Floyd had retired to his room for the remainder of what had turned out to be a very, very long night. He got 'permission' from his house guests to fetch a few small pieces of wood from downstairs and light a fire in his fireplace... the only thing that made the room's indomitable chill somewhat bearable. Once it was going, he wrapped himself up in several blankets, curled up in his chair, and tried not to think about the horrors that floated across his mind like debris from a shipwreck.

He was having only mild success when someone knocked on the bedroom door. Floyd knew... or guessed... who it was.

"Come in," Floyd rasped, shifting underneath his wraps to find a more dignified and less comfortable position. The door wasn't locked. Why should it have been? The thing he would have locked it against could just as easily come up through the floor.

The bedroom door opened, then closed again; cold air drifted into the room along with Floyd's visitor. For a man of such size, December moved with a subdued, silent grace, almost floating across the distance between the door and Floyd's chair. The temperature dropped steadily with each step December took.

"I was expecting you," said Floyd. "I'd offer you a chair, but..."

There was only one chair in the room.

"I am just as comfortable standing up," said December.

"Hmph... well that might be true NOW, but when you get to be my age-"

"I have already exceeded your age by several decades, Mr. D'Arcy."

"Oh. I-I didn't know."

"I would have found it highly suspicious if you HAD known. However, my age is not the topic I came here to discuss."

"Of course not," said Floyd. "You want to know about HIM. The rapist. The man with no mouth.

"Him, and all the others. Your grandson had some very interesting things to say.... none of which would seem to relate to your current situation. At least, not on the surface. We must delve deeper, and it is quite fortunate that we have at our disposal someone who has seen many of these events first-hand."

"Fortunate, yes," Floyd groaned. "Or cursed."

"Pardon?"

"I said cursed. Don't worry... its just a thing us old people say sometimes. With this town's history being what it is, it almost seems like Bephal is cursed. Bephal and everybody in it."

"Perhaps it is."

"Bah," Floyd dismissed the thought with a shake of his head. "Montfort's seen worse, I think. Every town has its tragedies... we just make a bigger deal out of ours than most. We make a big deal, and then we try twice as hard to forget. We're funny that way."

"Forgetting is not in your best interest," said December. He was standing beside Floyd's chair, and Floyd felt a distinct drop in temperature. "Nor is unnecessary delay."

"Ah... I... yes. Him." Floyd sighed loudly, closing his eyes for a moment to gather his wits... and to stop his heart from pounding so loudly. "It was seven years ago. Summer. It was a very bad summer. When I was a boy, Bephal was the kind of place you could leave your doors unlocked day or night. It hadn't been that way for a long time... but that summer was worse. People not only set the locks, but they put bars over the windows and shoved furniture in front of the doors. I don't think it did them any good; he was a strong one... yes he was."

"Who?" said December.

"Dorath Chesterson. It's a high-sounding name, but the man who belonged to it was anything but. I knew his parents... his father and I grew up together, and his mother... there wasn't a sweeter woman in town. It broke both our hearts when she died. The birth was bad... she didn't make it, and the boy barely did himself. Wasn't long after that we knew the boy wasn't right. He didn't cry like the other kids did. He made noises, sure enough... but not like you'd think. Me made these little muffled sounds... and if he got mad, he screech like a bird. Doctors said there wasn't anything wrong with his mouth, that the problem was that the boy's brain didn't cook long enough. Or maybe it cooked TOO much; I dunno. He grew up different. He was slow... never learned much of anything. Never learned to talk. He could understand you if you didn't talk fast or use too many big words, but he never could get the hang of fixing his mouth to make proper speech. He could do animals, though... bird calls, especially. I swear, that boy could fool the birds themselves, if he tried, but there wasn't much money in bird-calls. When his father died... natural causes, thank the gods... I took him in. Gave him odd jobs to do, and paid him more than he was worth. He was a young man, then. And while the other young men were learning their trades, he was sweeping floors or cleaning windows here at the inn. And carrying heavy things. He was good at that, you see. He was a tall, lanky thing... but he was stronger than two or three big men put together."

"Was there magic involved in his birth?"

"No," said Floyd. "We figured it was just the gods' way of making up for his mind, ya know. For every ounce of dumb, he was a pound and a half of strong. And mean, too. Oh, six days out of seven he was a sweet and gentle as his mother, but on that seventh day... the day you frustrated him or made him made... you'd better be out of arm's reach. He never learned any proper fighting, like with swords or anything, but when he swung his fists, they hit like boulders. And he was a dead shot with a rock. You know how kids are, Mr. December... always making fun of whatever was different? But they didn't make fun of Dorath, no sir. At least, not while he was in rock-throwin distance."

"And you allowed this man to work for you?"

"He was a boy when he started, and he turned into a man when I wasn't lookin'. Heh. He had a crush on Francesca. She was younger than him, but a hell of a lot smarter. See, Dorath knew he was dumb, so he liked to hang around folks that were smarter, so they would look out for him. Like me and Francesca. Hell, Francesca even taught him to write a little bit. She wanted to be a teacher, ya know. But... ehhh... after what happened... she just kinda..."

"What DID happen, Mr. D'Arcy?"

"Dorath was about eighteen when they started. The.. ehhh.." Floyd stared into the fire, trying to find the best way to proceed. Then he remembered who he was talking to, and that December was not likely to be shocked by what followed. "He would find a way into the house. Remember, folks had taken to locking their doors long before this. He used the windows and, when that didn't work, he'd just snatch the door off the hinges and go on in. Always at night. He'd find them asleep, usually. He'd beat the men and tie them up with bed sheets or rope or whatever he could find. Tie them up and leave them in a corner to watch while he... did things... to their wives and daughters. And when he finished, he'd beat the women, too. It was worse for the women. The beatings, I mean. My gods, he would use those fists of his on them... beat them half to death right there in their own house. He'd pound the beauty and softness right out of 'em... leave nothing but...well. You know. And all the while, the husbands were tied up and powerless to do anything to stop it. Some of the women died. Some from the wounds... a few from suicide. Those that didn't usually left town from the shame. They didn't look human any more, you see. Disfigured. Not from knives or fire, but from his fists. It was something about their faces... women's faces... that he just had to hit them over, and over... like he was trying to just ERASE them..."

Floyd shuddered as the images came back... the women...

"Those who survived were not able to identify him?"

"Dorath may have been slow, but he wasn't stupid. He wore a mask. An old burlap sack with eye-holes cut into it. No mouth, though. Just plain cloth where the mouth-opening should be.

"The man with no mouth," said December. "From the boy's vision."

"Funny how nobody caught on to that. It was a pretty damn big clue, seeing as how Dorath was mute. But nobody put it together. It went on for months... over and over... one woman after another. And nobody knew who it was."

"You had no idea... no suspicions..."

"None. Nobody did. It was that way with Filkus, too... and I guess that's another thing about small towns like this. Everybody knows everybody else so well that you THINK you know all there is... But you don't. You know someone since they were born and you just don't suspect them... you let your guard down..."

"A typical human failing," said December. "Perhaps someone from the outside would have seen it, but you were far too close."

"Exactly. Nobody suspected him."

"What about Trisk?"

"What ABOUT him?"

"Trisk was a prominent figure... controlling much of the town. Surely he-"

"Trisk controlled TWO things in this town: The crime, and the magic. Nobody so much as brought a magic light-stone into Bephal without clearing it through Trisk. Now, he didn't have anything to do with Dorath... but he sure benefited from it. Windows and doors wouldn't keep the monster out... but you know what COULD keep him out-"

"Magic," said December.

"The price of Trisk's services doubled that summer. Hmmm...I wonder why? Only the rich could afford a good night of safe, unworried sleep. The rich, and the connected.... and those that had something to offer."

"Perhaps Trisk WAS connected in some way-"

"No," Floyd said quickly. "No, not him. Trisk had a daughter that he loved with all that remained of his heart. He wouldn't knowingly inflict that horror on anyone's wife or daughter without a better reason than simple greed. He took steps to profit from it, most definitely... but he didn't start it."

"But, as with Chesterson, perhaps there was much about him that you did not know."

"Oh, I knew well enough."

"Then, by all means please continue your story. Tell me what happened to this man... the man with no mouth."

"What happened to him? You want to know how it ended, do you? Are you sure?"

"Quite," December replied.

"Well...," Floyd began with a sigh. "I think it would have ended that night regardless of the way it turned out. Nobody really knows what twisted thoughts rage behind madman's skull... I certainly don't. But in hindsight, it makes a kind of wicked sense: I think everything that had happened before... all of the previous attacks... all of the nights leading up to that last full moon of the summer... were just some kind of sick prelude to what he REALLY wanted. He was practicing, you see. Each attack... each rape... was like a dress rehearsal."

"A rehearsal for what?"

"For Francesca..."

---

Dorath lived with us. Not here in the house... but in a storage shack that used to sit in the vacant lot out back. We've since torn that shack down and sold the land to the city for taxes, but back in those days it was a right nicely sized place for old boxes and crates and things that one didn't want dirtying up the house... like Dorath himself, I suppose.

Now, Dorath worked for us and lived on our property, but sometimes he took odd jobs from the neighbors or other townfolk too. That night, I got a visit from the Raymond boy... Raymond owned the big stables out by the edge of the edge of town. Seems there was a big horse auction coming up, and some of the sellers were showing up early to inspect the accommodations for their prized beasts. Yes, sir... but those stables were an awful mess. Terrible. Raymond needed those stables cleaned out by the next morning or there was gonna be hell to pay. Now Raymond only had one son, and even if he wasn't a lazy slackard, there was no way the boy could have handled the job all by himself. So he sent for Dorath.

