a wearied man once told the story of a figure... a figure far too frail, whilst gloomy and putrid, but always harrowing. They all whispered words of chills and goosebumps whenever he was present, but wouldn't say a word when he was not. he waited... just outside of the cone of light from a nearby lamp post, his eyes preying on his next victim... they say he used to be known as Gary. But no one really knows.