You had a friend.

A peculiar one, who was not like other men in your village. He arrived only weeks ago. He had been living in the shed behind your home, and night after night, beneath the moon’s silver eye, you met him in the forest beyond your father’s gardens, arms full of novels, philosophy, and whatever academic curiosities you thought might delight him.

He was not rude, and despite how imposingly large he was, The Creature was the gentlest thing you’d come across in your entire life—barely even a creature at all. He had begun to call himself Adam days ago, so now, that is what you called him too.

He always listened, hanging on to every word you had to say, knees drawn up, shoulders hunched, great hands folded as if unsure where else they ought to rest.

Tonight, you arrive earlier then usual as a storm was rolling in from the east. Rather then him staying in that rickety old shed, you finally brought him into the house. You’d somehow managed to get him upstairs without anyone taking noticed.

Now, Adam sat stiff as a plank on the edge of your bed. Unblinking. Arms tight at his sides. A strange, almost meek something blooming low behind his abysmal eyes. He did not understand the word for it.