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to a maelstrom, roaring out of the north like a goddamned
hurricane. It was as if the opposing elemental powers were
joining the fray alongside their favorite killers, trying to tilt
the scales.
Neither combatant seemed particularly affected by the
warring elements exploding around them, however, as Jack
continued to teach the monster more lessons than it cared
to learn. Somewhere within that howling storm, the church
began to come down around me. I barely managed to get
out the back, as the sky fell bright and blazing and the wind
became a living, killing thing. I ran and ran, never looking
back.
After a few days of hiding out, I returned to my home. It
was just as I left it—dull and empty. I waited weeks for Mr.
Grey to show, but he never did.
After about six months, I decided to travel into the
country—to a very specific and fascinating attic—to see if
Mr. Grey had removed his journals. He hadn’t. I never saw
him again, but I did read of a severed head that turned up
on a random porch, carved to look like a jack-o’-lantern—
triangles for eyes and a scooped-out skull filled with candy,
adorned with a very particular stovepipe hat. Jack Lantern
had claimed another victim. No one knew who the head
belonged to. I’m sure no one ever will—except me.
My books are selling like hotcakes now. Winning awards,
even. There’s no doubt about it—The Tales of Ebenezer The
Immortal are a hit. I’ll never have to worry about running
out of ideas, either. I’ve got over a hundred years of material
to draw from.

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