A whispering upon the breeze that swiftly hops from ear to ear, words spreading like hungry fleas, dark omens for all to hear. They murmur it in marbled courts, they mutter it in crude ghettoes, it dwells in every family's thoughts: he's struck again...

The Red Pierrot



Perhaps you sense this mounting dread, and ask about, "Who bears that name, which pierces hearts, a black spearhead with point sharpened by fear and fame?"

Some say he is an eldritch shade, a wicked phantasm sent to snatch any young child whose feet have strayed too far from safe homes locked and latched. In truth, he is nothing so strange, a mortal man like you and I. A killer, utterly deranged, yet cunning as the sharpest spy.

He paints his skin as black as night, then daubs his face with purest white, while in his eyes glows crimson light that paralyses men with fright. A great long axe he bears in hand, to cut down guardsmen where they stand, and hook around the little necks of boys and girls that he collects. Those poor souls whom he takes away never shall see the light of day, stolen by night from their beds and soon returned- as severed heads.

Once the moon's risen, stay inside! Search for a safe place to hide, and there remain until the dawn, until the murd'rous monster's gone...