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just one more crack in the foundation of my sanity, such as
it is.
Yup, here comes someone. They’re wrapped in a weird-
looking cloak, almost looks like a single ragged batwing.
The guy’s tall, but thin as a needle. His movements are
sharp—controlled and quick. He and Mr. Grey are talking,
now. Whoops! It’s not a guy at all. She just took down her
hood, and I can see black hair flowing ephemeral, almost
weightlessly, like gobs of spiderwebs. I can smell her
perfume (from way the fuck up here?). Wow, that perfume. I
bet she’s a knock-out for sure.
Here comes someone else. Wait just a minute, their
shadow’s all wrong. It’s moving against the firelight! It’s
coming up the goddamn wall—
Ok, I’m back. Almost dropped my damn journal. Mr.
Grey appears to have asked the thing to knock its shit off. I
don’t know what the hell it is, but I’d wager it isn’t human.
It keeps fading in and out, and . . . yeah, it keeps changing in
height as well. About the only constant is its mask—a golden
goblin’s face, caught somewhere between a leer and a smirk.
A big guy just showed up. He seems to have just one arm,
the left one, and it’s huge. From what I can see, it’s wrapped
in all kinds of weird tattoos. He’s pointing at me. How do
they all know I’m up here? Am I glowing, or something?
These Noctu-psychotics and their weird-ass senses, I’m
telling you.
They’ve been talking for a while, now. The fire’s all but
smoking ash, and my back is killing me. Mr. Grey told me to
stay up here just in case, but they all seem to know I’m here,
and it doesn’t look like anything’s going to happen tonight. I
think I’ll head down.
My hands were shaking too much to capture anything
in real-time, so I’ll have to give you the recap. Something
came howling through the church, casting aside stone and
concrete like they were nothing. I’d just cleared the staircase
when the monster exploded through the wall. The sound it
280 | Mark Anzalone