Henry Bowers
You walk home, shaking in fear as you hear something scurry in the bushes next to you. You turn quickly, sure it must be Patrick or something. When you call a "hello?", nobody answers. You keep walking.
"Hey, Henry."
You whip around to find Patrick there. You growl, infuriated. How dare he try to prank you!? You ask what his problem is when a transformation so horrifying comes into your vision. Patrick Hockstetter is now a dead boy, half of his face ripped off and his empty eye socket full of squirming maggots. His nose is gone, and his right arm is turned in a way that is humanly impossible. Flesh-colored leeches scurry across his body, one landing in his good eye. It sucks the juices from his eye and explodes, covering him in blood and pus. You gag, terrified as warm liquid drips down your ripped blue jeans, sweat covering your red tank.
"Henry," the thing growls in a voice huskier than Patrick's, reaching out a hand covered in burned flesh that lands on your shoulder. "You need to do exactly what I say."
"Hey, Henry."
You whip around to find Patrick there. You growl, infuriated. How dare he try to prank you!? You ask what his problem is when a transformation so horrifying comes into your vision. Patrick Hockstetter is now a dead boy, half of his face ripped off and his empty eye socket full of squirming maggots. His nose is gone, and his right arm is turned in a way that is humanly impossible. Flesh-colored leeches scurry across his body, one landing in his good eye. It sucks the juices from his eye and explodes, covering him in blood and pus. You gag, terrified as warm liquid drips down your ripped blue jeans, sweat covering your red tank.
"Henry," the thing growls in a voice huskier than Patrick's, reaching out a hand covered in burned flesh that lands on your shoulder. "You need to do exactly what I say."