Freakuency

Sho mor


It lurks in the dank, dim confines of abandoned office blocks and at under ground carparks.
Waiting.
Waiting for sundown, to begin its hunt. And if you are ever foolish enough, nay, suicidal enough to venture down there in the early hours, perhaps looking for your lost keys or jacket, then the last thing you see will be the glitched screen of its face and the last thing you hear a thousand blaring screams of past victims always waiting and welcoming new companions in their restless eternal slumber.

His name is Fred.
He tends to kill people who make too much noise.
Don’t upset him.
Give him a book.
Be nice to him.