"Nighttooth, he lives in the forest."
My father begun, his baritone voice already setting an eary tone to the story as he sank down into the chair next to our bunk bed. The night light only illuminated the left side of his face, leaving the right side in darkness. My brother and I quivered under our duvets.
"He is a beast which feeds of children. But not any children. He feeds of those who don't sleep at night, those who cry and those who laugh. When he hears the sound of children after bedtime, his blood thirst kick in. Oh, and believe me, he will hear you. He has the hearing of an owl, he can hear you from miles away. With the jaws of a bear, he can crush your skull into flour. The body of a boar means almost nothing can hurt him. With the arms and brain of a man, he can solve any puzzle and open any lock. And the legs of a wolf allows him to move silently and stealthily through the forest."
Now, as a grown up, this doesn't sound very frightening. But, when I was there, in the dim light as a mere ten year old, it made my tiny body shake of fear. I curled around my stuffed animal, an elephant which I was quite fond of. If I recall correctly, his name was Mister Elephant. As I hugged the elephant closely, my father continued.
"It was a night, several years ago. Nighttooth was in his den, pacing. It had been years since he last ate."