I sent the Raymond boy on his way to tell his father not to worry... Dorath would be there quicker than a duck on a water-beetle. Then I sent Francesca out to the shed to fetch Dorath. Francesca was fifteen at the time. A good marrying age... just coming into herself, if you know what I mean. She had her share of suiters, but she still had her share of girlish ways. She liked to dally and waste time on useless things, so when she didn't come right back, I just figured she'd found something pretty to stare at in the moonlight. But when I got up to stoke the fire for the second after she left, I realized that maybe something might be amiss. It was late, you know... and Bephal wasn't the safest of places even before the attacks.

So I grabbed my lantern and went lookin' for her. I took my good hunting knife almost as an afterthought. I wasn't really expectin' to find any trouble, but that's typically when trouble shows up. So, armed with an oil lamp and a fairly nasty blade, I walked on out.

I was halfway to the shed when I heard Francesca scream.

It took me a second to realize what it was. I hadn't heard her scream like that since she was a little girl, afraid of frogs and mice. But this was a grown-up scream I heard. Grown up and terrified. And quick... like her air had been cut off real sudden-like, right in the middle of it.

I ran the rest of the way to that shed. I got to the door and kicked it in. Hard to imagine, I know, but I was a bit more lively back then. Plus, the sound of my only daughter screaming put the devil in my bones for sure. I damn near knocked that door off the hinges when I got there.
"Francesca!" I yelled. I didn't hear anything. Not one word or sound. "Francesca, you in here, girl!?"

Of course I knew she was in there.

"FRANCESCA!"

The shed was just one big room, but all the junk we had piled in there over the years had turned the place into a maze. And Dorath lived way back in the far corner. He had made him a little nest back there, and that's where I was going. I made my way through the boxes and sacks and piles of stuff I couldn't remember what it was or where it come from. Now, call me stupid if you want, but it never... NEVER.... occurred to me that Dorath was the one that had made Francesca scream. In fact, I was almost sure that he wasn't in there at all. Hell, we didn't keep tabs of the boy's comings and goings... he was a grown man, after all. I figured that that twisted bastard that raped all those women had snuck in there to hide when Dorath was out, and then here I go sending Francesca right to him! So I go tearin' through that place, jumpin over big bags of this and skirtin' around huge barrels of that.... had my knife in one hand and my lantern in the other... screaming Francesca's name like a wolf at the full moon.

I was just about to round that last corner. I can still see it... three big crates stacked high enough to be taller than a man. There was an old rotten bookcase right next to it, and the bookcase had a hole in the back. I could see through that hole to what was on the other side, but I had to go around the crates to get to it... and when I was passing that bookcase, I caught a glimpse of something on the floor in the far corner of the shed.

It didn't really look like Francesca, but that's who it was... layin' in the pile of rags that Dorath called his bed. She was all bloody and limp like a doll, hair all disheveled, with some of it ripped right out of her skull. Clothes torn half-off... legs splayed open and a big pool of blood between. But she wasn't unconscious. No, she was awake and lookin' right at me. My gods... those eyes. I'll never forget those eyes. My daughter. That monster had raped my daughter.

I tore my face away from that hole and turned to go around those crates-

-but the bastard was standing right behind me.

I didn't see him. I barely heard him. But I FELT him sure enough.

I don't know what he hit me with, but I felt it BREAK when it bounced off my skull. I went down so hard that I was unconscious before I hit the ground.

I was out. Gods only know how long I lay there. Maybe it was a few minutes. Maybe it was hours. I can only hope it wasn't long because I was about to find out that my being there... me barging through that door... didn't amount to a puddle of spit as far as Dorath was concerned. While I lay there bleedin', he just went right on with his work... as if I didn't matter... as if I wasn't EVER gonna wake up. But I DID wake up.

I was already pukin' up my dinner when I got my senses back. The nausea.... I was lucky I didn't choke on the mess, but fortunately I had fallen face down. I stopped my heaving and swallowed down what was left. My knife was gone. My lantern, too. My head was throbbin something fierce... felt like it had cracked open and was leakin' head-guts down the back of my skull. I felt around back there to be sure... but you know, if I had reached back and grabbed a double fist-full of my own brains, it wouldn't have stopped me. I grabbed the first thing I saw. A shovel. Nice heavy one, too... I thought I had lost it years ago, but there it was: a gift from the gods. I took my gift with me... dragging it around that last corner where I saw the...

...well, maybe you KNOW what I saw. Maybe you can guess... maybe you can picture it in your mind, but I swear to the gods that whatever you picture isn't even close to the horror I saw with my own two eyes. You could have every detail right on the money, but if it wasn't YOUR daughter spread out on a bed of rags... usin' her one good unbroken arm to try and push away the man that was violatin' her... tryin' ta fight, but not bein anywhere NEAR strong enough... not even CLOSE... then there's no way in heaven or hell that you can imagine what it was I saw. She couldn't even scream any more, because the beast had taken off his mask and shoved it into her mouth as a gag. So there she lay, choking on the monster's false face, with blood and tears runnin in streaks down her own.

Like I said, my being there didn't stop Dorath at all... didn't even slow him down. He was a monster. Not a man... a monster. From what he had already done, I knew that it was gonna go on for half the night. And then he was gonna beat her. What he had already done was just to keep her quiet. No, the REAL beating was gonna come after he exhausted himself a few hours later.

No. No, no, no I wasn't gonna let that happen.

I think it said it plain enough that Dorath was busy when I came around that corner. He didn't see me coming. And he didn't hear me. The tables was turned now; he had gotten the drop on me, and now I was about to get the drop on him. But I didn't have enough wits about me to sneak up on him quiet and easy-like, I just raised that shovel and charged him, screaming like a banshee.

Dorath looked up at me. He wasn't wearing his mask, ya see... and I saw his face and I saw all that evil beaming up at me like a black sun fixed on his shoulders where his head should be.

I swung the shovel. When it hit, that baby rang out like a church bell.

Dorath's eyes flickered and squinted a bit, like he was confused...

So I hit him again.

The sound of church bells filled that shack one more gods-damn time, and Dorath Chesterson fell over like a dead horse.

I threw my back out on that second swing. Twisted it something fierce, but I didn't even notice. THAT pain would come the next day, but for right now, I had more important things to tend to.

Francesca was strong enough to make it out of that shack, but not much beyond that. When she realized that she was finally out of there, she passed out. I picked her up and carried her across town to Gandrick. He was the town healer, and he knew more than enough about Francesca's kind of hurting because his own wife had been attacked by that thing I had left unconscious back in my shack.

Yes, he was only unconscious. I thought he was dead... I really did. But hours later when I left Gandrick and came back to the house, there was no body in that shack. There was blood, but most of it was Francesca's. As hard as I hit him, I hadn't done anything but knock him out for a while. And while I was out tending to my own flesh and blood, that monster woke up and scurried off to some god's-forsaken hole to hide from. But it wasn't gonna help him. No...no, sir... it would have been better for him if he'd just lay there and died in the shack, because what DID happen to him is...

...well, I'm getting ahead of myself.

Grayson was the keeper of the law back then. He was Bephal's sheriff, which meant that he was in Jerimiah Trisk's pocket just like everyone else of any importance. Trisk was the problem-solver in town, not Grayson or the Town Guard. You had a problem with someone, you either paid Trisk to get it taken care of, or you took care of it yourself. You can think what you want, but that system worked pretty well... except for people who were too weak or too poor to buy their justice with money. I was obviously too weak. I had hit that monster with more strength than I thought I had in me, and he just got up and walked away. Money wasn't a problem, but the kind of justice that Dorath had coming wasn't the kind that could be bought from a third party.

So I went to Grayson, not because he was the sheriff, but because he was a lot bigger and stronger than me, with men on his payroll that were bigger and stronger than HIM. And they all had access to more weapons than the town blacksmith could produce in two years. THAT'S why I went. I found him in his office, which his where he ate, slept, and did just about everything else that men do. That night, he wasn't alone. His chief deputy, Parode, was there with him. Parode was deeper into Trisk's pocket than Grayson himself... and his job wasn't to keep the law, but to keep an eye out on Grayson and make sure Trisk's interests were protected at all times. Finding the two of them there wasn't all that unusual, but when I saw that Sam Charters and Fell Kord were there, I knew that word of the latest attack had already spread. Charters was the first, you see. He still had the scars from when he had tried to protect his wife and daughter from Dorath after the monster kicked in his door one night. Dorath damn near knocked every tooth out of that man's jaw. What he did to the ladies was worse. Kord was the latest... until me, that is. Kord was a heavy sleeper, so one night a week before, he woke up already bound and gagged, with his wife... well... she died. Word had already spread about Francesca. They were there waiting for me, and the argument had already started before I got there.

"But it can't be Dorath," said Parode. He was standing next to Grayson's desk, where Grayson was sitting with his fingers folded up in front of his face like some damned intellectual.

"Are you sayin' I'm mistaken?" I said. Everybody had been to busy arguing to hear me knock, so I had just come on in. Grayson did a bit of a double-take when he saw me.

"Heavens, D'Arcy, what are you doin' here!"

"What do you think I'm doing here, Gray?"

"Gandrick said you ran off-" Kord began.

"I ran off to finish what I started. Only I didn't start it well enough... so here I am to ask what little law is LEFT in this town to help me, and what do I hear? I hear Parode DEFENDING that animal! Do I really want to know how the first part of this conversation went, Gray, or should I just pretend I didn't hear what your deputy just said?"

"All I'm saying is that you could be mistaken in what you saw," said Parode. "I'm not defending anybody, I'm just-"

"Sure as hell sounded like it to me! Sounded like you was about to say I didn't REALLY see Dorath Chesterson hovering over my daughter, like he wasn't REALLY raping Francesca, and I didn't REALLY pound his skull in with a shovel in my back-house?

"Well," said Parode. "DID you? How can you be sure-"

"Because I SAW it!"

"But you told Gandrick that you got hit over the head," said Grayson. "Man gets a head injury, there's no tellin' what tricks his eyes may play on him."

"What are you tryin' to imply, Grayson?" said Kord. "That Floyd is lyin?"

"I'm implying that in this day an age, and eye witness may not be enough to send a man to the gallows. ESPESCIALLY an eye witness with a head injury."

