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CHAPTER NINETEEN

Happy Halloween, Family Man! Now, I’m sure I could
find your real name somewhere in this journal of yours, but
rooting through your belongings would be the height of bad
manners. I’m not a rude person, despite what you may have
heard. By the way, you gave me quite a shot back there, right
in the ol’ breadbasket, you did. Ouch! Those big scary claws
of yours are quite sharp—sharp and cold as the wind that
blows across the clockwork stars, all wound up and glowing.
You ever look at the stars when you’re asleep? I do. I see
little strings of glittering silk connecting them all together,
making a web. And I see a big funny monster grinning out
from the deepest part of that web. But like all those damn
things, I can see the winding key on its back, turning and
turning and turning. Just another machine in need of skin, I
guess.
Anyway, seems I’ve let myself ramble on. I like it when
I ramble, though. It’s genuine, unconscious—organic. Or
maybe, just maybe, that’s when the machines take over.
When you just stop thinking and act. Ha! Still I ramble.
While I’d love for the two of us to sit around like two
monsters spinning bloody yarns, we really should discuss a
few things, don’t you think? We should chat about this little
game we’ve been forced to play. I’m pretty sure I’m starting
to get the gist of things. But unlike me, you’ve chosen to
pretend you don’t know what the game’s all about. You do
know though, and I’m afraid I’ve dawned upon the reason

286 | Mark Anzalone