The story begins here
The sun died behind the figure just as he reached the handrails of the ladder. In the twilight I was able to see a very tall, wraith-thin figure wearing a sort of monkish robe and a hood that hid his face in deep shadow. The figure reached up to its face with a bony hand and pulled back the hood to reveal the face of skeleton.
The man was so emaciated that it seemed he should be on his death bed, with skin that lay tight over bone and eyes sunken deep within the sockets. He was not old, or so I guessed, for his face bore an odd neutral quality that made it impossible to be certain of his age. The man's voice boomed, "Are you frightened, little blogger?"
"I'm concerned about your intentions," I said quietly, "but I'm pretty sure I can take out a someone as frail as you." I'm normally courteous to a fault, but have this rule that when someone is deliberately trying to scare me, they forfeit the right to courtesy.
The man responded to my defensive rudeness with a loud and apparently sincere laugh, "You might be surprised, at how sturdy I am." he told me.
I shrugged and remained silent because, truth to tell, I was angry and my throat closes up when I'm angry making it a struggle to speak. After a moment of waiting for a reply, the man continued, "I'll tell you what, blogger, how about if I give you a real story? A story so extraordinary that it would turn you overnight into the most famous blogger in the world, if only people believed you? I said nothing, not particularly curious about his story. It was obvious by now that the man was a blowhard of the sort I'd met too often before.
The light was fading quickly and I thought about starting down the ladder. Which is more dangerous? To share the roof with a crazy guy in the dark or to be climbing down a ladder into deep fog with a crazy guy above you?