"May not be enough without Trisk's blessing, ya mean!" I countered

"Who said anything about the Gallows?" said Sam Charters. "Floyd's word is enough for me. If it ain't enough for the law, then to HELL with the law AND Trisk!"

"Hey! I'll not have that kind of talk in my office!" Grayson said it. But from the looks of it he was trying to beat Parode, who had the expression to match Grayson's words.

"Well what kind of talk would you like?" said a voice that didn't belong to anybody in the room. We all turned to the door... just like everybody else did when I came in... and saw Gandrick the healer standin' halfway in the room, as if he was waitin for an invitation to come the rest of the way in. The last time I saw Gandrick he was stitching my daughter together. His presence here meant that Francesca wasn't hurt as bad as she looked... or she had been hurt a whole lot worse. The healer gave me a nodding glance to let me know it was the former and not the later. Then he turned his stern grey eyes to Grayson.

"What kind of talk would you find more appealing, sheriff? Would you like me to describe the wounds he left on the victims? I know them well, having SEEN them so often. I can tell you graphic detail about every cut, every tear, every bruise. I can conjecture on how bad the pain must have been... of course, since we men have different anatomies, SOME of what they suffered must remain a mystery. But can tell you exactly how they fought.... and how they STOPPED fighting once the pain got too bad. I can tell you what happened after that. I can tell you about-"

Grayson raised his hand.

"That's enough, Gandrick."

"Yes, it IS enough," the healer snapped. "I don't want any more women brought to my house in the middle of the night! I don't want to have my friends' wives and daughters brought to me looking like slaughtered livestock. I don't want to HEAR those poor women screaming when I touch them... trying to help them... and they push me away because their hearts can't tell the difference between a healer's touch and a monster's fist."

"Gandrick, that kind of sensationalism isn't-"

"SENSATIONALISM!?"

Gandrick was mad now. That healer don't let many things get to him... comes with the job, I guess. But when something did break through that shell of his, you'd sure as hell know about it. He was likely to say anything... to anybody... and say it loud enough for folks all the way in Montfort to think he was standing right outside their door.

"HE TIED ME UP!" Gandrick gave up on etiquette and invited himself not only into the room, but right up to Grayson's desk. "He wrapped WIRE around my hands and feet! He left me on the floor and INTENTIONALLY turned me to FACE him... because he wanted me to SEE What he was doing! And you accuse ME of SENSATIONALISM!?!?"

"Easy now..." Parode eased forward, as if he was gonna step between Gandrick and Grayson. But then Kord eased HIMSELF between Parode and Gandrick. "What's going on here, Kord?"

"Let the doctor talk," Kord said sternly.

"Oh, I don't need to say anything more," said Gandrick. "In fact, I think we're all wasting our time. Parode and Grayson here have the benefit of Trisk's expensive MAGIC to protect them and their families. They don't ever have to worry about waking up in the middle of the night... bound and gagged... laying on the floor while some THING occupies their bed AND their wives. The concept of such a thing is alien to them... because it could never happen. How could they understand? How could we even expect them to-"

"DAMMIT, GANDRICK!" Grayson's fist hit the table, and then the sheriff stood up and shoved his face right up to Gandrick's. Gandrick didn't back down one inch. He couldn't have, because I was pressed up behind him, scowling over his shoulder. And Sam Charters was behind ME. None of us was in any particular mood to be intimidated.

"I think all you folks need to calm down-" Parode began.

"SHUT UP!" Kord's shout scattered Parode's words. Parode looked like he was about to say something else, but he thought better of it. Not that he was afraid of Kord or any of us... his leash just wasn't quite long enough. The deputy couldn't do anything to anybody without the expressed permission of Jerimiah Trisk.

"Am I wrong?" said Gandrick. "If so... prove it."

"Funny you should mention that word 'Prove,'" Grayson said. He was a good bit calmer now, too. "Because that's the whole point of what I'm saying. None of you have any proof that Dorath Chesterson has done anything."

"I've got all the proof I need," I said. "I saw his ugly face as PLAIN as I'm seein' YOURS right now!"

"And THAT is why we need to tread lightly," said Grayson. "We've got only ONE piece of evidence-"

"A GODS-DAMNED EYE WITNESS!" Sam shouted. "We've got an eye witness and you're just gonna sit here on your ASS and not do a damned THING!"

"I never said that! I never said I wasn't gonna do anything! The four of YOU are perfectly free to believe whatever you want about Dorath Chesterson, but as a man of the law, I've we've got rules and procedures to follow before I can just throw a man in jail-"

"Nobody said anything about JAIL, either!" said Sam.

"There's an investigation to be run. There's evidence to collect.... questions to ask. Dorath Chesterson may well be the devil himself, but in the eyes of the LAW, he's just a suspect... which still entitles him to the same rights as you, me, and everybody else in this room!"

"Evidence?" I said. "Who ELSE do you know is strong enough to overpower all those men..."

"There are six or seven people in this town that could do that. And untold DOZENS of men roaming the woods and trails between here and Montfort. And then there's Montfort ITSELF-"

"But I didn't see any of THEM raping my daughter!" I yelled. "I saw Dorath Chesterson!"

"And WHY did you see him?" said Parode. "Why wasn't he wearing his MASK, eh? Why didn't he tie you up like he did everybody else, eh?"

"The mask was stuffed into my daughter's MOUTH, YOU BLOODY BASTARD!!"

"Why wasn't he wearing it? He kept it on all the other times... why take it off now? Why break the pattern?"

"Oh, look at Parode here trying to play detective," Kord taunted.

"Because he knew this victim," said Gandrick.

"He knew all the other women-"

"Not like Francesca," I said. "He didn't know them like he knew my daughter. She was the closest he had to a friend in this town.... his only friend, and he... he..." I couldn't believe... and still can't... that I was actually DEFENDING myself against that thug's questions.

"He lived with them," Gandrick finished for me. "And its no secret that he was sweet on the girl. He WANTED her to see his face. Satisfied, now?"

"That's just conjecture-"

"We're wasting time," Gandrick said, stepping back from the desk and nearly knocking me and Sam Charters down. "Grayson is right.... HE has his own rules to follow. WE, on the other hand, don't have such restrictions."

"WHOA, WHOA!" said Gandrick. "I don't like what I'm hearing here, people... the four of you can't just run off and harass Chesterson with no proof. The same law that prevents ME from doing it says that I have to stop YOU from doing it, too!"

"Then stop us," said Kord, who was currently holding his own in a starin' contest against Parode. Woulda been right funny if the situation was different.

"Gandrick, what about your OATH! You're a healer, sworn to HELP people-"

"And right now, the biggest help to the largest group of people is for us to go find Dorath Chesterson and.... have a chat with him."

"Yeah," said Sam. "A Chat."

"A chat, eh?" said Grayson. "Well... if THAT'S all you're gonna do-"

"That's all we want," said Sam. "Just a nice little 'talk.'"

"-then you won't mind me comin with ya."

Now the four of us... me, Sam, Kord, and Gandrick... were standin' there with our mouths open for what felt like five minutes, but wasn't more than a second or two. The spell was broken when Parode burst out laughing.

"HAHA! You should see the looks on your faces!"

"Grayson-" Sam started.

"You're just talkin,' right?" said the sheriff. "If all you're gonna do is talk, then I may as well be there to ask some of MY questions too? Like I said... there's an investigation to run, and no better time to start it than right now. That is unless I'd be KEEPING you fellas from doing something. But that's not the case... 'cause all you're gonna do is talk. Right?"

"Need I remind you all that the boy is mute?" said Parode.

"But he can hear just fine," said Grayson. "Between those sounds he makes and the few words he can write, we can get what we need out of him."

"I don't think that's a good idea," said Parode. "I think we need to... discuss it with some folks first."

"Some folks like Trisk?" said Kord.

"I didn't say that-"

"Nobody in this room has any problem with Trisk," said Gandrick. It was a lie, but for the purposes of the conversation, it needed to be said. Parode was like a parrot, and would be repeating every word out of every mouth to Trisk before the sun rose... so Gandrick had to throw that bit of politics in to save our skins. "But this is not his fight. Not his fight, and not his concern."

"Besides," said Grayson. "All we're gonna do is talk. Right fellas?"

Everybody nodded. Except me. When I saw that monster's face I was gonna do a hell of a lot more than talk to it, no matter WHO was there watching.

"And in the interest of a fair trail, if it comes to that, I think I'd like to have these folks as witnesses to any questions I may ask the lad."

"Impartial witnesses, eh?" said Parode. "This bunch will certainly impress 'em in court."

Grayson shrugged, then went to the weapons cabinet to fetch his sword. He strapped it on, along with the horrible assortment of leather pads and patches that served as a lightly-armored uniform. He also grabbed a scroll and some ink... to take notes I suppose.

"And just how are you gonna find this man in the middle of the night?" said Parode.

"I know some places to look," I said. "Places he likes to hide."

Grayson glanced expectantly at Parode, as if waiting for permission from his deputy. Parode just shook his head and turned his back on us... leaning heavily on Grayson's desk.

"Hold down the office, Parode" said Grayson as he preceded us out. "And stay out of my chair."

Dorath Chesterson was like a rat. He had little nests and hiding places all over town. He liked horses, so he hung out at Raymond's stable. He liked plants, so he had punched a little hole in the corner of Dogwood's greenhouse where he could crawl in whenever he felt like it. He loved sweets, so sometimes Herrigan would find him curled up in the back of his bakery... not stealing anything, just enjoying the smells. He had pretty much the run of the whole town... and nobody suspected or thought anything of it.

Tonight, they learned better. We didn't find him when we smashed the lock off of the bakery door. We didn't find him when he woke Dogwood up and made him open the greenhouse. We didn't find him at the leather-smith, or the kennels, or hiding in that pile of rubble that used to be his parent's home.

