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I stopped to examine the anomaly, and while the dust
and filth betrayed nothing useful, the silence showed
signs of having been broken. Moving beyond the stairs, I
encountered a set of wide double doors. The word above
them plainly stated: Morgue.
An old darkness can be the deadliest of poisons—
soaking up shadows unbroken by purifying daylight,
mixing with the ghosts of unseeing eyes, and filling up
with fears that cannot abide the light. It was just such a
darkness that spilled from behind the morgue door, proving
my sisters correct for the second time. After the molten
void had thoroughly flooded the room, creating the ideal
habitat for nightmares, I began to hear the toothsome glide
of horrible things—deep-diving horrors called up from the
sunless depths of sleep.
Somewhere in front of me, I heard a voice. “You’ve left
nightmares behind from your last visit, little artist. They’ve
grown enormous and terrible in your absence. They would
just love to see you again.” Something immediately began
pushing into my mind. At the same time, a physical presence
drew close to me, reaching out. Before the invading forces
had a chance to unveil themselves, my father stepped in
front of me. Bellowing, the axe fell, cleaving into flesh,
bone, and noxious spirit. His rage elicited some of the
most exquisite shrieks I’ve ever heard. My father’s jeering
laughter chased the inhuman screams to where they
seemed to tumble and die away, deep into the unwaking
spaces beyond or merely behind the material world. What
a wonderful place, this city of yours! He exclaimed in a
voice of steel and thunder. So full of dreams that bleed and
scream and die!
With the gloom parted, I could see clearly the most
conspicuous contents of the room—the riven body of one
of the quartet of women. She had the expressionless eyes
of a bird. Her mouth outlined only her last cracked breath.
She had been dead for hours, unceremoniously stuffed into
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