The hinges creaked as he pushed the unlatched door open. They all turned toward him, their red eyes sparkling. Chance swallowed, studying each of their faces. The first was a young man, thin and nervous—jittery. Hungry, Chance realized. Beside him, an older man, looked older, salt and pepper hair. His face was set in a frown. He looked as tired as Chance felt. The last, young again, but muscular. There was a terrifying stillness to him, but not an ease. His fist was all balled up. After looking at Chance, he was the first to turn away.
With slow steps, not saying a word, Chance eased his way over the threshold. They sat in a semi-circle, and there was an open chair waiting for him to complete the circuit.
With a groan, he lowered himself into his seat and tried to smile. The young, nervous one smiled back. The other two didn’t.
“How?” the monosyllable came from the muscular youth.
“What?” asked Chance.
“How,” Salt and Pepper answered, “were you turned?”
Chance looked up into the ceiling and the electric light above them. Blowing out his candle, he sighed.
“When I was a child . . . ” he began.
Tale Told 