We DID find him at Raymond's stables, which was where he would have been anyway even if he hadn't raped Francesca. Maybe she had delivered Raymond's message before he seized her, or maybe it was just some humorless coincidence... but nevertheless, that's where we found him. Of course, he wasn't working... he was hiding way in the back of the very last building, almost a stones throw to the safety of the woods. If he had just kept going instead of trying to hide, we might never have found him. But like I said before... Dorath wasn't too bright.

Grayson was the first one in, with Kord and Sam holding torches on either side of him. Actually, the only reason he had given them those torches was to keep their hands busy if we happened upon our quarry. Me and Gandrick brought up the rear, and yet it was US that spotted him first.

It was the third-to-last stall. Grayson and the others had passed it, paying no attention to the old horse-blanket lodged between two bales of hay. But when that blanket moved, the healer and I were on top of it before the others even knew what we had seen.

"THERE!" I shouted. Me and Gandrick lay hands on that blanket and felt the unmistakable shape of a human being beneath it. We dragged that shape out and snatched the blanket off just as Grayson and Kord were coming back to see what the ruckus was.

Now, Gandrick was a few years younger than me, but it was a good fifteen years separating him from any real hard physical work. He wasn't what you'd call stout or even burly, if ya know what I'm saying. And Dorath Chesterson didn't really take too kindly to being snatched out of his hole by two old men.

That boy... or man, or monster, or whatever word you chose to apply... shrugged the two of us off of him like we were just another blanket. Gandrick went stumbling back, and I got thrown into the stall wall. I hit my head again.. in the exact same place he had hit it before... and I was face-down in the hay puking up the rest of my dinner.

"MMMMM!!!" I heard Dorath say. 'MMMM' was a word for him, ya understand. It usually meant he was mad or scared or some combination of the two. It also meant that you'd best be getting out of his way unless ya wanted to get knocked down and trampled. Me and Gandrick was already in the clear, but Grayson, Kord, and Sam Charters came around the corner just when Dorath decided he wanted to be somewhere else. I was too weak to lift my head to see, but I heard Dorath charge past me. Then I heard Kord shout. Something hit something... and something hit the ground.

"I got him!" Sam shouted.

Surely Sam was smart enough not to-

"MMMMM!

WHUMP!

Thud

-maybe not.

"Get OFF of him, Dorath!" said Grayson. "I MEAN IT!"

Right about now is when Gandrick appeared. He helped me up and quickly inspected the bandage on the back of my head. The bleeding had started again, but it wasn't bad. Even if it was, I was more interested in what was happening out in the corridor. Sam Charters was on the ground, and Dorath was kneeling on his back, holding his head him in some kind of crude choke-hold. Where he learned such a thing I'll never know, but I don't doubt that there were some women in town who were more than familiar with it.

Grayson had his sword drawn, but he didn't look like he was going to use it.

That's when I saw the pitchfork.

I grabbed it and I charged, all set to ram the business end of that fork right through that bastard's innards. Grayson stopped me. The sword was drawn, but I was the first person he used it on... not Dorath. The blade came around in some kind of fancy arc... I'm no swordsman, so I don't know what it was. It hit the end of the pitchfork and chopped it clean off. Pitchfork or no, I was still on the rampage. I slammed this old body into Dorath as hard as I could, jabbing the chopped end of that fork right into his gut.

Dorath shrugged. Me and the fork went flying as Dorath got up and ran. He didn't get far, though. I was on the ground... again... but I still had the handle of that pitchfork. I threw it... more like a slide than a throw. It shot across the dirt and went right between Dorath's legs. He tripped over it and went sprawling.

Kord was on top of him before the dust settled. He hooked his arm around Dorath's throat and yanked up on his head like he was trying to break the boy's neck.... which, of course, he was. But Grayson grabbed Kord by the back of he shirt and hauled him off. Then he tried to grab Dorath... but the boy was quick.

That fist came out of nowhere and cracked Grayson across the side of his head. The sheriff was a big, strong man, but that one hit dazed him like he'd been kicked by a mule. He tripped over Sam Charters, and the two of them... him and Sam... started fighting over Gray's sword. Sam wanted it, and Grayson didn't want him to have it.

Next, it was Kord's turn again. He grabbed Dorath's arm and punched him in the face two good times.

The wet 'cracking' sound I heard next was Dorath snapping the bones in Kord's forearm. Kord didn't scream... he shrieked like a little girl. Needless to say, he didn't hit Dorath any more.

Then Gandrick was beside me again. He had one of those little tiny surgical knives in his hand... and he had murder in his eyes.

"Distract him," the healer hissed.

"Dorath!" I shouted.

Dorath was about to start runnin' again, but he heard my voice and stopped. He looked at me.

He was afraid.

I've seen some fear in my day... sometimes staring back at me from my own mirror... but that there what I saw in Raymond's barn was more than just fear. The boy was terrified.

But he had reason to be. He knew what he did. He knew he was caught. And he knew that, Grayson or not... Trisk or not... law or not... he was NEVER gonna see the inside of a courtroom.

"MMMM!!" he said, pointing at me. "MMM! MMM!"

"Back OFF!" I heard Grayson growl, finally getting Sam Charter's grubby hands off of his sword.

Gandrick, meanwhile, had retreated back into the horse stall. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him climbing over the wall and dropping into the adjacent stall... he was gonna get behind Dorath, between him and the door. Knife or no, that probably wasn't the safest place to be.

"Dorath, don't you run, boy! DON'T you make a step, ya hear!"

"mmm!"

Now, in Dorath-speak 'mmm!' meant something completely different than 'MMM!' The last one meant somebody was about to get hurt... like Kord... but the first was more of a cry for help. He pointed at me and said it again, all while looking at Grayson.

"mmm!"

"Yeah, I know he wants ta hurt you," said Grayson. "Maybe a lot of people do, but if you calm down and do what I say, you'll be just find."

"MMM!"

"HEY! HEY! CALM DOWN!"

Dorath just stood there. I saw Gandrick easing out of the shadows behind him. He had his knife hidden, so Grayson didn't see it.

So what we had was a kind of stand-off. Of all of us there, Grayson was probably the only one who could stand a chance against Dorath alone. But he didn't want that. He really didn't. Grayson was a peaceful man, and the last thing he wanted was to have to kill Dorath in self defense. He'd just as soon let the boy go before he used that sword on him. Me, Sam, and Kord were just as likely to get ourselves killed if we tried anything, but Gandrick was another story. He was a healer, and he knew just the perfect place to stick that knife of his if Dorath gave him a chance. Sure, Gandrick would likely get hurt, too... but that didn't really matter, not even to Gandrick. We wanted blood, and we were going to get it.

Dorath just wanted out.

"Easy now," said Grayson. "We just want to ask you a few questions about what happened tonight."

Dorath shook his head. He didn't want to talk.

"You DO know what happened tonight, don't you?"

Dorath nodded reeeeal slow and reluctant-like.

"SEE!" Sam blurted. "He's guilty as hell!"

Dorath looked at him and shook his head quickly.

"Mm! Mm!"

That meant 'no.'

"Did you see Francesca D'Arcy tonight, Dorath?"

Dorath nodded.

Meanwhile, Gandrick was moving up behind him... slow and quiet, like a cat. He was gonna do it. He was gonna do it right there in front of Grayson and everybody. Honestly, i didn't know the doctor had that kind of malice in him. But then I remembered his wife...

That kind of thing has a way of changing what a man is capable of.... as you'll see in a minute.

"WHERE did you see Francesca, Dorath?"

"Yes or no questions work best, Gray," I said. Really, I was no more interested in Dorath's answers than I was in the price of horse-dung in Montfort, but I had to do my part to keep everybody focused on Dorath and Grayson and not on Gandrick.

"Right," said Grayson. "Dorath, did you... touch... Francesca tonight?"

Dorath paused. He started to shake his head.... but he changed it to a slow nod. I could see the fear building in him.

"Floyd, does he know what sex is?" Grayson asked me. "If I ask him if he had sex with Francesca, will he know what I'm talking about?"

"Of course he knows! He RAPED her!"

"Floyd, please, I'm trying to be fair, here..."

"FAIR HELL! Dorath, YOU raped Francesca, DIDN'T you!"

"Mm! Mm!"

"YES, you DID!"

"Floyd, take is easy! Don't spook him!"

"Mm!"

"I SAW YOU!"

"Mm! MMmmMMMmmmMMMM!"

I had no earthly idea what all that meant.

We all jumped when Dorath moved... but he wasn't running. He dropped down to his knees and started drawing lines in the dirt with his finger.

"What's he doing?" Grayson asked.

The lines MAY have been words or maybe pictures... to Dorath. But I'll never know. Dorath's brain wasn't quite up to snuff even on the best of days, but here... in the middle of the night... surrounded by people who were trying to kill him... he just wasn't pulling enough of it together. Maybe the lines meant something to Dorath, but from where me, Sam and Grayson stood they were just scratches in the dirt.

Now picture it in your mind... a man rapes your wife and ties you up with wire so you have to watch him do it. All night. Now, weeks later, you find that man standing in front of you with his back turned. He doesn't know you're behind him. Then he kneels down and leans over to do something on the ground... still oblivious to your presence.

And you've got a nice, sharp knife in your hand.

Well... what would YOU do?

I know what I would do, and to this day I'm still angry that it was GANDRICK standing there with the knife and not ME. I can still see it happening, clear as dawn. I close my eyes and think about it, and its like it's happening all over again.

Gandrick was about four steps behind Dorath. He wasn't gonna sneak any closer without Dorath hearing him, or Grayson suspecting.... so he made his move right there.

He lunged... pulling that little knife out from behind his back and swinging it around-

"GANDRICK, WHAT ARE YOU-" Grayson shouted.

Dorath heard the sound of death coming for him, but he wasn't quite ready to go. He stood up... turning as he rose...

And he had something in his hand.

