Skystruck
an excerpt

A few things happened at once, at that point that a voice that was most certainly not the figure on the floor's voice (unless he happened to be a particularly talented ventriloquist) spoke from the door. The man, who not so long ago sported a book, blinked and started to turn to the presence. The figure on the floor siezed a rusted letter opener from the floor, not with it's mangled hands but one thin, bandaged foot, and proptly flung it right across the man's twisted shoulder. The letter opener whined through the air, streaked past his ear, snapped a hair or two and hit something with a solid, heavy thunk.
The man blinked again and turned the rest of the way to look over his shoulder after the initial confusion had passed. In the door was another figure, another man, who was idly poking a thin cut to his cheek, a scant hair's bredth away from the point of the letter opener, now embedded in the side of the door. The man in the door seemed younger, somehow more alive, than the other two. Not as young perhaps in appearance as the thing creature on the floor, but more vibrant. His hair, layers of red and blonde, short and tousled, his eyes an odd shade of brown that seemed to get more intense as it spiralled around to the pupil. Among his attire were a pair of jeans ruined from mid-shin down, an untucked and bloodstained dress shirt, one fingerless glove and a pair of pink flip-flops.
"As I said." The man at the door repeated calmly, as though he had not just had a letter opener hurled at his face by a rather expert foot, or that it had in fact nicked his cheek as was bleeding freely. "Nothing. Little one is still on a vow of silence." The figure smiled. Only he didn't, as smiling would imply many things that his expression simply did not give. Smiling was happiness, friendliness, amusement or at the very least non-confrontational. The man's smile was like a wolf bearing teeth, and about as welcome as a shark bite. It was, suffice to say, a rather unpleasant and unsettling kind of expression.