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have been given substantially greater license to tarry beyond
the threshold of our solid world, to more completely master
their desires. The Shepherd has gathered together some of
the greatest of your kind, and he means to see them dance
and kill and die.”
“I’ve gleaned most of this already,” I interjected, “but
what I seek is the precise meaning of the Game. What is the
purpose of it all?” My words trailed into the silence, leaving
small whispering motes of insecurity as they traveled over
black peaks and graven anthracite.
“The last time a winner was declared,” my host replied,
“tens of thousands of people were found impaled upon the
leafless winter branches of an entire forest. The jaws of
every man, woman, and child overflowed with sparkling
gold coins that littered the forest floor like yellow leaves at
the height of autumn. At the time, there was a killer well
known for this very treatment. That killer, it is believed, won
the Shepherd’s Game.”
I shook my head. “Nearly every greedy child has at
some time or other been forced to heed the cautionary tale
of ‘The Golden Leaves of Winter,’ though the Shepherd of
Wolves wasn’t mentioned in any iteration I’ve ever heard.”
Despite my intrigue, this was far from the definitive answer
I was hoping for. I was beginning to understand why the
supplicants of the ancient darkness were willing to meet
with me.
The being from the deep darkness continued. “But you
understand what might come of such a Game, specifically
one that reaches its conclusion after the Great Darkness?”
I could feel the gloom around me tighten, trying to hold
me in the chair. I decided to answer the creature’s question
honestly. “Certainly. Entire populations of people could
die, perhaps much more. I know the identities of only two
living players—myself and Jack Lantern—and I can only
imagine the dreams that might spring from our killing fields.
I can see it now—a nearly endless Halloween, burning
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