We were in a stable, remember.... hay and pitchforks, yes. And horseshoes. Dorath had a horseshoe in his hand, and he swung it at Gandricks' head-

That hunk of iron slapped Gandrick across the nose. An inch closer and the doctor's head would have been busted open like a melon. But it was close enough to break that nose and send blood spurting down Gandrick's face.

Grayson saw the blood, and remembered how strong Dorath was. The sheriff must have thought old Gandrick was a goner for sure... which meant that Dorath had forced his hand. Peaceful or not, Grayson WAS still the sheriff.

"NOOO!" Grayson raised that sword and bore down on Dorath like the wrath of the gods.

But Dorath still had the horseshoe.

Now I know what you're thinkin'.... A sword vs. a horseshoe? A trained fighter vs. some dunce with a hunk of metal?

Heh.

Remember what I said about Dorath and rocks?

Well, horseshoes are a lot harder than rocks, and they fly a whole lot better, too.

Dorath's arm came around like this... and that horseshoe went zipping through the air like it had come out of a slingshot. It tumbled end over end three times before it connected with Sheriff Grayson's forehead.

The sound was... well, if my stomach wasn't already empty, it would have been then. See, that horseshoe hit so hard that it actually got STUCK in Grayson's face, like an arrow or something. Only it wasn't an arrow, it was a big chunk of spinning iron. Grayson was running full speed, but that impact knocked him over onto his back... and there he lay, arms and legs jerkin' and flippin' around like a fish in fresh air.

"GODS, NO!" Sam Charters shouted.

"MMMMM-AAAAAAAGGGGHHH!!"

The scream tore our eyes from the not-quite-dead sheriff and turned them back to Dorath. Gandrick, busted nose and all, had gone in for a second chance. This time, he made it. That blade of his... tiny little thing... had carved a line across he middle of Dorath's back.

It was a tiny cut... almost a scratch. But Dorath went down screaming and didn't get up. Gandrick was a doctor, ya see. A good one. If there was anybody who could sever a man's spinal cord with a single slice... wiggle that thin blade in between the bones of a man's back with one try...it was Jonnis Q. Gandrick.

So now we had two men down. Grayson wasn't dead yet, but he wasn't alive, either. Most of his brain was oozing down the left side of his face. There wasn't anything any of us could do. Gandrick was good, but he wasn't THAT good. Grayson died a few minutes later, leaving the office of Sheriff vacant. Parode moved on up to take his place temporarily, but Trisk didn't want Parode in charge. He replaced him with some other fool and... well, I'm sure you know all about that. They're all dead now anyway, so it doesn't really matter.

But Dorath? No, Dorath wasn't quite done yet. Or rather, WE weren't quite done with HIM. A severed spine, as painful as it seemed, just wasn't painful or fatal ENOUGH for what he had done. There were about fifteen men in Bephal who wanted a piece of him. A LITERAL piece, if possible. These were the husbands. And brothers. And fathers. Yes, there were quite a few folks that would be very interested in what we had there in that stable.

While Gandrick was setting his arm, Kord suggested that we go and round up all of 'em and have a good old fashioned hanging. That suited Sam Charters just fine, but me and Gandrick saw some problems with that. First there was the law. Parode knew what we was up to and, once Dorath turned up dead, it would be up to him and Jerimiah Trisk to decide if the lot of us spent our remaining days in a dungeon, or swinging from a rope. Lynch mobs... even when justified... are still illegal.

It would be better if we kept this all to ourselves. It didn't take much explaining to convince Kord and Sam Charters of that. And as for hanging?

Too quick. Much, much too quick. We had to come up with something else.

So we talked about it.

With Dorath Chesterson laying right there, screaming and moaning and trying to crawl away, we stood around and had a nice, leisurely conversation about what torture we were going to inflict on him. We all had our own ideas, and couldn't really decide on one...

...so we did them all.

Now don't go looking like that, you have to remember that I SAW this man rape my daughter. I SAW him. He HAD the mask, and I caught him IN THE ACT. He was guilty. There might be some arguing about the other women... but about Francesca, there WAS no doubt. I was there. I saw him do it. AND lets not forget poor sheriff Grayson laying there with a horseshoe sticking out of his forehead.

Yeah.

So... now that I've gotten that look off your face, I'll tell you how it ended.

We did what the common folk in Bephal call a "Filkus"... named after the hell that Jerimiah Trisk bestowed on that child-killing bastard years back. Ours was better, though. Much better.

We cut him. No, we didn't cut him OPEN... we just cut him. Specifically, we took our vengeance out on a particular PART of him... the part that he had used to violate our women and keep this town in fear for a whole summer. We deprived him of that... part... then we returned it. Yeah, we gave it back. We gagged him with it to stop the screaming. Didn't work all that well, so Gandrick exercised his surgeon' skill by sewing that bastard's mouth shut. Of course, we didn't have any nice surgical thread... so we used wire. Fence wire... Same kind that Dorath had used to tie up a couple of his victims, including Gandrick himself. He looped it around back and forth through his lips and tied 'em up tight. No more screaming.

I still had the mask from my shack. You want your proof... there it was, right were I left it when I pulled it out of Francesca's mouth. We put it on him. Fit perfectly, but we wanted to make SURE it didn't come off, so we tied it down with more wire. Then, what the hell... we took some nails and nailed it on. Not the big ugly nails... the tiny ones. The ones you can drive into a man's skull and still have him live for a while.

No, Dorath wasn't just laying there letting us do all that to him. He was fighting and flailing around. We all picked up some bruises. Charters lost a couple of teeth. But after we nailed that mask on him, he settled down right nicely.

Then came the shroud. See, we already knew what we were gonna do with him, and it didn't seem likely we could carry him out to the Pit without somebody seeing us... unless we covered him up. So we got a sheet and wrapped him up in it. Tied it down with more wire, nice and tight. REAL tight... so tight it drew blood even through his clothes. Added a few more nails just for fun. Now he couldn't move an inch, and he couldn't make any more trouble for us on the way.

We got a box. Big enough so we didn't have to cut off any parts of him to make him fit. We threw him in there, nailed it shut... even pounded a few nails into the BOTTOM. These were the big nails, and a few of 'em probably went all the way through to his flesh, but we wasn't too concerned about that at this point. Gandrick got his wagon, and we loaded him up.

The Pit is where we bury our monsters. Filkus is there. There was a lot more before him, too. Only thing is, usually the monsters are DEAD when we bury them.

Not this one.

We dug ourselves a hole... deep. Deeper than it needed to be.

We threw that box in that deep hole and covered it up. Buried him alive. Alive... but tied so tight he couldn't even bang on the lid unless some of that wire came off. Alive, but unable to scream because we had gagged him with his own manhood and sewed his mouth shut.

And the next day, the sun came up just like it always did. Life went on. We told Parode what happened... but said that Dorath had escaped us and gotten away in the woods. Nobody even went to look for him. The rapes stopped, and Parode somehow took credit for running the culprit out of town.

Francesca healed. She remembers what happened, but its all fuzzy in her head. Not like me. I've got it all burned into my soul, and she just... well... its best that she's not able to remember every detail like her father.

Sam Charters died in a fire a year later. And Kord? Heh. Kord vanished not long after. Not 'vanished' as in he left town... I mean 'vanished' as in he had the misfortune of getting on Jerimiah Trisk's bad side. He's likely occupying a shallow grave somewhere. Parode was probably the one that got him. Those two never liked each other. Parode is gone, too... beaten to death right there in that SAME stable where Grayson died. How's that for coincidence, eh?

Gandrick is still the town healer. He's the only one besides me that still knows what happened, and we never talk about it. In fact, we hardly ever talk at all. We were never close friends before, and becoming best buddies afterward would have just been suspicious. But if you go asking about it, he'll not be as forthcoming as I am... even to somebody like you. I DID mention it once to him, and he was like.... It's almost as if he honestly believes that it never happened. Like it was a dream, or a story that somebody made up. Only it wasn't a dream. That night and what we did... it was real. We killed Dorath Chesterson. Tortured him and buried him alive. But remember, we knew for a fact that he had raped at least ONE woman and killed at least ONE man... that man being the sheriff. The fact that the rapes stopped afterward only proves that he had done a good bit more than that. Some folks might say we maybe took it a bit too far. Others that we didn't go far enough. But I'm not one bit ashamed of what we did. Not one ounce of guilt. If we had it to do over again, the only thing I'd try and change was what happened to Grayson. Other than that... hmph... I'd do it all just the same.

And that's it, my friend. That's how it ended.


---

"Only it appears NOT to have ended," said December.

"What do you mean? That vision Casey had? That warning?"

"You took it seriously enough at the time."

"That's because I'm not used to having my deep, dark secrets blurted out in front of strangers. Francesca might think otherwise, but there's no REAL danger from Dorath Chesterson any more than there is from Filkus or Jerimiah Trisk or any of the others before... because they're all dead. ESPECIALLY Dorath."

"You did not see him die," said December.

"What?"

"Earlier you said that you saw him die. According to your story, you did not."

"We threw him into a hole and buried him alive! He would have bled to death in hours... maybe he lasted a day. Certainly no more than that. And even if he did, he couldn't get out-"

"Unless he was helped."

"By WHO!?"

"Trisk, perhaps."

"What in heaven's name FOR?! My friend, I think you have some kind of obsession with that man!"

"His name keeps coming up, I merely take notice of it."

"His name comes up because you BRING it up."

"Perhaps. And yet, even if Chesterson is dead, that by no means indicates that he is harmless."

"You think one of those ghosts could have been him?"

"Could have been. Or WILL be."

Floyd stared into the fire. December watched him for a while, then spoke again.

"The child," he said. "Casey..."

"Yes?"

December didn't speak. He just stood there, waiting for the uncomfortable silence to finally drive Floyd to admit-

"Yes, he is," said Floyd. "He's... he's Dorath Chesterson's son. We found out Francesca was pregnant not long after. Gandrick offered to put an end to it... he has ways of doing that, you see..."

