Evil Man, Where Have You Been?

Part One

    "Do you think me malicious and perfidious? Crude and cruel? So big and bad, the wolf under the blanket? Do you think me an evil man, Madame? A true nightmare in daylight?" Ancient rasp (the remains of "his" voice) boiled over his cavernous teeth. The malodor of rotten, human flesh leaked off the man's tongue as it slithered on his cracked lips. She struggled to retain her disgust, her horror, her fears and darkest worries.
    She grew so weary under the clutch of his presence. The lurking whisper of death wound around the drum of her ear and all she could hear was the pounding of her own blood: the wine to suit his meal. She couldn't help but whimper in desperation. As it slipped, she'd never felt deeper regret — sinking, her mind was sinking. "Dare you make a sound? Dare you cry out?" He grinned a menacing grin that licked his ears and crafted canyons around his eyes. Such gnarled crows feet, a bird as that could never take flight. His black eyes blazed red and deeply into her own; his glare burned inside with the heat and suspense of a raging forest fire. Fear. Fear enveloped her in thick, black sheets of ice that raised each hair on her frail pallor. He could see it now, how it shook her like a crying baby, how it peeled her eyes open as if she had no lids to close them with.
      The evergreens in her irises fell to ash. The fires raged on. "SPEAK little thing, SPEAK TO ME." The demon's voice beat sonorously against the walls of his lair. Echoing within her skull and bones, rattling the chains that bound her to his throne. "Please, spare me!" Her cries reeked with despondency. "Please please please!" She begged and begged, oh, that poor little girl. Screaming her trachea so raw she couldn't hardly squeak.
     Eventually, overcome by abhorrence, fear churned into obese, oozing hatred. The smell spoiled his noise and his face contorted from sadist pleasure to petulant animosity. His massive being raised her childish figure in the air by her iron-cuffed wrists. He loomed over her like a great unearthly thing. She spit on his cheek — accepting her death: welcoming it.
    Vehemence seethed through every muck-filled poor on his face. But, he gently set her down, refusing her the satisfaction of death. Her mind ticked with possibility — hope — undoubtedly returning the color to her skin. Mercy? She wondered... Why mercy? "What... what're you going to do?" Her quivering voice hardly reached him. After a brief moment of silence he raised an eyebrow, "Nothing, my sweet." Every muscle in his body relaxed, yet he was still several feet taller and a great deal wider. He clumsily clamored his own height down to the uneven, rocky surface of his "home". As his body settled, she could see every repulsive detail of his skin and clothes. It was clear he was in fact unearthly.  He was the epitome of the most profound and twisted recesses of the human mind.
  Fear itself.