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roads into the surrounding woods. The sound of strange
industry and muted conversations could be overheard from
the basements and attics of no small number of houses. It
also appeared the people had renamed their township for
some reason, as I found the name Lastrygone written upon a
large sign set out by the only road connecting the city with
the rest of the world. Overall, I found the little hamlet quite
likable.
At last, just before dawn, I arrived at the abandoned
residence of Martin Crook, the first recorded victim of Miss
Patience. There were few occupied buildings near it, as if
the structure had been ostracized. I entered the decaying
Dutch Colonial—which looked untended since the murder,
some ten or fifteen years ago—immediately touched by the
cold echo of past atrocity. The gloom tangibly thickened
as I neared the cellar door, and the basement stairs held
surprisingly firm as I descended them. The flesh of the house
may have all but rotted away, yet the bones of its dead body
remained strong—no doubt reinforced by the wicked deed’s
refusal to abandon its home, preferring to keep the light of
that wickedness alive and burning.
The basement was small and earthen, which of course was
why Miss Patience had chosen it. Surprisingly, the large hole
in the floor leading to her underground tunnels was meager
by way of adornments, despite its historical significance—
unless you counted stolen dreams, in which case this was
far from her first documented kill. I looked more closely
at the edges of the pit, and I noticed a small collection of
teeth protruding from the inside rim, as if the opening were
indeed designed to resemble a kind of mouth. I’m sure it
was only the first of many mouths that ended up swallowing
Mr. Crook that fateful night. The collection was comprised
of mostly human and animal, though a smaller assortment
were beyond my ability to identify. Nevertheless, I was
fairly certain I was gazing upon fragments of the Tower of
Teeth. I wasn’t sure what they signified, if anything. They
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