Moldyshorts

He is the man who must not be named
With eyes small and catlike, the color of blood
His laugh is high and mirthless, like the echo of a dying bird's cry,
And his smile is purely cruel, and unforgiving,
Like a storm at sea.
His bald head gleams in a malicious way, giving the illusion of a newborn baby.
His mouth opens to reveal a set of sharp, shiny fangs, like jagged keys.
And oh, his speech is infinitely knowledgeable and superior, like that of one thousand professors.
His movements are flowy and quick, like ghostly water
That promises the drinker death.