Blackwater Val
It came crawling out of his raw, bloody scalp and made clicking sounds, then the damnable thing took to wing and flew off with its nighttime brethren.
“Flittermouse,” declared Simon in a tittering voice, rheumy eyes roving in their red skull like caged beasts. He stumbled, dropping the dark-streaked calamander box he held and dumping its contents all over the ground. Richard caught a glimpse of the spilled offerings, saw what looked nightmarishly like a human fetus flip into the shadows. Someone’s cobalt-blue eyeball skittered at his feet. His stomach constricted, gorge rising even as the raggedy pastor limped another two steps and pitched headlong into the dirt, limbs quaking.
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