Mr. Blank

"Who are you?" The black cloth was ripped off his head and the man squeezed his eyes shut against the blinding light. Though before he could readjust to the light a voice rose out of the shadows. It was soft and hesitant as if the person who spoke thought before pronouncing each word.

"I…am a shadow." The captive looked up through half-slitted eyes and indeed saw a shadow slinking into the circle of brilliant light that surrounded him. The shadow raised its hand, a lit cigarette held between two fingers, and raising it to where its lips should be the shadow took a long drag. The glowing tip lit up the shadow's face and revealed… nothing.

The shadow had no face.

The captive involuntarily jerked back into his seat in shock, his restraints preventing him though from tipping over the chair. The shadow's 'lips', just a line in the nothingness of his face, parted and smoke crept out of the gaping hole like snakes emerging from a burrow in the ground. Again the hesitant voice echoed through the room.

"Though you may call me Blank. Mr. Blank if you prefer." Mr. Blank dropped the cigarette and ground it into the tile floor. The captive felt the shadow lay eyes on him and he could feel a primal fear begin to burn within the pit of his stomach.

"Please let me go." Mr. Blank rummaged through the pockets of his black and frayed trench coat ignoring the man's plea. The captive's fear overcame him then. He slashed and buckled in his seat twisting his wrists and popping his muscles in an attempt to free himself and run.

"You have to let me go!" let me go…let me go

By the time his echoes had died the man was already dead. Mr. Blank leaned over him his hand raised above him holding up to the light a knife dripping with red blood.

The blood ran down onto his fingers and trickled across the back of his hand disappearing under his black sleeve. He stood admiring that image of his knife-wielding hand for sometime, but eventually his head turned downward and it seemed as though his lips twitched down in a frown as he beheld the dead man's visage.

The knife dropped to the ground with a clatter and metallic clink. Mr. Blank again leaned over the dead man and taking his blood-stained fingers drew a smile on the man's rigid face. His voice no longer soft and hesitant, but cold and hard he whispered in his ear,

"You should always meet Death with a smile."