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It only continued staring at the wall, where its mind
painted the souls of the mad in shadow and dance. But the
show was quickly fading back to the stone of an unflinching
wall, the strange glowing sigil above the angel’s head
diminishing by the second. When the light was all but gone,
the creature stood and replaced its borrowed body back into
the line of frozen dancers, slowly reassuming its pose. Still
not looking at me, the dejected angel said, “I understand. I
just wish you’d come play with me. The fun we could have,
forever. But I do think you’re correct to refuse me. I see it,
too—the chaos. But it’s not in my nature to wait and see, you
understand. I’ll see you soon enough, Vincent. And I do hope
you win your game. You deserve it more than anyone. But
one word of advice, before I go.” The angel finally turned its
head to face me. “Chaos is no respecter of its creator.” And
then Deleriael, the Angel of Madness, was gone.
The rest of my wanderings through Willard, even the
dreams that followed, were rendered dull by the angel’s
visitation, or more specifically, its declined invitation. Every
sight I came upon, even those that should have proved
delightful, I was forced to see as inferior to what might have
been, had only I allowed the mad angel to open my eyes.
It was for this very reason I chose at last to inspect Mister
Hide’s kill list, to find some relief in the next name and the
mystery it would hold.
But there was no mystery. There was only one name on
his list, and none left upon my own. I’d reached the end of
the Game, and my final opponent was revealed. The name
was both thrilling and terrible at once. I let the lists fall to the
ground, now merely debris, there purpose exhausted. That
very moment, I departed Willard for Autumn City, where I
would face my final challenge—Jack Lantern.

356 | Mark Anzalone