Pale spectre

The spectre looms in the shadows, its pale, translucent form shivering with the cold of the night. Its face is a skull, its eyes empty sockets. It wears a ragged cloak, its tattered hem trailing across the floor. It moves slowly, like a ghostly breeze, its presence making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. It is a being from beyond the veil, a phantom of terror and foreboding. Its name is whispered in the dark, a word of fear and dread.