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Willard was likely a Mecca for the mad, so my incredulity
quickly faded, leaving behind only the hope of encountering
more of the fascinating, whited creatures.
I slowed my pace through the structure, hoping to give
the renewed darkness time to return my spent vigor. My
enthusiasm for the coming event was undiminished despite
the recent excitement, but my body was weary from its work.
When I saw light in a distant hallway, I knew the moment of
our meeting was almost upon me. I drew up to the lit spaces,
wrapped in a thick plume of shadow and silence, and beheld
an amazing gallery of beasts.
These were not the low creatures of the earth, but the great
loping princes of the hunt—wolves, cougars, even a lion. I
wondered if I would be dressed in such finery. They were all
in cages lining the walls of what seemed an antechamber to
a much larger room. The perfume of death swelled thickly
from the spaces beyond the showroom. I entered the final
chamber, relishing each moment.
The room contained wonders piled atop wonders—
hunters dressed in the skins of predatory beasts, and beasts
dressed in the skins of hunters. They were all displayed atop
crumbling tables in the middle of the massive room. Each
was backlit by rusty spotlights, which threw wicked shadows
upon the walls, revealing dream and dreamer connected
through an umbilicus of shadow stretching between them,
inextricably binding the two beings—perhaps even drawing
them closer together. I approached the center of the display,
where loomed a great monster dressed in the leathers of
several hunters. Curious about the creature that warranted
such honor, I reached out to examine it.
I felt pain before I felt stupidity. The monster was none
other than Mister Hide, and he greeted me with a long blade
to my abdomen. Thankfully, I had instinctively turned,
denying the blade access to any favored organs, but the
impact forced my eager sisters from my grasp. I seized
another blade bound for my throat with a naked hand, and
322 | Mark Anzalone