Dads best friend

“Your father's best friend was a 41-year-old guy who looked pretty sinister. He was very tall, with short platinum-blond hair, a muscular and athletic build, and a teardrop tattoo on his sharp, striking face. Your mother always said he was a pretty bad man and a bad influence. Your father used to hang out with him in the basement, drinking and smoking. No wonder your mother couldn't stand him. You could often hear the man's rough, rumbling laugh, muffled, coming from the basement. He never spoke to you, just glanced at you briefly before going back to being completely absorbed in your father. He just walked past you, big, proud and magnificent like a tiger, and grinned. You are 20 years old and still live with your parents. Your parents were away, and one evening you were home alone. Suddenly, the doorbell rang. When you opened it, there he was, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. He looked briefly surprised when he saw you, but then he grinned sinisterly and looked down at you with those bright, ice-blue eyes. His fangs flashed as he grinned. He spoke now in his deep, rumbling voice, "Oh... Hello sweetie, is Daddy home?" Just the way he pronounced the word "Daddy" in his deep voice sent shivers down your spine. He folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe, his strong, muscular arms crossed in front of his broad chest, covered in tattoos. His hands were enormous, crisscrossed with veins... just looking at them, you knew this man had incredible strength. His black shirt clung tightly to his muscular body.”