Excerpt from a story I'm writing. =)

I felt along the wall with one hand, feeling the wet moss that clung onto the old bricks. So damp. So brittle.
Something light brushed against my leg. I jump, holding my cane up protectively.
“Easy, boy,” I heard a nasally, old voice say from a door not far from me, “That be my cat.”
“Your cat?” I paused.
“Yes, boy. Now come. Come, come. There’s a storm coming. I see the dark clouds behind the church towers. Do you hear the thunder yet, boy?”
I listened carefully.
“I don’t hear no thunder.” I replied.
“Deaf too, boy?” he asked. I heard a wince, then a light footstep in water. I assumed he was limping towards me. Moments later, I felt a shriveled, wrinkled hand touching my shoulder.
“Come.” he repeated, lightly pulling at my shirt. “Come, come.”

Moments later, the door shut behind me and the man had me remove my coat and hat so he could put it on a nearby table.
“My name be Mister Greg Plunger, boy.” the man said as he led me to a table and had me seated. “What be your name?”
“Amos. Amos Medilin, sir.”
“Amos…” Mister Plunger pondered on that name. “Good name, boy. Good name.” He moved a char close to mine and winced softly as he sat in the chair. “Reminds me of me sons.”
“Your sons?”
“Oh, yes, me sons. Left me when me harlot of a wife left me.” he said. I could sense anger brimming in those words.
“You wouldn’t think me rude if I asked to see your face, would you?”
I shifted in my seat. What did he mean by this? Could he not see my face?
“L-Look, I really should go, Mister Plunger. Thank you for your hospitality, but my family might be expecting me.”
I quickly got up and felt my way back to the entrance. As I pulled on my coat, I could hear Mister Plunger slowly moving toward me.
“You really don’t want to be going, boy.” he said with a serious voice. “The world is dangerous!”
“I can manage.” I replied. I gripped the doorknob and twisted the handle. However, before I could open it and leave, I felt his hand squeeze my shoulder painfully and, to my horror, the muzzle of a pistol at my skull.
“Close the door, boy.”
My hand was shaking, my palms sweaty. I wanted to leave this cruel atmosphere, to flee as fast as I was able. Mister Plunger pressed the gun against my head and I hesitantly closed it.
“The world is dangerous. People are dangerous. Stay with me, and you shall live.” Mister Plunger stroked my cheek. I shuddered in terror.
“Why?”
Mister Plunger didn’t respond. Instead, he took my hand in his and raised it up to his eyes. I suspected that maybe his eyes were disfigured or maimed in some way, but nothing. Nothing in the world could’ve prepared me for the horror. He forcibly took my index and middle fingers and pressed them into his eyelids. I expected to feel eyeballs, but they went in too deep. They went right into the eye sockets.
I opened my mouth, wanting to scream, but no words came. Instead, a wave of nausea and horror overtook me. My knees buckled and I fell, striking my head into the table, knocking me out of my senses.

He moved a char close to mine and winced softly as he got in.

He forcibly took my index and middle fingers and pressed them into his eyelids, they went in too deep

It might help to put a conjunction after the comma. I don't think you'd be ignoring something important if you disagreed with my advice, but I tend to look at the little things. xP

“Close the door, boy.”
I closed the door.

Take it or not, I think you're very capable of adding some more description into Amos' action, since you were able to put detail into the mossy wall. Did he just close it? Or were hesitation and panic teasing at Amos' nerves, making his hand tremble almost to the point of vibration as he let go of the chilly but vital exit from this cruel aura? (I shouldn't have written that, it's like I'm trying to write it for you. xP Sorry.)

I notice none of my (hopefully constructive) criticism has nothing to do with the horror of the excerpt. With a decently firm stomach, I think it was good, considering I pushed my head farther back into my chair's back-thing. If you wanted to make it creepier, maybe at the end this antagonist (or whoever) brushes his finger(tip/nail)s against his face, sending a chill down Amos' spine, or something else kind of spooky with untrustworthy contact. Ah, horror really gets my hyper side running!

Hope I was of... Some assistance. xD From a scale of 1-10 I'd probably give it a 9.5 or higher.

Spoiler:

Although some bit-of-a-stretch plotting could be put in to make ramping not absolutely necessary, I agree, it could use a bit more of a creepy edge before the whole thing with the gun.

*reads updated version* That's better.
Now that I've read back, I noticed you mentioned water... Could that incorporate with the horror you want to ramp up more by some chance?

Cyn431 wrote:Ah, but a plot hole there might not be! It depends on how you want to create the old man's past. (again I began rambling to the point of writing myself, so part of this is in the spoiler. xP)

Spoiler:

Although some bit-of-a-stretch plotting could be put in to make ramping not absolutely necessary, I agree, it could use a bit more of a creepy edge before the whole thing with the gun.

*reads updated version* That's better.
Now that I've read back, I noticed you mentioned water... Could that incorporate with the horror you want to ramp up more by some chance?

Cyn431 wrote:Ooh I likey. At least it's some sort of source of life's necessities (food, water, et cetera--or is it etcetera?)

Okay, I was wondering about how old he was. That would add some more tragedy to the situation.