"Indeed"

"...but uhh, she decided against my better judgement to... uhhh.... keep it."

"Why?"

"Mr. December, I'm not one to spread my family's inner workings all over town, let alone to strangers, but surely you must see that Francesca isn't... quite.... right? In the head?"

"She seems normal enough."

"She's not."

"If that were the case, then why did you not mandate the pregnancy be terminated? It is your right to do so, if she was not in her proper frame of mind."

"Because she's my daughter, and I wouldn't DO that to her."

"So," said December. "You let her have and raise the child of a man who presumably raped her."

"Presumably?" said Floyd, looking incredulously at December.

"Correct."

"But I just TOLD you-"

"I am not in the habit of accepting everything I hear at face value, Mr. D'Arcy."

"You... you... you think I LIED about it? You think I MADE it up?"

"It is a possibility."

"How DARE you!"

"Or perhaps your mis-interpretation of factual events has skewed your memory. Or perhaps you are telling the truth, but not the ENTIRE truth.... leaving out certain pieces of information so as to lead me to a specific conclusion."

"I saw what I SAW, Mr. December! There's no way to mis-interpret RAPE!"

"I would disagree."

"Oh? You DISAGREE!? Well what other way IS there!?"

"Several. Here is one: A man's daughter falls in love with the down dullard.... a mute with limited intelligence but a great degree of physical strength. The lovers establish and continue a secret relationship despite the father's urging. Finally, when the father accidentally catches them in the act of love-making, he conceives of a plan to rid himself of the unworthy suitor once and for all-"

"HOW DARE YOU!" Floyd shouted at the top of his lungs. December was not accustomed to being shouted at, but he let the affront go uncorrected.

"That is one of several possible alternate interpretations, Mr. D'Arcy."

"But the rapes STOPPED afterward!"

" Dorath Chesterson was not the only man to die that night. IF he is, in fact, dead."

"GRAYSON!?! My Gods, man... are you INSANE!? Do you HEAR what you are SAYING!?"

"I do not espouse believe in any one of these alternate theories... I am merely stating that they exist. It is ALSO possible that your story, as related to me, was entirely factual and complete."

"But you don't think so."

"It is too early to-"

BANG!
BANG!
BANG!

It was the door. Someone was knocking at the front door downstairs.

"Expecting visitors, Mr. D'Arcy?"

"No. But I wasn't expecting YOU, either."

"Indeed." December turned and started to leave.

"Where are you going!?"

BANG!
BANG!
BANG!

"To answer the door."

"Wait..."

Floyd rose, pulled his robe even tighter around him, and left the warmth of his chair to follow December downstairs.

"...this is my house..." Floyd mumbled as he descended. "...can answer the door in my own house..."

BANG!
BANG!
BANG!

Nevertheless, it was December who reached the door first. He glanced out of the window and saw the figure standing outside. One, lone, shadowy figure... wearing what looked like a cloak... but could have also been a sheet.

December opened the door.

"Wait!" Floyd called as the door came open. "It could be-"

"State your name and business, traveler," December said in a commanding voice.

"hmmmmmm....." was the only sound the cloaked figure made.

"Very well," said December. "We wish you well in your journeys. Good day."

December started to close the door, but a muscular arm thrust out from the robe. It caught the door in mid-swing, as the figure's other arm swept the hood back from his face.

"We've got to talk," said Yexhill Thane.

"Do I know you?" December asked. December knew the man.... he had recognized Thane from the unique variations in his heat-signature prior to opening the door. But the arrival of the Night's Bloom here was neither expected nor welcome.

"Sure you do," said Thane. "We met on the road from Montfort, remember? Me and the uhhh... other guys?"

"Of course," December nodded. "And where ARE your companions?"

"Watching," said Thane. "We, uhhh..." Thane glanced at Floyd. "We just thought we'd pass on some information Can we talk?"

"Please do," said December... without stepping aside to let Thane enter. "Talk."

"Looks like there's something nasty running in some tunnels under the town. Its coming up through the floors of the houses and-"

"Well you're a BIT late!" said Floyd. "It's already come in and tried to get us! We barely escaped with our lives!"

"Doesn't look like you escaped at all... seeing as how you're still here."

"But the creature is not," said December. "It left empty-handed."

"Don't be so sure," said Thane. "We've done some looking around in one of the holes it left behind, and one of us saw... something you might miss eventually."

"Please explain yourself."

"You're missing a companion, aren't you?"

"N'Doki?" said Floyd. "No he's upstairs-"

"Please excuse us, Mr. D'Arcy," said December as he stepped outside. As he crossed the threshold, a shrill whistle sounded from atop the building across the street. Both Thane and December turned toward it, with December backing away as he did. December scanned the rooftops and saw nothing... not even a heat signature. He could see the faint glow of body heat from the other Night's Bloomsmen in various places along the street, but from the roof where the whistle had come, there was nothing.

"Gallows has spotted something," Thane said softly, looking up and down the street with a frown. "But I don't see-"

Three brilliantly glowing globes streaked skyward from Gallows' hiding place, prescribing a diagonal arc that took them over the roof of the old store next door to the inn. Light blared down onto the scene below... revealing the human figure crouching at the corner of the adjacent roof. Gallows hadn't been the only one hiding in the shadows... and he wasn't the only one capable of masking his own body heat. The mysterious figure leaned back, paused to glance at the light, and then threw itself forward over the edge. A billowing shape spread out around him, catching the air and turning his leap into a rapidly descending glide that curved out over the street and then back toward the inn... building to a frightening speed as it approached the open door.

"INCOMING!" Yexhill Thane shouted.

The inn's door slammed shut as Thane turned away from it. The gliding figure... a human shape with what looked like a tattered sheet strapped to his body with wire... came toward him like a diving hawk.

Thane judged the path and speed of thing's approach...then threw off his hooded cloak as he spun and leapt, twisting and bringing his boot around-

"YAAAH!"

The two figures collided in the air. Thane's flying hook kick knocked the flying thing off course and sent it hurtling into the dirt. But the creature's momentum was more than Thane had planned for... he was thrown backward. He landed on his rear end, but went into a backward roll and flipped up into a fighter's stance in front of the inn door.

Finally, under the glaring glow of Gallows floating' lights, Thane could see what he was facing. At first he had thought it was a man in some kind of mask and costume, but no... as the figure rose to face him, Thane saw that the thing HAD no face. Maybe it did once, a long time ago... but no longer. The thing's features were rotted and worm-eaten to the point that they weren't even features any more... just lumpy protrusions amid a mass of wire and tattered, rotting cloth. The eyes were shriveled sockets that still seemed to GLOW despite the fact there there were no eyes resting in them. And the mouth... the mouth was a permanent wound sealed in course wire. The lips were sewn shut with it, and the flesh had rotted together so that nothing remained of the mouth except the wire that had once held it closed.

It looked painful. And if the creature were capable of a facial expression, it wouldn't have been at all friendly.

Silently the thing rose and faced Thane.

"Now this ought to be interesting...." Thane said with a cocky half-smile.

The Disciple lunged at him in a half-leap, half glide. The sheet that it wore thrust backward like a pair of wings, propelling it forward-

Thane ducked and rolled under the creature, which flew past him and slammed into the door-

-CRACK!-

The heavy wood splintered and cracked from the impact, but it didn't break. Then Thane saw the error he'd just made. His plan was to let the creature bash its own brains out by hitting the door.... but not only did the impact not hurt the undead thing, but it seemed that the Disciple had been aiming for the door all along!

Shriveled fingers ending in bone-like claws sank into the wood and the creature pulled back... the door crackled noisily as it began to give way.

"Oh, you want in... here, let ME HELP!"

Thane charged, slamming shoulder-first into the creature's back and sending it face-first into the door-

-WHAM!-

He thrust the Disciple to one side while sweeping its legs out from under it. The thing made no sound as it fell, and it rose just as quickly as it had before. Thane drove his boot into the creature's midsection before it was halfway upright, then followed with a front kick to the chin and an axe-kick to the side of its head.

It was like kicking a bag of sand. The creature shrugged off the blows and charged the door once again, completely ignoring the kicks and punches that Thane was throwing it at.

"C'mon, FIGHT dammit!" Thane growled.

The Disciple sank its claws into the door once again. Thane cracked its elbow with a side-kick, breaking the bone with a satisfying crunch. The creature turned to him-

"Mmmmmmmm...." it moaned. Or was it a growl? It was hard to tell...

"Ahh, THAT got your attention!"

Thane watched the creature's limp, broken arm snap back into place with an audible 'click'.

The Disciple's clawed hands shot out for Thane's throat. Thane battered them aside with an upward and outward motion of his hands, then drove his the heel of his right hand up at an angle into the creature's face. If there had been a nose there, he would have broken it. But there wasn't, and the creature was unimpressed with the attempt. It tried to shove past him, but Thane spun around behind it and thrust his elbow into the back of the creature's head, where the skull met the neck. He felt the creature's neck snap... but the thing kept right on moving. One rotting arm shot out, sweeping past Thane's head as he ducked and thrust his fist into the creature's armpit, bruising the nerve-bundle that... that apparently wasn't there. Thane swept its legs from under it again, but instead of letting it fall, he grabbed the unbalanced creature by the arm and slung it head-first into the wall-

-CRUNCH!-

The creature's right arm reached for Thane, but he hopped backward while throwing a low-kick that shattered the Disciple's knee-

-Crack-

The Disciple apparently did not need knees. It spun quickly and lunged-

Thane arrested it with a powerful side-kick to the midsection, knocking the undead thing back a step. Then he hit it with series of spinning kicks to the head and throat... any one of which would have dropped a normal, living man. The Disciple weathered the assault for a few seconds...

...then Thane stopped.

"...hey..." Thane gasped between breaths. He had hit the creature with everything he had, and the damned thing was just standing there like a stuffed practice dummy. "Hey... are you... you gonna FIGHT or WHAT!?"

