Chapter 122
Paul opened the door wide and allowed whoever was on the porch to enter. He still hadn't said a word.
A tall, thin man entered wearing a black, wide-brimmed hat. The brim was so wide that I couldn't see his face. He wore a trench coat. Who the hell wore trench coats these days? And who was it?
"Paul," the man said.
I could see the man's severely deformed face, and it scared the holy shit out of me. His face was covered in coarse black and gray hair, and his eyes squinted too close to his nose. That nose wasn't human. That nose was the snout of a canine.
He was a Werewolf, but not like Lon Chaney or Michael Jackson from "Thriller." This man was utterly deformed.
Monica inhaled sharply. The man glanced up at her but hadn't yet seen me. "Did you think we would not find you?" His accent was so heavy that I had a hard time understanding him.
"That's exactly what I thought." Paul crossed his arms over his chest. "Who else is here?"
"Many," the man said.