Samael's Head Minion

“My footman.  The Angel of the Grave.  He's quite a looker, if you fancy wraiths.”  Samael wolf-whistled.  “Get your luscious ectoplasm up here, helmsman!” he called.  The smoke spewing from the smokestacks billowed upward.  I was hit by a wave of disapproval, like when my Calculus teacher graded my 'creative' derivations.  A black cloud frothed before us at the edge of the outcropping.  Mummified feet with rotting bandages slipped forth: out stepped a skeletal figure covered in a thick black cloak.  Dumah.  The hood over his face pooled in his eye sockets and nasal cavity. 

The phantom advanced in broken movements.  He held out bone fingers as if scraping the air. 

I screamed for the life of me.  “Get that thing away from me now!”

“Silence, Shannon,” Samael demanded.  “Where are your manners?”  The phantom tilted its head.&