2501 Creek Street

Every Friday night

There he stands

In his stick like posture

With a coat of dense mist

Wrapping his figure,

While his face is nowhere to be seen.

Instead, an oxygen mask can be found

With an infamous crimson red smile

Splattered over the worn out fabric

Covering his hidden identity.

And the empty lenses

Have no eyes to fill its

Gaping infinite holes.

The Shadow Man is what we call him.

No one knows where he came from

Or who he is,

But everyone has engraved the number one rule

Into their minds.

Never approach the Shadow Man.

For you will be swallowed whole,

Surrounded by his heavy suffocating mist,

Until all you see is darkness,

The darkness that lies deep within his grave,

Becoming yet another soulless prisoner

Of the sickening, sinister

Shadow Man.