The room was a darkened prison; ruled by the man with the claws; who was hunched over the workbench. He was sharpening the metal claws, one by one, and the screech of metal on metal ripped through the stifling silence. Another sound: the whimper of a small child, locked inside the room that was her own nightmare.

His attention turned on the child, who was cowering in the corner, beneath a table. A cry of anger escaped the man in the striped sweater, who raised his newly sharpened claws and made a move toward her; preparing to paint the walls with her blood.

But as he approached the table and bent down, creepily peering in at the frightened child, something strange took place. A gust of wind stirred from inside of the room, sending the creepy, scarred man sprawling. The room began to spin, at first slow, then sped faster and faster, until he had to close his eyes and then it was over. And then he opened his eyes…