Evans pulled up to the manor gate in his puke green BMW. He came out of the car. Evans was a short fat man with balding gray hair, and beady ratlike eyes. But what he was about to do would set them all straight. He had been on the Pike town council for 20 plus years, representing Acorn county proudly.

All those jerks would be set straight.
He looked at the manor. “I'll be damned.”

Old man Garbanov's manor was like one of those ones from those B-movies Evans watched as a child. Reminded him oddly of the German film Nosferatu. Legend said Garbanov's manor was brought brick by brick from Romania, but who believed that? He thought it was a waste.
The gate opened, and Evan's drove through it. His stomach felt funny. Probably those donuts , thought Evans.

…

Evans went up to the door. His knock was answered by a thin , heavily accented voice saying, “Come in.”

He walked in, past the portraits of glowering Garbanov's from the past. He came to a living room, with a bear rug, and very little light coming from bee's wax candles. The smell reminded Evan's of his mother in laws funeral.
A smell of death.
On the couch, sat Garbanov, drinking from an ale mug. He abruptly stopped. “Ah, Mr. Evans. So glad to see you. Ale?”
Evans stared at his long monkey like fingers and black talons.
“No, thank you.”
“Have a seat then?”
“No...I prefer standing.”
“Very well then.”
Evans knew Garbanov was old, but Garbanov looked young, like in his 30s. Reminded him of late pictures of Poe, except his eyes were different.. Garbanov's were black, and pierced through the soul. Like a raven's.
“Well then, down to business. What did you want Evans?” Garbanov sipped more ale.
“People around these parts don't take kindly to foreigners. 'Specially ones that buy off people's farms. “ Evans reached into his coat, with as much drama as he could muster. His drama teacher from high school was probably rolling in his grave.

Garbanov read the paper. His eyes burned with malice.
Evans smiled mentally. His plan was going well. He would sue the fool for all he had. More money for the town!

Garbanov crumpled the paper in one hand, his knuckles turned white as ice.

“You cannot build there. You forced Mr. Davidson into selling his land Garbanov. “

The man's eldritch eyes burned into Evans own, like hot red brands.

“No!”, Garbanov shrieked. “No one will stop me! Not this time! “ Garbanov stood, hands at his side like an angry headmaster. Evans shrank.

Evans tried to back away, his feet wouldn't move, it was as if they were in cement! His eyes wouldn't leave those burning eyes! Garbanov smiled a serpent's smile.
Fangs, long as daggers, came out of Garbanov's mouth.
Evans screamed silent screams as Garbanov ripped out his throat like a hungry lion...