There were four of them. Corpses. One was a young girl in a gown, in tatters, barely reaching to her ankles. Her hair was unkempt, face black. And there was the old man. White hair, dark sunglasses covering the eyes. Thankfully enough, perhaps. Or headless, perhaps. There was also the old lady, his aunt. Broken teeth and the glee of a toothing baby. Kept waving her hand, as if enjoying herself. And there was a dark form on the cupboard. Hung over the corner by the lapel of his long overcoat. He was afraid of the door banging into the young girl when he opened it. He knew it was right behind. Perhaps causing any movement would make it come alive. He sneaked in gently, trying to find an as inobtrusive a corner as possible. For he belongs there. People come and go from that room. But he is still there. Sits in a corner, hugging his bare knees, feeling a little cold. Furtive eyes, he sits, in a corner.