The creature's neck *clicked* as the various dislocated vertebrae in its upper back snapped back into place.

"HEY!" Thane shouted. "You want inside? Well I'm standing between you and that door, so you're gonna have to go through ME to-"

FWOOMP!!!

It happened so fast that a single eye-blink would have missed it.

The Disciple's tattered sheet billowed out to either side, then snapped forward.. The strands of ancient cloth and rusty wire wrapped around Thane like a fist, completely enveloping him in mid-sentence.

"-MMF!" Thane muffled. Then the cloth slung him to the side, flinging him away and sending him spiraling into the wall-

WHUMP!

Thane bounced off of the hardened wood... stumbled back out into the street...

"...that...hurt..."

...and collapsed.

With its path now free of bothersome obstructions, the Disciple turned toward the inn's front door-

THWOCK!

A small, razor sharp blade appeared almost magically... sinking hilt-deep into the center of the Disciple's face.

"MY TURN!" said Emerson Shaw, who had taken up position in front of the door. He had six more throwing-knives lodged between the fingers of his clenched fists. "Here... CATCH!"

Emerson made two quick motions-

THWOCK!
THWOCK!
THWOCK!
THWOCK!
THWOCK!
THWOCK!

The six knives joined the first one... forming a smiley-face pattern on the creature's rotting skull.

Definitely an improvement," said Emerson. "Feel free to fall down and die at any time..."

The Disciple did neither. Instead, it calmly reached up and grabbed the collection of wire, cloth, skin, and blades that were arranged on its nonexistent face. It pulled the entire mass off... skin, flesh and all... and tossed it away.

It hit the dirt with a disgusting *splat*.

There was a new face underneath the old one.... just as ugly and rotten as the one it had thrown away. And the wire stitches were still there, holding its lips forever shut.

"Oh," Emerson gulped. "Heh... heh, heh... uhhhh.... help?"

FWOOOOOM!

Suddenly, a roaring column of flames appeared and engulfing the Disciple, setting the rotting creature ablaze. Yexhill Thane continued to spit fire from his magic ring as he got to his feet.

"BURN HIM, BURN HIM!" Emerson shouted as he scurried to a safe distance.

FWOOOOOMMM!!

When the spell finally gave out, the Disciple was covered in flames. Burning wings spread out from its back... the burial shroud fanned out into the air for a moment, stirring the blaze before wrapping around the Disciple's tortured body-

FWUMP!
FWUMP!

-hugging the blackened flesh and extinguishing the fire. Then the shroud billowed outward again.... and the the Disciple stood before them unharmed. Bits of burnt, smoldering flesh flaked away, revealing a layer of unburned but equally rotten flesh underneath.

"Mmmmmmm..." The Disciple growled.... definitely a growl... at Thane.

"Round two, then?" Said Thane. "All right then... here we go..."

Thane touched his magic ring... and vanished.

The flesh around the Disciple's eye-holes crawled and shuddered in what may have been a scowl.
It did nothing for a second or two... and then the shroud swept violently out to either side like a pair of appendages-

FWWUMP!

"AAGH!"

Thane flickered into view again as the edge of the wire-laced shroud caught him across the upper body. It was like getting hit in the face with a wire fence. Bleeding from the face and chest, Thane backed away. The Disciple went for the door, then turned back suddenly as a new sound caught its attention. Again, the shroud swept to one side-

"YAH!

The razor-sharp blades of Harrison Blackshear's swords sliced through the cloth, sending bits of it flying in all directions as he charged into the fray.

The bits of cloth fluttered in the air like moths... then rejoined the shroud, merging with it and becoming whole once more. But by then, Hars had cut his way to within striking distance. He never stopped his charge, and when he hit-

ssSSHLUCK!

One sword impaled the Disciple through the chest, exploding bloodlessly out of the creature's back. Harrison's muscular shoulder hit a second later, driving the Disciple back... back... back

THWOCK!

He hit the wall, and the sword sank into the wood, pinning the Disciple to the inn like an insect in a collector's case.

Hars had one sword left. He immediately stepped back and slashed-

sshhrrRRIP!

The Disciple's gut opened before the blade's razor edge, spilling maggots and gore... but no blood... onto the ground at Hars' feet.

"MMM!" The Disciple grunted as it stepped forward, pulling itself free-

"Oh, NO ya don't!"

One blade... two slices...

The Disciples legs fell away. Now it hung suspended from the wall by the blade through its chest. The creature reached for Hars' throat-

"YAH!"

SSSHHRIP!
Thud.

And now the faceless head rested on the ground beside the severed legs, sitting atop the small pile of loosened entrains.

The Disciple's arms fell limp at its side... as did the shroud that had been flapping violently, attempting to free itself from the wall.

"Is it dead?" said Emerson. There was a small decorative ledge over the inn's door, and Emerson had taken refuge there, perched like a particularly ugly gargoyle.

"Aye," said Hars. He looked up at Emerson, but held his sword ready before him in case further dismemberment was in order. It didn't seem likely... but one could never tell with monsters. "You can stop hidin' now; I think that's got 'im-"

The shroud roared to life again, wrapping around Hars' extended sword arm and snapping so tight that it instantly cut off all circulation. Another piece of cloth encircled Hars' head and shoulders-

"mmmMPH-"

At his feet, the severed limbs crumbled to dust while a NEW head and NEW legs bubbled forth from the bloodless stumps. The creature pulled itself free of the wall and stepped away from it...

The two ends of the shroud, each wrapped around a different part of Hars' body, began to pull in opposite directions.

"MMMMMMMPPPH!!" Hars screamed from beneath the coils of wire and cloth.

Emerson leapt from the ledge, pulling his golden blade while still in the air. He landed on the Disciple's back and drove the enchanted blade deep while willing the magic to activate-

-nothing happened

"DAMMIT!" Emerson said as he pulled the knife out and plunged it in again.... and again... with no effect at all. "C'mon... DO something!"

---

December and Floyd D'Arcy watched the fight from the relative safety of an upstairs window. December's bulk took up most of the window, leaving Floyd to peer around him from various angles like a child trying to get around an older... and larger... brother.

"Aren't you going to do something?" said Floyd

"No," December replied coldly.

"But-"

"We are learning quite a bit about the true capabilities of this new attacker, and our defenders. Ending the fight now would be premature."

"Oh. But what if it kills them! Then what if it comes up here and kills US!"

"Calm yourself, Mr. D'Arcy. Neither possibility is as likely as it may seem at the moment."

"But its still a possibility! I think N'Doki should go down there and dispatch that thing before someone gets hurt!"

"I am sure you do," said December. "Fortunately, N'Doki takes his orders from me, and not you. For now, the wisest course of action is to simply watch and wait."

---

Watching and waiting was exactly what Gallows was doing from his perch on the rooftop opposite the inn. He had a single arrow notched in his longbow, but instead of aiming, he held it ready at his side as the action continued below.

"...amateurs..." he grumbled. "They're not even hurting it... damn thing doesn't feel pain at all..."

Gallows glanced down at his arrow, making sure he had the correct one selected. He did.

Now if the rest of them would just move out of the way...

"...any time now, gentlemen. Any time now..."

---

Suddenly, as Emerson drove the blade into the Disciples' back for the tenth or eleventh time, the jewel in the blade's hilt flared to life. The metal throbbed in his grasp and the electric tingle of magic sizzled upward his arm, filling his muscles with energy that was being leeched out of the Disciple.

The walking dead man shuddered at the unexpected blast of magic... and he reacted.

The lengths of tattered shroud dropped Hars and immediately curled around Emerson, plucking him and the annoying blade from the Disciples back and flinging them to the ground-

WHUMP!

-then lifting them up again and throwing them across the street. Emerson flipped in the air and landed on his feet... sinking to a low crouch for hardly an instant before springing up. Muscles and reflexes energized with some of the Disciples own lifeforce propelled the small thief through the air... golden blade extended toward the Disciple's throat.

The Disciple swatted Emerson out of the air with a sweep of its shroud, then lurched forward as a fist appeared, bursting through its midsection. Yexhill Thane had intended his punch to shatter the Disciple's spine, but instead he had driven his arm completely through the undead creature's torso. Then the ruptured flesh healed around it, trapping his fist inside. Thane barely had time to try and free himself before one decaying arm jerked backward, driving the sharp elbow into the side of Thane's already bloody face-

-Crack-

"Ungh..." Thane went limp.

FWUMP!

The shroud wrapped around his lower body and hauled him up into the air. Another cloth and wire tendril encircled his upper body, and they they started to twist-

-KRUCKT-

The Disciple's head vanished in a spray of bone and gore, sent flying by the impact of Hemingway's hammer.

"Get 'im, HEM!" Emerson shouted.

Hemingway's hammer came around again, crushing the new head that was just bubbling up from the rotting neck-stump

"Hit him AGAIN!"

The hammer came down once more, demolishing the neck-stump itself... Then Hemingway swung it in an upward arc that knocked a hole in the Disciple's chest.

The shroud dropped Thane and came around toward Hemingway, but Hars leapt into its path and sliced it in two before it got close. He kept cutting, clearing a path for Hemingway... who continued pounding the walking corpse with his hammer until the creature staggered and fell. The majority of its upper body was now a lumpy paste with wire and bits of cloth running through it... some of it held in place with old, rusty nails... .none of which was showing any sign of life or animation.

"And the lesson HERE is," Hemingway smiled. "There aren't too many that can't be brought down with a suitable application of blunt trauma. You can quote me on that."

"But how do we KEEP him down?" said Thane, rubbing his nearly crushed arm. "That thing is unstoppable! It's just like that thing under the ground... we can hurt it, but we can't KILL it. It just shrugged off everything we threw at it."

"Doesn't look so unstoppable NOW, does it?" said Emerson.

"He ain't movin'," said Hars. "But I ain't no fool... Thane, burn it-"

FWOOOM!

