He is, by his own admission, an ordinary, pleasant guy. He may be the quiet man sitting next to you on the bus; behind you in church; or watching the children play in the park. You wouldn't notice him, or hear him. But if you asked him, he would volunteer that he treasures his friends. For the most part he likes his life, but night brings on terror, when the repulsive, wraithlike men in their pinstripe suits gather around his bed, hissing an unceasing, garbled message through hideously crimson lips. What do they want, these unworldly creatures? Why can't they leave him alone to do his work?...