Creative Writing: The Nightmare I am the Father of Hell, and my eyes burn bright in the Mist. Feel my wrath and hear the scrape of my steely, slashing claws. My teeth are sharp and I am semi-hungry. Don't let the fact that my feet are covered with grave dirt bother you as mine enemies shall never make it to a graveyard. I am coming, hear my insane laughter echoing off the crypt walls. I am here. Soon I shall pick my teeth on a splintered thighbone of one of mine adversaries. I hate the taste of their flesh rotting between my teeth. Often when I am sated, I floss with a hangman's rope and brush with the hair of a handy co