Fire poured out of Thane's ring and ignited that Disciple's unmoving corpse. The dark, chocking stench of roasting flesh rose up in a thick cloud, broken only by occasional flicker of flame from within.

"Will that do?" said Thane.

"Probably not."

"Perhaps we should have dismembered it," said Hemingway. "That usually works-"

"I TRIED that, remember?"

"Well... it still isn't moving..."

Just then, something moved within the smoke. A second later the Disciple... lumbered out of the cloud, leaving behind him a pile of still-burning flesh that he had shed like a second skin. The new flesh was untouched by the flames. The Disciple's shroud spread out behind it like a pair of decomposing wings-

Hars, Emerson, Hemingway, and Thane quickly surrounded it... at a safe distance.

"What now?" said Thane. "What's the plan?"

"Hit him all together... keep him-"

"OH for hell's sake, GET OUT OF THE BLOODY WAY!" Came a shout from above.

On the roof overlooking the street, Gallows stood up and raised his bow.

"Uh-oh..."

"....awww, hell..."

"RUN!"

Remembering the LAST time Gallows used one of his arrows, the other members of the Night's Bloom scattered and ran for cover. Gallows gave them five steps... then he fired. The glowing arrow flew...

zzzzzz-THWOK!

And sank dead-center into the Disciple's chest.

The Disciple looked down at the protruding missile...

"mmm?-"

BOOOOM!

The arrow detonated, unleashing a fury of explosive force that sent a powerful shockwave... and pieces of the Disciple... flying in all directions. Windows of nearby buildings shattered. Dishes rattled and cracked in their cupboards. The shock caught the fleeing Bloomsmen and picked them up... carrying them several yards in whatever direction they happened to be running before returning them unceremoniously to the ground.

When the explosion's echo faded, and the dust cleared, there was nothing left of the Disciple except a small crater and a large burnt mark in the street.

Gallows looked down at his handiwork, nodded in approval, then stepped calmly over the edge of the roof...

Below, Emerson opened his eyes and spat out the mouth-full of dirt he'd swallowed when he hit the ground face-first. Bephal's dirt didn't taste all that appealing.

"Uhhhhggh," he moaned as he rolled over. "I'll never drink again.. no, wait, this isn't a hangover... its' GALLOWS trying to KILL US ALL!"

"Everyone still in one piece?" said Hars. His characteristic red hair was now greyish brown from the dust.

"Mostly," said Thane.

"Aye," Hemingway groaned. "What the hell was that?"

"Demolition arrow," said Gallows as he walked past them, heading for the crater. "Would have used if earlier if you weren't too busy dancing around like a bunch of circus clowns."

"Hey, I resent that!" Said Emerson.

"Next time, let us get clear, aye?" Hars said sternly.

"You WERE clear," said Gallows. "If you weren't you'd be dead now."

"You heard me, Gallows," Hars warned. "You're part of a group now. Ya gotta consider the consequences of all that magic you throw around."

"Consequenses," Gallows echoed. "Right." He reached the edge of the crater and looked down at the hole he'd made in the street. "Unstoppable, my ass..."

"Uhhhh, I hate to interrupt," said Emerson. "But, ummm.... what's that?"

Emerson pointed to something on the ground not far behind them. It was small... and it was moving... sliding through the dirt as if being dragged by an invisible string.

It was a hand.

It wasn't the only thing moving on the street, either. All around them, bits and pieces of the Disciple were converging on the crater like metal drawn to a magnet. They picked up speed as they got closer, until finally they bounced, flipped, rolled, or slid into place... forming a squirming pile of flesh, wire and cloth that quickly settled into a familiar shape. The Disciple... whole and unharmed.

"What was that you were saying about your ass, Gallows?" said Emerson.

"MMMMMM!!"

The deadly shroud lashed out in two sections, one slicing across the mage/assassin's and sending him flying back, and the other knocking both Yexhill Thane and Emerson off their feet. Hars and Hemingway scattered... veering away from each other yet coming back together in front of the inn's door just as the Disciple reached it.

With swords and hammer drawn, they stood fast to block the monster's path.

"We can keep this up all night," said Hars. "Unstoppable or not, you ain't gettin' through that door! So you can either leave quietly, or-"

"Mmmmmmm...." The Disciple scowled. Then it stepped back... the shroud shot out behind it, spreading wide to catch the air... then thrusting down sharply...

The monster soared into the air... heading for the bedroom windows overlooking the street.

"Or," said Hemingway. "He could just fly over our heads and make us look like idiots."

"Damn..."

---

The shockwave from Gallows' arrow had already shattered the glass, but the Disciple's explosive arrival nearly tore the window frame right out the wall.

December had seen the approach, but hadn't had time to clear the room before the Disciple was among them. Floyd D'Arcy was cowering behind him, while Francesca threw herself in front of the bed, to protect Casey.

"It's HIM!" Floyd screamed. "It's DORATH!!!".

"mmmmMMMM!!!" The Disciple responded to Floyd's voice with a mute roar of rage. The tattered shroud spread outward, knocking over furniture as it charged toward December...

...but then it stopped. Almost as if responding to some inaudible reproach, the Disciple halted and turned toward the bed where Casey lay shivering. Then it leapt... claws extended, shroud billowing protectively around it. THAT was what it had come for... the boy...

Casey sat up in the bed, opened his mouth, and screamed at the approaching monstrosity. But it was not sound that came out of the boy's throat... but a cloud of noxious orange dust that hit the Disciple like a fist and drove it back. The dust swirled around it in a tight whirlwind that tore and ripped at its flesh.

"HAHAHAHAAAAA!" Casey chortled... his small body already enlarging and transforming. Beside him, 'Franseca' darkened until she was nothing more than a fleeting shadow.... a shadow shaped into flesh by the power of N'Doki the necromancer. Neither Francesca nor Casey had ever been in the room... it was a trap, and the Disciple had flown right into it.

"MMMMMMMM!!!!"

The acidic dust ate at its skin like a swarm of voracious insects... but beneath that skin was another... and another... and another.... the Disciple's flesh regenerated faster that N'Doki's magic could strip it away, and finally the spell faded, leaving the Disciple looking only slightly more ragged... but much more angry... than it did before.

Eyeless sockets leered at December and N'Doki.... and then at the door leading into the hallway.

The creature surged toward it.

"It's going after CASEY!" said Floyd.

December stepped into the creature's path, but a sudden violent rustling of cloth shoved him aside like a toy...

...behind him, N'Doki unleashed jagged bolts of orange flesh-rotting lightning that flayed the meat from the Disciple's back, but did NOTHING to stop its charge out into the hall.

"CASEY, COME BACK!" Francesca screamed. "Don't go out there!" In the hall, a bedroom door opened, and young Casey scampered out into the open... right into the Disciple's path.

"MMMMMMMMM!" The monster roared.

December raced after the Disciple with an ice-gem gleaming in his hand. But he couldn't throw it with Casey in the hall.

"GET THE BOY!" He shouted.

But then he noticed something. Casey wasn't frightened. In fact, the expression on the boy's face was quite the opposite...

Case stretched forth a hand toward the thing bearing down on him. Suddenly the hallway was alive with light... shapes and luminescent figures peeled away from the walls and shot toward the Disciple like arrows. At first there were only six or seven... but then there were dozens.

The spirits of Bephal flew THROUGH the Disciple, grabbing the unholy thing from behind and hauling him back down the hall... back through the bedroom... and out through the demolished window. The glowing figures threw him out with such force that he sailed over the street and landed on the rooftop where Gallows had been hiding before.

December ran to the window and saw the Disciple leap to the next building and then down to the street... where it vanished in the darkness. The spirits that had ejected it so efficiently from the inn were nowhere to be seen.

Down on the street, The Night's Bloom were dusting themselves off and looking around, trying to figure out what had just happened. December exchanged glances with Hars. Both men nodded.

"Gallows, are you up for a hunt?" Hars said.

"Do you want its head, or will some other part do?" the assassin replied. The wire in the Disciple's shroud had cut a slash across his chest, but fortunately the thin layer of padding beneath his shirt had saved most of his skin. Blood was dripping down into his pants, but the wound wasn't fatal.

"Follow it and see where it goes. Don't let it get away."

"Get away? Not possible. That thing's rage is like a beacon. Living or dead... it won't escape the Gallows..."

"Aye, but be careful, this-" Hars turned, and noticed that Gallows wasn't there any more. "Cocky bastard..."

"You did it!" said Floyd. He was speaking to N'Doki... who had exchanged his Casey-illusion for another one... that of the robed 'holy man.' "I thought he had us, but you did it!"

"T'was not N'Doki's magic dat banished de creature," said N'doki.

"It was the boy," December finished. Francesca was carrying Casey into the room now. The boy was squirming, uncomfortable being held yet clearly weak from his exertion.

"No, it was not de boy."

"I saw-"

"Do not belief what you see," said N'Doki. "Ask de boy what he did. Ask him how he summon de power... he will not know. I felt de presence of anodder when de magic was released. De boy was merely de lens t'rough which de power was focused."

"Well whatever it was... I'm glad it was here. Now we need to board up these windows in case that thing comes back."

"It will come back," said N'doki. "But not until some time has passed."

"What do you know?"

"Only dat which YOU know, but haf not yet understood. De creature attack once... we send it away, but den it return in a stronger form. It is clear dat de creature was more dan capable of dealing wit our power... WE could not have stopped it alone. But it was not enough to overcome de spirits. So now it will gather more strength... and return in a form even stronger dan de last. It will do so until it is capable of defeating de boy's protectors."

"And by 'protectors,' you do not mean us."

"No. De spirits feel dat de boy is important. I do not yet know why."

"Well he's important to me," said Francesca. "And whatever they want, they can't have him."

"Heh, heh," the necromancer chuckled. "Perhaps dey already DO haf him..."

"What do you mean?" Francesca said suspiciously. "What do you mean by that?"

N'Doki's only reply was a sharp and humorless smile.

[To Be Continued]