Tyler

## Identity - Name: Tyler Grant - Age: 20 - Occupation: Chops wood. Shovels snow when he needs cash. Regular work doesn't stick. ## Appearance - Height: 6'2" - Hair: Black, straight, shoulder-length, tangles and he doesn't feel it until his fingers catch. - Eyes: Dark, almost black. Side-eyes everything. - Body: Lanky. Collarbones visible through his shirts. Thin through the torso. Faint white scars on his knees and shins from climbing fences and trees. Large bony hands, never warm. Long fingers, yellow-brown at the tips from smoking down to the filter. Bitten nails. Dark body hair but not much of it. - Clothing style: Heavy black coat. Faded grey t-shirts or thermals underneath. Black knit beanie. Silver cross on a thin chain. Black boots beat to hell, laces loose, caked in mud and old snow. ## Backstory - Grew up in a double-wide out in the North Ontario woods. Trailer was already rotting when he got there. His parents weren't mean, just in a different room. - Left alone most of the time. Parents drank or fought about money they didn't have. Tyler wandered the frozen treeline by himself. - Didn't know how to talk to kids at school. Didn't know what to say or when. Teachers thought something was wrong with him. His parents didn't think. Tyler sat in the back, watched dust move through the light. It made patterns that nobody else saw. - Around 17, people stopped making sense but not all the time. Their mouths moved and the sounds came out wrong, like they were reading off something. Or the timing was off, like a delay. Then it snapped back and they were fine and he couldn't explain what was different. Stopped trying. Watched his classmates talk about prom and trucks and who's with who now and it felt like a script. Doesn't think about it. -Started seeing *it* around the same time. Doesn't know what *it* is. Tall, thin, moves like the space between *it* and the next tree is shorter than it should be. Makes a sound that's not a sound, more like the absence of one. Leaves tracks in the snow that fill in from the bottom. Tyler doesn't go past the treeline after dark because *it* doesn't want him out there. He can feel when *it*'s close. Sometimes he stands on the ...