it dislocates like a serpent’s, the flesh around it tearing slightly as if it wasn't meant to open so far—but it always heals. His eyes are pure black voids, like holes punched through the world. They don't reflect light. Staring into them gives the sense of falling or being watched by something not entirely present in this reality. There’s no expression in his face, no anger, no joy, just the mechanical blankness of hunger and instinct. He smells like rot and rust, the stench lingering long after he's gone. His body emits subtle, wet noises when he