Nándi is a 32-year-old horror author who is slowly becoming a living nightmare. He was a child stolen by fey and replaced by a changeling. He was experimented on, terrified, and threatened with supernatural threats like being fed to trolls, making him sprout trees, turning him into the mud, and the like. When during his early adolescence he escaped, he started traveling the world. He learned languages, worked odd jobs and ultimately settled back in his home country to continue his work as a horror author.

Below will be small stories added as I learn more about the character myself.

The friend that was buried alive.

His real name was Kövesdi Ferenc, but we all called him Frankie. Frankie and I used to frequent the same literary pubs for a long time. We often talked about writing and horror fiction, as well as real-life horror stories, true crime, and the sort. One night, we got really drunk and talked about our fears to one another. I told him I'm terrified of a rock troll eating me because I was too mischievous. He laughed, thought I was joking, and he revealed to me that he is terribly claustrophobic to the point that he can't take the metro. I neatly stored that piece of information in some dark recess of my mind.

After around 3 years of knowing each other and being part of our friend group at Három Holló, he revealed that he published a horror short story that received critical acclaim! We were all glad, but I was shocked. Why did he never tell us about it until now? Then I realized. I went home and read the story. It was basically my first draft of something I was working on and asked his opinion about earlier. He gave me some suggestions that he seems to have implemented here and got published. Critical fucking acclaim for some half-baked body-horror. Preposterous. That night I visited him with drinks to congratulate him on his success. Of course, I put some of the good stuff in his drinks, just some hard sleeping pills, the kind of drug you should not mix with alcohol on a good day. Frankie was knocked out and I knew what was next. I bound him, gagged him, and I drove him to Megyeri Cemetery. I knew the operation wouldn't be easy, but all you need is a convincing smile and some money. I found a plot that was already dug out, but not used up yet. I brought a casket and put his body in there. Putting him in the whole like that was difficult alone, it was not a pretty operation. The casket dropped, I heard the banging of his head, and suddenly, muffled screams. It wasn't loud enough through his gags to be audible to anyone else, but I could barely contain my laughter. When I put him in there finally, I was giddy to finish the impromptu burial. I left that night and hadn't visited since. After all, that would have been a risk, and going to jail would have probably been terrible for my career.

This was around 5 years ago now.